“But where is Dorothy?” asked the impatient baron.  “What has become of her?  Why does she not return with thee?”

“De la Zouch waylaid us,” answered the esquire, “and we fell into his trap.  I have ridden hard from Ashby since the sun last set.  I escaped his dungeon by the aid of this, his page, to save poor Dorothy.  I am faint from my bruises and hard riding.  Cannot you believe me?”

“Sir Henry,” replied the baron, with a sneer.  “Sir Henry told us a similar story, but then it was you who had waylaid him.”

“The villain!” groaned Manners, “I will have revenge.”

“That’s just what he called you,” said Sir Thomas, promptly.  “Two of a trade never agree.”

“My master felled Master Manners to the ground himself,” interposed the page; “or rather, I mean he struck him senseless while he lay injured on the ground.”

“And he carried Doll away to his castle,” said Manners.  “I shall avenge her, though.  I can understand your suspicions now, and forgive you, for De la Zouch has played you false as well as me, and has returned to his castle now to reap the reward of his villainy.  I shall pursue him, though.  He sought my life, defamed my name, imprisoned me, and now he has gone when I get here.  Eustace,” he added, turning to the page, “let us return; I will gather friends of my own with which to rescue her, and I shall be strong till I have met and paid my enemy.  God grant we may yet be in time.  Crowleigh, you believe me?  You will come, and, mayhap, we may intercept him ere his journey’s end, for he cannot long be gone.”

“Nay, nay, man; stay and have thy wound attended to,” said the baron sympathetically.  “Thou’rt honest, I would swear.”

“And yesterday he seemed well nigh dead,” said Eustace, referring to Manners.  “Sure I am he can ride no longer.  We rode hard here, and well I trow his wound—­”

“Stay not for me,” interrupted Manners.  “This is precious time.  I command you to hasten or it will be too late, for when De la Zouch discovers I am gone, he will certainly remove her to another place.”

“We will,” enthusiastically shouted Sir George, and in the twinkling of an eye he seized hold of the alarm-bell rope and in an instant awakened the tired sleepers of the neighbourhood by its clang.

“And thou art his page,” said Stanley.  “Thou wilt show us the way.”

“Aye, that I will an it please you, my lord, but I will never return to him.”

“Meg, we are off,” exclaimed Sir Thomas to his betrothed, who had hastily descended from her own room, startled at the unusual noise in the courtyard at that early hour.  “We are going to bring Dorothy back."’

“Where is she?”

“At Ashby Castle, so Master Manners saith,” he replied.  “You will go with us, I hope,” he added, turning round to the esquire.  “You will want to revenge yourself.”

“I will avenge her, yes;” he responded, not heeding the convert sneer, “that I will right heartily.”