“Just one word,” she repeated, pathetically.

“Poor Lady,” exclaimed Sir Henry’s page, who was in charge of the party.  “Don’t take it to heart so much; he will come round soon, and be himself again.  Nay, touch her not,” he commanded, as one of the men was about to take her away, “she will do no harm.”

“He is dead,” she sobbed, and ere she could be assured that her conjecture was wrong she fainted away, and was gently laid beside her lover, while they were borne swiftly and silently, by sequestered roads, from the scene of the adventure.

Sir Henry watched them departing till a turn in the road hid them from view, and then, bethinking himself of his position, he mounted his steed and rode rapidly away, feeling immensely relieved that, after all, he had proved successful.

A few minutes in the saddle sufficed him, and then dismounting, he took of his hat and belaboured it well with the stock end of his whip.

He satisfied himself at length, and ceasing from his efforts in that direction he laid it on the ground and surveyed the effect.

It looked battered indeed, and evidently well pleased with the result, the knight set busily to work upon his clothes.  He carefully tore them here and there with a sharp-pointed piece of wood, while to complete the deception, he spoiled the appearance of his attire by daubing it freely with dirt.

“I trow that will be enough,” he murmured, as ceasing his labours he complacently gazed upon the transformation he had effected; “but no!” he added, “I had best be on the safe side,” and he gently scratched his hands to give himself the appearance of having passed through a long and stern struggle.

“A bruise or two would improve my appearance considerably,” he added, “but then bruises hurt and are apt to turn awkward; I think I might safely spare myself the pain; but I might, at all events, break my whip-stock and carry the end of it back;” and having settled these points to his own satisfaction, he mounted his saddle afresh, and setting spurs to his horse he never drew rein until long after he had passed out of the lane, and was well on the high road to Haddon.

As he neared the vicinity of the Hall he proceeded to put into practice what yet remained unfinished of his disguise.  He had treated his own person, and now he turned his attention to the faithful steed which had carried him often and well.

There was no time to waste.  He had lost much precious time already.  He would have found little time in which to be sentimental had he been so inclined, but such an idea never entered into his head, and pulling his jack-knife out of his pocket, he opened the blade and stabbed the horse in the shoulder.

As previously related, De la Zouch had thought of ornamenting himself with a few slight bruises, but he had decided to forego whatever advantages might accrue to him from such a course of conduct, but now the matter was decided for him in a manner which he had never considered.