“Dorothy is in the tower?” asked Sir Henry as he ravenously fell upon his meal.  “How is she now?  Proud, I suppose, eh?”

“Humph! well enough, though a trifle obstinate.”

“Well, we will go and see her.  And Manners, what of him?”

“Ha! high and haughty.  Rides the high horse, my lord.  Has friends at Court and friends all around coming to release him.”

“A pretty tale, truly, Simon,” laughed the knight, as he finished his hasty meal and ordered some more spiced wine to drink.

“Yes, my lord,” replied the chamberlain.  “So I put him in the old dungeon.”

“Eh, what!  You have put him where?” asked Sir Henry, turning back breathlessly.  “You idiot, you; where are the keys?”

“In the old dungeon, I said,” explained the wonder-stricken chamberlain.  “The safest part of the castle, my lord.”

“Where are the keys?” thundered his master.  “Quick!”

Simon handed them over, and struck with intense amazement at the sudden and complete change in his master’s manner, he awaited the course of events.

“Follow me,” said the knight, sharply, as he opened the door and started across the yard.  “Did I not command thee to put him in the tower?” he cried.

Simon returned no answer.  He was stupified.  His head swam, and he half persuaded himself as he followed his master across the yard that he was the victim of some dread nightmare.

“See here!” exclaimed Sir Henry as he kicked the drunken gaoler aside and sharply awoke him; “and here!” he added, as he unlocked the ponderous door and held the glimmering lantern up.  “See here,” he cried, “what’s this?” and he pushed the wondering Simon in.

“Why—­how!  He has gone,” he gasped.

“Of course he has.”

And true it was.  The worst fears of De la Zouch were realised.  Manners, as we already know, had found out the secret of the dungeon, and his flight was only just discovered.

Sir Henry de la Zouch was prompt in action, and immediately upon satisfying himself of Dorothy’s safety, he set out, accompanied by a number of his retainers, to find her lover, feeling pretty well convinced that he would be discovered lurking somewhere in the neighbouring woods.  It was in vain they searched.  Under the eye of their ubiquitous lord, the tired followers beat every copse and glade, and it was not until the afternoon was well advanced that the Knight of Ashby relinquished the search and thought of turning back.

“Hark!” said Simon to his master, as the latter gave the order to return, “I hear the tread of horse.”

“We will advance, then,” was the reply, and the unwilling company once more turned their backs upon their homes, and marched further into the forest.

The two parties had for some time unconsciously been approaching each other, and when the quick ears of the chamberlain had detected the proximity of Sir George Vernon and his followers, they were only separated from each other by a narrow strip of thickly-grown wood, and a minute or two sufficed to bring them into collision.