nd I will try to
escape to France. If you wish to communicate with me, I may be found by
addressing a letter in care of the Duc de Guise."

"If I can ever be of help to you," said Will, "personally, or in that
other matter, Queen Mary, you understand,--you have only to call on me."

"I thank you, Will," I returned, "I shall probably accept your kind offer
sooner than you anticipate. Do you know Jennie Faxton, the ferrier's
daughter?"

"I do," he responded.

"I believe she may be trusted," I said.

"Indeed, I believe she is true as any steel in her father's shop," Will
responded.

"Good-by, Will, you may hear from me soon."

I mounted and rode back of the terrace, taking my way along the Wye toward
Rowsley. When I turned and looked back, I saw Dorothy standing upon the
terrace. By her side, dressed in white, stood Madge. Her hand was covering
her eyes. A step or two below them on the terrace staircase stood Will
Dawson. They were three stanch friends, although one of them had brought
my troubles upon me. After all, I was leaving Haddon Hall well garrisoned.
My heart also was well garrisoned with a faithful troop of pain. But I
shall write no more of that time. It was too full of bitterness.

CHAPTER V

MINE ENEMY'S ROOF-TREE

I rode down the Wye to Rowsley, and by the will of my horse rather than by
any intention of my own took the road up through Lathkil Dale. I had
determined if possible to reach the city of Chester, and thence to ride
down into Wales, hoping to find on the rough Welsh coast a fishing boat or
a smuggler's craft that would carry me to France. In truth, I cared little
whether I went to the Tower or to France, since in either case I felt that
I had looked my last upon Haddon Hall, and had spoken farewell to the only
person in all the world for whom I really cared. My ride from Haddon gave
me time for deliberate thought, and I fully agreed with myself upon two
propositions. First, I became thoroughly conscious of my real feeling
toward Madge, and secondly, I was convinced that her kindness and her
peculiar attitude toward me when I parted from her were but the promptings
of a tender heart stirred by pity for my unfortunate situation, rather
than what I thought when I said farewell to her. The sweet Wye and the
beautiful Lathkil whispered to me as I rode beside their banks, but in
their murmurings I heard only the music of her voice. The sun shone
brightly, but its blessed light only ser