“Well, well,” he replied, “I would persuade thee if I could Sir George, but since I cannot do that I will go, but you should rest,” and leaving these words to ring in the baron’s ears, the young nobleman retired to his couch and left the baron alone.

The sun had not long risen ere he was with Sir George Vernon again.  His horse was ready to carry him once more upon the search, and he himself was ready for the ride.  He had expected to find the baron asleep, but in this he was disappointed, for Sir George sat beside the table deep in converse with the priest.  Crowleigh had returned, and so had the rest, but their tales were alike despondent; none of them had discovered a trace, and good Father Nicholas had found it a difficult task under the circumstances to revive the drooping spirit of his master.

“No luck, Sir Thomas, naught but ill news,” said the baron, as he replied to his friend’s greeting; “’tis an ill wind this.  There is never a trace as yet, and——­”

“Hist!” interrupted Margaret’s lover.  “I hear the sounds of galloping hoofs.”

Sir George opened the casement window, and peered out into the gloom.

“I cannot see them yet,” he exclaimed, “but there are more than one, and they are nearing fast.  If it should be Dorothy,” he said with a sigh of intense feeling; “what joy!”

“Aye, there are more than one,” said Stanley.  “We cannot see them here.  Hark, they are thundering at the gate even now; let us go and meet them, and heaven grant, whoever it may be, that they bring good news.”

“Amen,” ejaculated the baron fervently, and his prayer was echoed by the rest.

Before they could reach the gate, the horseman had been admitted; and as Sir George and his friends stepped into the yard they recognised—­not the features of Sir Edward Stanley, as Margaret’s lover secretly thought, but the well-known form of Manners.

“How!—­by my halidame, what meaneth this?” exclaimed the baron, delighted beyond measure to see the esquire again.  “Tell me, Manners, where my Dorothy is?”

“Speak fair words,” cautioned Stanley, with a frown.

“Dorothy!” gasped her lover.  “Hasten, I beseech thee.  She is at Ashby.  Where is De la Zouch, the villain?”

“On his way home,” answered Sir Thomas.

Manners groaned aloud.

“Heaven forfend us, then,” he cried.  “He is a monster of iniquity.  We must hasten back, an you would rescue Dorothy.”

“There is some conspiracy in this,” exclaimed Stanley.  “Here is De la Zouch’s page lurking behind these horses.  Come hither, sirrah, for I recognise thee well.  ’Twere a bold thing of thee to venture on so rash an errand here.”

Eustace was pushed unwillingly forward, and as he stood before the knight his knees knocked together under the terrible frowns that were bestowed upon him.

“Nay, it is right,” expostulated Manners.  “Leave him alone, Sir Thomas, he will be of service to us yet.”