Dorothy had dropped her work, and so intently was she gazing through the open lattice window that she did not notice the arrival of her father.

The knight stood still for a moment or two, and involuntarily admired the graceful figure of his daughter, and stepping gently forward, he tapped her lightly upon the shoulder.

Dorothy turned hastily round, and as she did so he caught her deftly in his arms and printed a loud, smacking kiss upon the fair girl’s cheek.

“There,” said he, “I’ll warrant me thou wert longing for it; come now, confess.”

Dorothy disdained any such idea.

“Nay,” she replied, “I was but thinking of the poor pedlar.  I had bought these from him only the day before,” and she pointed to a little heap of silks which lay upon the table.

“I had come to talk it over with thee, Doll,” replied the baron as he sat himself comfortably down upon a chair.  “I think it was a robbery, eh?”

“Yes,” slowly replied the maiden, “I should think so, too.  Meg and I paid him six nobles.”

“And only two were found.”

“Only two?” asked Dorothy.

“That is all,” replied the knight.  “The knaves must have made off with the rest.  That ill-favoured locksmith would be as likely a rascal as any; I must examine him.”

“Nay, that cannot be, he was all day in the stocks.”

Sir George scratched his head in despair.  He had privately determined that the locksmith was the guilty one, but now that his idea was entirely disproved he felt sorely at a loss how to proceed.

Dorothy watched him in silence; she was as helpless as the baron.

“Was the packman staying in the village?” asked Sir George, lifting up his head after a long pause, during which he had kept his glance upon his foot, as if seeking inspiration there.

“He stayed at Dame Durden’s, I believe.”

“What, the witch?”

“Yes.”

“I have it, then,” he exclaimed as he struck his hand heavily upon the table.  “I have it!” and without saying another word he hastened out of the room.

Although the knight had thus decisively declared that he “had it,” yet whatever it was that he had got, he did not feel equal to proceeding in the matter alone, and before he had proceeded many steps he turned back again.

“Come, Doll,” he said, as he opened the door again, “we will go together,” and the two went off in company to consult the rest of the family.

The Lady Maude was seated in a low, easy chair, And with an air of languor upon every feature of her countenance was listening to Sir John de Lacey, who was reading to her out of Roger Ascham’s treatise on Archery.  As the knight stepped into the room the remembrance of the previous day’s mishap was strongly brought back to his memory.

“What ho! sir knight,” he exclaimed; “better, eh!”

“A little stiff about the joints, mine host,” he replied, “for which I have thee to thank.”