CHAPTER VI.

De la Zouch indulges in A little VILLANY.

  If I can do it
  By aught that I can speak in his dispraise,
  She shall not long continue love to him.

  Shakespeare.

The Courtly hall of Haddon was never quiet for long together, and very soon both the death of the witch and the warning of the locksmith were forgotten amid the preparations which were being made for a grand ball.  Sir Thomas Stanley, having wooed Margaret, had successfully petitioned the sanction and blessing of Sir George and Lady Vernon, and the event was to celebrate their betrothal.

The morning of the festive day had opened fair, and as the day sped on, the guests rapidly assembled.  De Lacey was there, delighting the ladies, as usual, with his braggadocio.  Manners and Crowleigh were both there too, by special invitation, and, of course, cousin Benedict a Woode, who made no scruple of inviting himself to Haddon Hall if by any means his invitation had not come; and also, to Dorothy’s great disgust, Sir Henry de la Zouch was there.

The musicians struck up a lively tune, and very soon the steaming boar’s head was placed upon the table.  Father Philip pronounced a very long benediction, and the singing of an old Latin rhyme beginning—­

  “Caput apri defero,”

announced that the feast had commenced in earnest.  The venison pasties of Margaret’s make disappeared with a truly marvellous rapidity, while Dorothy’s confections had a very short lease of life, and fared no better, either because they were nice or that Dorothy was the maker of them.

“Pass round the wine,” hailed the baron, “and drink to the health of the ladies of Haddon Hall.”

“Hurrah!” vociferously replied the guests, “to the health of the ladies of Haddon.”

“But stay; what’s the matter with Master Manners?” asked De la Zouch, whose eagle eye had discovered that his tankard was not upraised with the rest.  “A discourteous guest, upon my troth.”

“May I drink it in water?” asked Manners, as he felt the eyes of his host fixed sternly upon him.

“Nay, you must have the wine, sir,” replied Sir George, “but whether it goes down your throat or your arm makes little matter,” and as he spoke he pointed to the iron ring fastened in the door post ready for such contingencies.

“I suppose the arm must have it, then,” he replied, “for I am sworn to taste no wine until I have performed a solemn vow.”

“Waste good wine!” exclaimed De Lacey, as he gazed in blank astonishment at the speaker; “what a pity.”

“Have you forsworn ale too?” asked Dorothy.

“No, only wine, sweet demoiselle,” replied Manners, smiling as he caught the drift of the question.

“Then fill his glass with ale,” commanded Doll, “and drink the toast without delay.”