“I know all that only too well, Will.  But I must go, and I will try to escape to France.  If you wish to communicate with me, I may be found by addressing a letter in care of the Duc de Guise.”

“If I can ever be of help to you,” said Will, “personally, or in that other matter, Queen Mary, you understand,—­you have only to call on me.”

“I thank you, Will,” I returned, “I shall probably accept your kind offer sooner than you anticipate.  Do you know Jennie Faxton, the ferrier’s daughter?”

“I do,” he responded.

“I believe she may be trusted,” I said.

“Indeed, I believe she is true as any steel in her father’s shop,” Will responded.

“Good-by, Will, you may hear from me soon.”

I mounted and rode back of the terrace, taking my way along the Wye toward Rowsley.  When I turned and looked back, I saw Dorothy standing upon the terrace.  By her side, dressed in white, stood Madge.  Her hand was covering her eyes.  A step or two below them on the terrace staircase stood Will Dawson.  They were three stanch friends, although one of them had brought my troubles upon me.  After all, I was leaving Haddon Hall well garrisoned.  My heart also was well garrisoned with a faithful troop of pain.  But I shall write no more of that time.  It was too full of bitterness.

CHAPTER V

MINE ENEMY’S ROOF-TREE

I rode down the Wye to Rowsley, and by the will of my horse rather than by any intention of my own took the road up through Lathkil Dale.  I had determined if possible to reach the city of Chester, and thence to ride down into Wales, hoping to find on the rough Welsh coast a fishing boat or a smuggler’s craft that would carry me to France.  In truth, I cared little whether I went to the Tower or to France, since in either case I felt that I had looked my last upon Haddon Hall, and had spoken farewell to the only person in all the world for whom I really cared.  My ride from Haddon gave me time for deliberate thought, and I fully agreed with myself upon two propositions.  First, I became thoroughly conscious of my real feeling toward Madge, and secondly, I was convinced that her kindness and her peculiar attitude toward me when I parted from her were but the promptings of a tender heart stirred by pity for my unfortunate situation, rather than what I thought when I said farewell to her.  The sweet Wye and the beautiful Lathkil whispered to me as I rode beside their banks, but in their murmurings I heard only the music of her voice.  The sun shone brightly, but its blessed light only served to remind me of the beautiful girl whom I had left in darkness.  The light were worthless to me if I could not share it with her.  What a mooning lout was I!