“In truth I cannot tell,” replied Dorothy; “but, trust me, Margaret has some plan or other in her head.

“Yes,” said Margaret, “but see him, here he is; the master of the house, our guardian, our protector; behold him where he lies,” and she pointed to where the too festive knight lay doubled uncomfortably up in the salting trough.

“I expected about as much,” she went on, “and I want to cure him; what shall we do?”

“Salt him,” slyly suggested Dorothy, “that is the usual way.”

“Fasten him down in the box for the night,” suggested Crowleigh.

“We will,” she said; “here is the lid, we can easily fasten it down so that he cannot undo it, and we will have a peep at him to see that he is not smothered when we come back.”

In accordance with this decision Sir Benedict was unconsciously made a prisoner, as securely as any culprit in Derby gaol, and leaving him in this position the merry quartette started off upon their evening stroll.

Disdaining the highway, they followed the beaten path which led through the wood to Rowsley, Crowleigh doing his part to aid his friend by walking on with Margaret in front, and so deeply engaged her interest by recounting some of his adventures in badger hunting that she entirely forgot her sister, who followed behind her in a more leisurely fashion with Master Manners.

In vain the anxious esquire sought to broach the topic which lay so near to his heart; the words would not come, and beyond a few gallant and courtier-like remarks—­to the like of which Dorothy had often listened beforetimes with impatience—­he could not succeed; and when at last he began to give expression to his feelings, it was in a wild and almost incoherent manner.

As for the maiden who lightly tripped by his side, although she wore a sober, pensive look, yet she was filled with a silent joy, and the great fire of love which was burning in her breast she found difficult to control.  With that quick and subtle faculty which belongs to womankind alone she had intuitively guessed his mission at the outset, and with perceptions rendered keener by the intensity of her passion, she was on the alert to detect his advances and respond to them with a due amount of proper maidenly reserve.  Finding, however, that he was slow to approach the subject, yet feeling sure of his intentions and fearing lest the opportunity should slip by, she sought to precipitate his movements by a few, delicate hints.

“Why, we are all alone,” she exclaimed, “Wherever can my sister be?  Let us hasten on.”

“She is in safe hands, fair Dorothy,” he replied, “and you will not be missed awhile.”

Dorothy noted with satisfaction that he had dropped the “Mistress” from before her name, and this, she argued, denoted that he was awakening at last, and encouraged her to venture again with another remark.

“Margaret is such a scold,” she teasingly said; “I fear we must really hasten forward.”