“Well, Dorothy,” said Lady Maude, as she burst into the maiden’s room ere Doll had found time to divest herself of hood and wimple, “thou art serving us a pretty trick.  Thou would’st meet thy whilom lover all unbeknown to us, eh?  Pick up thy things and follow me.”

It would have been worse than useless to have refused, and argument, Dorothy knew of old, at such a time would have been equally futile; so, while her blood almost froze with terror in her veins, she meekly obeyed her step-mother and followed her through the long ballroom into the banqueting-room below in a perfect agony of terror lest her lover had been taken and was about to be confronted with her.

The stone-flagged chamber, in which the festive table, which has creaked under many a load of beef and venison, still stands in grandeur all unique, was in full glory then.  The musicians’ gallery was richly bedecked with gilt, and was adorned with antlers, the trophies of many a chase, in place of the dingy, whitewash-spotted, pictures which, hang upon its walls to-day (and look as if they were sadly in need of a washing).  Gay hunting-scenes, and a canvas on which, were delineated the forms of the Virgin and her Babe, met the eye and pleased it.  A savoury odour of newly-baked cakes floated along the passage from the kitchens right into the room, and a piece of tapestry, one of Dorothy’s first attempts, depended over the doorway of the carved wooden screen to keep out draughts, and at the same time give a warm and pleasing effect to the interior.

It was into this room, in which sat the baron and Sir Thomas Stanley, looking terribly grave and severe, that Lady Vernon led poor Dorothy.

“Come hither, Dorothy,” said the baron, as she entered.

The “Dorothy” sounded ominous, and she advanced in great trepidation.

“You have been out without our knowledge,” he exclaimed.

“Out; of course she has,” interrupted Lady Vernon.  “See, she cannot deny it, she has the tokens of guilt upon her now,” and she derisively pointed at the tell-tale garments she had made her carry in.

“Hush, Maude,” said the baron, “you will frighten her.  Dorothy, you have been with Manners,” he added, turning severely towards her.

Dorothy hung down her head, but vouchsafed no reply.  She was in an agony of fear for the safety of her lover, but amid all her terrors she was resolved that no words should fall from her lips which might bring trouble upon him.

“Aye, and with Master Manners again,” repeated the dame.

“What have you to say, Dorothy?” asked Sir George quickly.

“Nothing,” she replied.

“Then you have been with him?”

“Nay, I said not so.”

“Of course she has,” exclaimed Lady Vernon, “who can doubt it?”

“We heard Manners speaking; I could swear to it now,” said Sir Thomas Stanley.

“I fear it is even so, Dorothy,” said the baron, not unkindly.  “There is a guilty look upon thy face.  Now tell us where he is and we will forgive thee thy share.”