Still he persevered, and was rarely absent from the trysting place at the appointed time, for Dorothy might come on any night, and when she came he was determined she should find him there.  But she never came.  Lettice occasionally he met, but even she was suspected and was kept indoors as much as possible, and more often than not he sat his weary vigils out alone.

Good Roger Morton did his utmost to further his friend’s design, sending him up as often as possible on missions to the Hall, and he went so frequently both with messages and faggots, that, seeing him so often, no one suspected that the young woodsman was any other than what he professed to be.

Time flew on:  weeks passed by.  Autumn brought its coldest and chillest weather for the winter to take up and carry forward.  The steers were fattening in the stalls, or salting in the troughs, for the Christmas festivities.  The capacious larders of Haddon were replenished to the full, ready to withstand the attack of the cooks; large piles of wood lay stacked up in the yard, ready to supply the many fires which were to cook the victuals for the feast; and the servants themselves grew daily more surprised at the constant arrival of fresh stores, and wondered if ever so magnificent a feast had taken place before.

With Dorothy the time passed slowly and painfully along.  Her position had not improved one whit, and she was wearied of the life of restraint and imprisonment to which she was subjected.  Her fingers were sore and ached again with the continual tenter-stitching she had to perform, and her whole nature revolted at the system of espionage which Lady Vernon and Sir Edward Stanley had set upon her.  The daily visits of that unfeeling and determined nobleman with whom they would force her into marriage, Edward Stanley, always left her with a sadder heart than she had had before.

With Manners the time flew by quickly.  He sorely wanted to see Dorothy again, and as the days rapidly passed he recked not of the disappointments of the past, but only thought of the few days which intervened between them and Christmas.

Surely the rumour must be wrong.  There would never be two weddings at the Hall this Christmastide.  He, at least, would not believe it.

“Nicholas,” he said, as he met that worthy at last, “thou wilt only marry one?”

“The baron bids me marry the other as well.  I would it were not so, for the maiden cares naught for him.  I like not this brother; he is worse than Margaret’s betrothed.”

“You must help us, then.”

“I must do my duty, but if in doing that I can aid thee thou hast but to speak the word.”

“But you shall help us, Nicholas.”

“Why, how?”

“I will tell thee.”

“I am a priest, remember.  I cannot do anything unworthy even for a friend like thee; though thou wert my benefactor.”

He paused, as if unwilling to wound his friend by his words, and seeing the look of dismay upon the other’s face, he stopped.