is well. And first I would question this Hannekin; but it shall
be done in such a fashion that none shall know, for indeed it is not
a matter for the gossip of servants. But if you will show me the man,
Mistress Mary, I will take him out to tend my own horse, and so I shall
learn all that he has to tell."

Nigel was absent for some time, and when he returned the shadow upon
his face brought little hope to the anxious hearts at the high table.
"I have locked him in the stable loft, lest he talk too much," said
he, "for my questions must have shown him whence the wind blew. It was
indeed from this man that the note came, and he had brought with him a
spare horse for the lady."

The old Knight groaned, and his face sank upon his hands.

"Nay, father, they watch you!" whispered Mary. "For the honor of our
house let us keep a bold face to all." Then, raising her young clear
voice, so that it sounded through the room: "If you ride eastward,
Nigel, I would fain go with you, that my sister may not come back
alone."

"We will ride together, Mary," said Nigel, rising; then in a lower
voice: "But we cannot go alone, and if we take a servant all is known. I
pray you to stay at home and leave the matter with me."

"Nay, Nigel, she may sorely need a woman's aid, and what woman should it
be save her own sister? I can take my tire-woman with us."

"Nay, I shall ride with you myself if your impatience can keep within
the powers of my mule," said the old priest.

"But it is not your road, father?"

"The only road of a true priest is that which leads to the good of
others. Come, my children, and we will go together."

And so it was that stout Sir John Buttesthorn, the aged Knight of
Duplin, was left alone at his own high table, pretending to eat,
pretending to drink, fidgeting in his seat, trying hard to seem
unconcerned with his mind and body in a fever, while below him his
varlets and handmaids laughed and jested, clattering their cups and
clearing their trenchers, all unconscious of the dark shadow which threw
its gloom over the lonely man upon the dais above.

Meantime the Lady Mary upon the white jennet which her sister had ridden
on the same evening, Nigel on his war-horse, and the priest on the mule,
clattered down the rude winding road which led to London. The country on
either side was a wilderness of heather moors and of morasses from which
came the strange crying of night-fowl. A half-moon shone in the sky
between