Judith, being a little in advance of her companion, took Leonard in the first instance for a chirurgeon’s assistant, and called to him, in a harsh and menacing voice, to let her charge alone.  On drawing near, however, she perceived her mistake, and recognising the apprentice, halted with a disconcerted look.  By this time, the stranger had come up, and remarking her embarrassment, inquired the cause of it.

“Look there,” cried Judith, pointing towards the apprentice.  “Yonder stands the very man you seek.”

“What!  Leonard Holt,” cried the other, in astonishment.

“Ay, Leonard Holt,” rejoined Judith.  “You can now put any questions to him you think proper.”

The stranger did not require the suggestion to be repeated, but instantly hastened to the apprentice.  “Do you remember me?” he asked.

Leonard answered in the affirmative.  “I owe you a large debt of obligation,” continued the stranger, “and you shall not find me slow in paying it.  But let it pass for the moment.  Do you know aught of Nizza Macascree?  I know she was taken to Oxford by the king, and subsequently disappeared.”

“Then you know as much as I do of her, sir,” rejoined Leonard.

“I was right, you see, Mr. Thirlby,” interposed Judith, with a malicious grin.  “I told you this youth would be utterly ignorant of her retreat.”

“My firm conviction is, that she is in the power of Sir Paul Parravicin,” observed Leonard.  “But it is impossible to say where she is concealed.”

“Then my last hope of finding her has fallen to the ground,” replied Thirlby, with a look of great distress.  “Ever since my recovery from the plague, I have been in search of her.  I traced her from Ashdown Park to Oxford, but she was gone before my arrival at the latter place; and though I made every possible inquiry after her, and kept strict and secret watch upon the villain whom I suspected, as you do, of carrying her off, I could gain no clue to her retreat.  Having ascertained, however, that you were seen in the neighbourhood of Oxford about the time of her disappearance, I had persuaded myself you must have aided her escape.  But now,” he added, with a groan, “I find I was mistaken.”

“You were so,” replied Leonard, mournfully; “I was in search of my master’s daughter, Amabel, who was carried off at the same time by the Earl of Rochester, and my anxiety about her made me neglectful of Nizza.”

“I am not ignorant of your devoted attachment to her,” remarked the stranger.

“You will never find Amabel again,” observed Judith, bitterly.

“What mean you woman?” asked Leonard.

“I mean what I say,” rejoined Judith.  “I repeat, you will never see her again.”

“You would not speak thus positively without some motive,” returned Leonard, seizing her arm.  “Where is she?  What has happened to her?”

“That you shall never learn from me,” returned Judith, with a triumphant glance.