“I fear me not,” replied the maiden disconsolately.

“Oh, surely, when they see what an unconquerable will thou hast.  Sir George loves thee too well to lightly disregard thy happiness.  He loves you dearly; he will surely repent ere the time comes, for he hath a tender heart for thee.”

Dorothy laid her hand upon his arm and beckoned him to be still, pointing at the same time to a thick mass of the thick foliage with which they were surrounded.

“Hist,” she whispered.  “Methought I heard the sound of footsteps, listen!”

She paused, and together they bent their heads and listened, but nothing was to be heard save the rustling of the leaves.

“’Twas thy fancy,” exclaimed Manners, “thou art frightened.”

“I thought I saw the form of a man pass by those trees,” she replied.  “It must be fancy, though, and yet, methought I saw him stop and then pass on again.”

“Sir George will stand by thee,” pursued Manners, “he loves thee better than himself.”

“I know it, I know he loves me much, John; but he has promised me to the Stanleys, and when I told him of our trothplight he laughed, and said he was doing it all for the best.  He forbade me to mention your name ever more, or even think of you again—­as if you were not ever in my mind.”

“Does not Lady Maude relent at all?”

“Lady Maude relent!  Nay, rather does she grow more bitter against me day by day, and that I may forget thee she makes me tenter-stitch from morn till eve.  Even Margaret gives her voice bitterly against me now.”

“Thou hast no one to console thee, then?”

“Save Lettice, no.”

“Poor Dorothy.  And Father Nicholas, what saith he?  He is a friend of mine.”

“He is so grave I have not mentioned it to him.”

“Then by my troth, Doll, bid him meet me here to-morrow night.  He shall help us, he shall befriend thee.  Tell him all, he can be well trusted, I wot, unless he has strangely changed since he hath taken the cowl.  Bid him come here alone and without fail.”

Soon, all too soon, the brief interview came to an end, and Dorothy had to go back to the Hall, while her lover, having reluctantly parted from her when he dare accompany her no further, slowly wound his way back to the sorry hut which served him, in common with the rest of his fellows, as a home.

He had no heart to join in the boisterous fun with which his companions were making themselves merry as he entered, and passing them unnoticed by, he took a seat in the furthest corner of the room and watched the faggots as they blazed and burned away upon the hearth in front of him.

Dorothy returned with a sad heart, too.  The moment of bliss which had so transported her with delight had passed away again, and she found herself in pretty well the same downcast frame of mind in which she had been before, for she knew not when she would see her lover again, and she dare not let herself ponder on the terrible risks her noble lover ran.