."

To tell the truth, he was just slightly uneasy. Isabel had been far more
silent than he had ever known her, and her nerves were plainly at an
acute tension; she started violently even now, when a servant came out
between two yew-hedges to call Mr. Buxton in. Her alarm had affected him,
and besides, he knew something of the extraordinary skill and patience of
Walsingham's agents, and even the story of the ferry had startled him.
Could it really be, he had wondered as he tossed to and fro in the hot
night, that this innocent priest had thrown off his pursuers so
completely as had appeared? In the morning he had sent down a servant to
the inn to inquire whether anything had been seen or heard of a
disquieting nature; now the servant had come to tell him, as he had
ordered, privately. He went with the man in through the hall-door,
leaving the others to walk in the avenue, and then faced him.

"Well?" he said sharply.

"No, sir, there is nothing. There is a party there travelling on to
Brighthelmstone this afternoon, and four drovers who came in last night,
sir; and two gentlemen travelling across country; but they left early
this morning."

"They left, you say?"

"They left at eight o'clock, sir."

Mr. Buxton's attention was attracted to these two gentlemen.

"Go and find out where they came from," he said, "and let me know after
dinner."

The man bowed and left the room, and almost immediately the dinner-bell
rang.

Mary was frankly happy; she loved to be down here in this superb weather
with her friends; she enjoyed this beautiful house with its furniture and
pictures, and even took a certain pleasure in the hiding-holes
themselves; although in this case she was satisfied they would not be
needed. She had heard the tale of the Stanstead woods, and had no shadow
of doubt but that the searchers, if, indeed, they were searchers at all,
were baffled. So at dinner she talked exactly as usual; and the cloud of
slight discomfort that still hung over Isabel grew lighter and lighter as
she listened. The windows of the hall were flung wide, and the warm
summer air poured from the garden into the cool room with its polished
floor, and table decked with roses in silver bowls, with its grave
tapestries stirring on the walls behind the grim visors and pikes that
hung against them.

The talk turned on music.

"Ah! I would I had my lute," sighed Mary, "but my woman forgot to bring
it. What a garden to sing in, in the s