‘I think I hear them returning, doubtless with a prisoner,’ said Dorothy, and stood with her face turned aside, looking anxiously through the gateway and along the bridge.  She had obeyed her conscience, and had now to fight her heart, which unreasonable member of the community would insist on hoping that her efforts had been foiled.  But in a minute more came the gathering noise of returning footsteps, and presently Lady’s head appeared over the crown of the bridge; then rose Eccles, leading her in grim silence; and next came Richard, pale and bleeding, betwixt two men, each holding him by an arm; the rest of the guard crowded behind.  As they entered the court, Richard caught sight of Dorothy, and his face shone into a wan smile, to which her rebellious heart responded with a terrible pang.

The voice of lord Charles reached them from the other side of the court.

‘Bring the prisoner to the hall,’ it cried.

Eccles led the mare away, and the rest took Richard to the hall, which now began to be lighted up, and was soon in a blaze of candles all about the dais.  When Dorothy entered, it was crowded with household and garrison, but the marquis, who was tardy at dressing, had not yet appeared.  Presently, however, he walked slowly in from the door at the back of the dais, breathing hard, and seated himself heavily in the great chair.  Dorothy placed herself near the door, where she could see the prisoner.

Lady Mary entered and seated herself beside her father.

‘What meaneth all this tumult?’ the marquis began.  ’Who rang the alarum-bell?’

‘I did, my lord,’ answered Dorothy in a trembling voice.

‘Thou, mistress Dorothy!’ exclaimed the marquis.  ’Then I doubt not thou hadst good reason for so doing.  Prithee what was the reason?  Verily it seems thou wast sent hither to be the guardian of my house!’

‘It was not I, my lord, gave the first alarm, but—­’ She hesitated, then added, ‘my poor Marquis.’

’Not so poor for a marquis, cousin Dorothy, as to be called the poor Marquis.  Why dost thou call me poor?’

‘My lord, I mean my dog.’

‘The truth will still lie—­between me and thy dog,’ said the marquis.  ’But come now, instruct me.  Who is this prisoner, and how comes he here?’

’He be young Mr. Heywood of Redware, my lord, and a pestilent roundhead,’ answered one of his captors.

‘Who knows him?’

A moment’s silence followed.  Then came Dorothy’s voice again.

‘I do, my lord.’

‘Tell me, then, all thou knowest from the beginning, cousin,’ said the marquis.

‘I was roused by the barking of my dog,’ Dorothy began.

‘How came he hither again?’

‘My lord, I know not.’

’’Tis passing strange.  See to it, lord Charles.  Go on, mistress Dorothy.’

’I heard my dog bark in the court, my lord, and looking from my window saw Mr. Heywood riding through on horseback.  Ere I could recover from my astonishment, he had passed the gate, and then I rang the alarm-bell,’ said Dorothy briefly.