Mistress Penwick saw Monmouth’s frown also, and looked up at him smiling and asked,—­

“Thou must not ponder upon ghosts.—­When do we journey, your Grace?”

“When thou art well rested and say the word.”  His face broke into sunshine and the maid could not fail to see the admiration that fell upon her from his Grace’s eyes.  She flushed rose red.  He caught her hand as they arose from table, and pressed it warmly, and with a tenderness that was apparent to Buckingham and Constance.  Should he press his suit upon her now or wait?  He thought best to wait, as Janet quickly came to her mistress at a motion of the hand that the Duke reluctantly released.  He allowed her to pass to her chamber without his escort.  Constance passed unnoticed by him from the room, and being well-worn by her long ride, also went above stair, where she tumbled upon her bed in tears, most unlike Katherine who was rubbed and swathed in blankets by the faithful Janet.

* * * * *

Sir Julian Pomphrey had sent to the castle and procured conveyance and Ellswold’s physicians for the young lord, who lay very white and weak at the monastery.  Owing to his serious wound, they had moved very slowly, reaching home near three o’clock in the morning.  The Duchess was greatly shocked by Cedric’s condition and most indignant with Mistress Penwick and Constance.

The matter was blown about by servants, and before the dismal rainy day was ended, all Crandlemar knew of the goings-on at the castle and were greatly stirred that their lord had been so used by the Catholics.  ’Twas inflammable matter that meant the possible uprising in arms of the whole village.  It was said the Protestants were aggrieved that Lord Cedric had thus long allowed the monks freehold, and now that he was helpless they would take it upon themselves to drive them away at the point of the sword and see if, by so doing, greater fortune would not fall to them, for such bravery would certainly bring them to their lord’s notice and mayhap he would build up many of his houses and do better by them than heretofore.

Over the ale mugs at the village inn ’twas whispered by the landlord that the day before two men, wearing masques, had left the place together, one bearing under his saddle-bag a monk’s robe; and a crucifix had fallen from his pocket as he mounted.

The men grew more and more excited and fell to pledging themselves to clean out the ancient monastery before another day should close.

A pale young man in fashionable attire sat apart, drinking deep and listening with satisfaction to the village swains and their elders’ talk; his eye in imagination upon the dark passage in the monastery that hid the trapdoor and—­no doubt the treasures of the cloister that lay beneath.

’Twas Cantemir; he had escaped unharmed from the clutches of Buckingham and Monmouth.  The former had caught him hastening from the monastery and seizing compelled him to give the information he sought and to give up all papers on his person; which he did cheerfully.  Finding him a cowardly knave, the Duke flung him from him with disgust.  Buckingham had heard, to be sure, that the maid they sought was a hostage; but whether this was true, or would lead to matters of more consequence, he had yet to learn.