“Nay, nay, sweet Dorothy,” he said, “I meant to say naught that would vex thee, for I would have thee smile upon me and not frown; and if my words have not been pleasing to thee in the past, I am sorry for it, and will endeavour to amend my ways in the future.”

“Where do we go to-day?” asked Dorothy, not noticing his last remark.  “We are full late for the woodcock, and the partridges are not yet ready.”

“There are plenty of sparrows on the wing,” exclaimed Sir Benedict a Woode, who had been anxiously awaiting an opportunity to join in the conversation.

“Aha!  Sir Benedict,” she replied.  “Methought thou wert too unwell to join us to-day, but thou hast weathered the attack, I see.”

“Now, could I stay away, fair cousin, when I knew thou wert among the merry company?” gallantly responded the knight.

“’Twas but the wine got into his head, Dorothy,” insinuated Sir Henry.

Dorothy, according to the fashion of the time, was carrying a hawk, one which she herself had trained, upon her wrist, which was protected from the beak and talons of the bird by a large thick glove.  She looked upon the noble bird, and felt proud of her treasure.

“St. George,” she said, “would scorn a sparrow, though, or else, I fear, most noble Benedict, he shares not in the pride of his mistress.”

St. George cocked his head on one side, as if to receive the compliment in a most befitting manner, and catching sight of a hand upon the saddle, it rapidly dipped down its head and made a vicious peck at the intruding fingers.

It was the hand of De la Zouch, and he withdrew with an ejaculation of anger.

“There, Mistress Dorothy,” he exclaimed, “did I not say the bird was but imperfectly taught, and now see here;” and he ruefully pointed to the bleeding finger.

Dorothy was so overcome by the tragic attitude Sir Henry assumed, that instead of offering him her sympathy, she burst out into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, in which the rest of the company joined; and, burning with indignation, the unlucky knight hastened away to join the group around the elder sister.

Having fallen behind, Dorothy and her companions had now to hurry forward, for they learned by the blowing of the horns and signals of Sir George Vernon that they were now close upon the scene of the day’s sport.

“Come, Doll,” shouted the baron, “we are waiting for you; we are ready to begin, and there are some strangers with whom I must acquaint you.”

They soon joined company, and Master John Manners, together with his friend, Sir Everard Crowleigh, had soon passed through the pleasant formality of an introduction to one of the prettiest and wealthiest heiresses in England.