“Hush! hush! dame,” rejoined her husband, hastily brushing away the moisture that sprang to his eyes; “take her to your chamber, and see that she wants nothing.  There is another young woman outside, whom I will send to you.”

So saying, he returned to the yard.  Meantime, the others had dismounted, and Wingfield, bidding Nizza Macascree go in, led the way to the barn, where the horses were tied up, and fodder placed before them.  This done, he conducted his guests to the house, and placing cold meat, bread, and a jug of ale before them, desired them to fall to—­an injunction which Blaize, notwithstanding his previous repast of roasted figs and pickled walnuts, very readily complied with.  While they were thus employed, Dame Wingfield made her appearance.  She said that the poor creature (meaning Amabel) was too ill to proceed on her journey that day, and begged her husband to allow her to stop till the next morning, when she hoped she would be able to undertake it.

“To-morrow morning, say you dame?” cried Wingfield; “she may stop till the day after, and the day after that, if you desire it, or she wishes it.  Go tell her so.”

And as his wife withdrew, well pleased at having obtained her request, Wingfield addressed himself to Leonard, and inquired the cause of Amabel’s illness; and as the apprentice saw no necessity for secresy, and felt exceedingly grateful for the kind treatment he had experienced, he acquainted him with the chief particulars of her history.  The farmer appeared greatly moved by the recital.

“She resembles my poor Sarah very strongly,” he said.  “My daughter was hurried into an early grave by a villain who won her affections and betrayed her.  She now lies in Willesden churchyard, but her seducer is one of the chief favourites of our profligate monarch.”

“Do you mean the Earl of Rochester?” cried Leonard.

“No, no,” replied the farmer, whose good-natured countenance had assumed a stern expression.  “The villain I mean is worse, if possible, than the earl.  He is called Sir Paul Parravicin.”

“Gracious Heaven!” exclaimed Leonard, in astonishment; “what a strange coincidence is this!”

And he then proceeded to relate to Wingfield the persecution which Nizza Macascree had endured from the profligate knight The farmer listened to his recital with breathless interest, and when it was ended arose, and, taking a hasty turn round the room, halted at the table and struck it forcibly with his clenched hand.

“I hope that man will never cross my path,” he said, all the blood mounting to his face, and his eye kindling with fury.  “As God shall judge me, I will kill him if I meet him.”

“Then I hope you never will meet him,” observed Leonard.  “He has injured you enough already, without putting you out of the pale of Divine mercy.”

“These rascals have done us all an injury,” observed Blaize.  “Patience has never been like herself since Major Pillichody entered my master’s dwelling, and made love to her.  I feel quite uneasy to think how the little hussy will go on during my absence.  She can’t get out of the house, that’s one comfort.”