“Where’s my Dorothy?” impatiently repeated the baron, disregarding the agonised look which met his gaze.

“There—­miles on,” gasped Sir Henry, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, and pointing along the road by which he had just travelled; and then, as if the effort had been too much for him, he fell back panting upon the turf.

Sir George Vernon waited for no more, but hastily bestriding his saddle, he galloped away, bidding the others disperse again upon their search.  Only Sir Thomas Stanley and one solitary retainer remained, and these from very different reasons; the former because he suspected foul play, and wished for the immediate future to have De la Zouch under his own eye; and the latter, much against his will, was constrained to tarry behind to help the unfortunate nobleman back to Haddon.

“Twenty nobles for the man who finds my Dorothy,” shouted the baron as he rode off, “and twice twenty if there has been any knavery and the rogues are caught”; and as the knight of Ashby heard the sound of the galloping grow fainter he was fain to own himself so far only partially successful, and as he was lifted up to be carried away, he shut his eyes and ruminated on the probable present condition of his captives, and wondered where they were.

Dorothy soon awoke from the swoon into which she had fallen on seeing the prostrate condition of her lover, and being graciously permitted by the page to have a considerable amount of liberty, she soon busied herself in trying to restore Manners to consciousness.

Eustace, the page in question, had judged her aright.  There was little fear now of her attempting to escape.  Indeed, the thought never entered into her head; her whole attention was concentrated upon the one effort of restoring her lover to consciousness, and even the heart of the hardest of the rough men around her was softened by the picture of grief which she presented.

At last John Manners opened his eyes, and as he caught sight of Dorothy’s tear-stained face bending over him, he smiled.  His smile dispelled all Dorothy’s fears, as the rising sun dispels the morning mist, and through her grief she smiled responsively back upon her lover.

Eustace witnessed his recovery with a profound sense of relief.  It was in ignorance of the plot that he had been inveigled to obey his lord’s behests, for though at Haddon De la Zouch had acquainted him with a part of the conspiracy, yet he had grossly deceived him.  He had informed him that it was Dorothy Vernon’s wish to flee to Ashby, and it was not until he was undeceived by the conduct of the maiden herself that the fullness of his master’s treachery revealed itself to him.

True, he had been engaged on sundry occasions with his master in unworthy and unknightly deeds, but never until now had he perceived the outrageous conduct of his lord.  His whole nature recoiled from the task which had been imposed upon him, and nothing but the extreme fear with which De la Zouch had inspired him during a long acquaintanceship held him back from releasing the two lovers on the way, and helping them back to Haddon.