CHAPTER XXVI.

A DISGUISED LOVER.

Imperious beauty, Treading upon the neck of understanding, Compelled me to put off my natural shape Of loyal duty, to disguise myself.

Ma.s.sINGER

The autumn winds were howling among the trees and scattering the later leaves in all directions, when, with the fall of twilight, a gentle knock was heard at the door of the hut of the chief forester of Haddon.

A lonely traveller stood outside, shivering in his rough and scanty garments as he stood in the still evening breeze, and as he waited expectantly at the unopened door he heard a gruff voice inside the cottage trolling forth a simple ballad of the chase.

He waited patiently until the song was finished, and then, taking courage, he tapped again much louder than before, and was rewarded by hearing footsteps advance towards the threshold, and a moment later the crazy portal was standing open, and the unkempt head of the forester peered inquiringly out.

"What now, what now," he inquired, as his eye lighted upon the strange figure before him; "who and what art thou?"

"Art thou Roger the forester?" asked the wanderer in reply.

"Roger Morton, at your service, yes."

"Then, by the love of heaven, I beseech thee let me in."

"Well, there are few ask that favour off me, but none shall ever say I turned an empty mouth away at night, e'en though it were a beggar's.

Come in."

Thankful indeed to receive so ready an invitation, the traveller entered the hospitable cottage.

"I am not a beggar, though, forsooth," he began, as he seated himself upon the log which did duty for a seat. "You do not recognise me, Roger, I perceive."

"Roger Morton, I repeat it, at your service."

"Well, then, Roger Morton, be it so, but yet you seem to know me not."

"Odds, troth," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the forester, "I seem to know thee somewhat; we have met before."

"A many times, Roger."

"Roger Morton."

"Well, well, Roger Morton, I am apt to forget myself."

"Ha! you are Nathan Grene," interrupted the man, as he laid before his guest some cheese and a mug of new milk. "I know your voice."

"Are we alone?" whispered the traveller.

"We are," replied Roger, as he picked up a stout stick with which to defend himself, "but he would be a bold man to tackle me alone, for I can take care of myself full well;" and he quickly placed himself in an att.i.tude of defence.

"Tut, I mean no ill, 'tis a matter of secrecy which I am about to entrust you with; read this," and pulling up a piece of cord which suspended from his neck, he drew up a tiny casket from his bosom, and, opening it, he drew out a neatly-folded slip of paper and held it out.

Slowly and laboriously Roger spelled the missive out, and having succeeded at last in making himself master of its contents, he whistled with surprise, and closely scanned the visage of his guest.

"What a change!" he exclaimed at length. "What will the baron say?"

"Hush, speak gently, or we shall be overheard. The baron must not know. Can you be trusted?"

"Surely. And you are Master Manners who killed that De la Zouch. To think of it, now."

John Manners it was. His rescue of Dorothy had advanced his suit but little. Lady Vernon had been too proud to own herself defeated, and Sir George had pa.s.sed his word to the Stanleys and was bound to keep to his promise, while Edward Stanley, who had arrived at Haddon soon after the maiden's rescue, had taken a dislike to his rival and had made matters so uncomfortable for him at the Hall that the unfortunate esquire had found it necessary to take the hint and withdraw himself from Haddon.

But though driven away he was not defeated, for he yet found means of hearing from his betrothed, and even occasionally to correspond with her, but he soon found that the long absence grew more and more unendurable, until at last he determined to venture forward at every risk to be near her again.

"And so they would force Mistress Dorothy to marry Sir Thomas Stanley's brother?" said the forester after a pause, as he handed the little missive back.

"Yes, and Dorothy conjures you to help us. You will do it, will you not?"

"So good as she has been to my poor little Lettice, yes, that I will do; but how?"

"I must be a forester."

"'Tis a rough life for such as thee, Master Manners."

"Yes."

"And it is dangerous, too, at times."

"Aye, I know."

"And then if you were to be discovered?"

"Don't talk of ifs, man. I talked it all over with Dorothy long ago.

She could not dissuade me, nor can you. I am ready for anything for her sake."

"Heaven bless her. I--"

"Aye, heaven bless her," interrupted Manners. "I shall wed her yet, if heaven does but bless her."

"You are decided to join our craft, then?" asked Roger. "We are two woodmen short, as luck will have it."

"I have come to be one, then," replied Manners. "I am disguised for that alone."

And so it came to pa.s.s that John Manners, the nephew of an earl, whose uncle, even now, was high in favour with the Queen, and who had himself bowed the knee on more than one occasion before her throne, had become a woodsman, and joined the foresters of Sir George Vernon.

Love, and love alone, could have induced him to humble himself so much. It was for love of Dorothy that he turned his back upon the Royal Court; and now, to win his bride, he was content, nay happy, to discard his own station in life, and take upon himself the lot of a common woodsman.

Fortune was indeed leading him by strange paths, but he trusted she would lead him to the prize at last.

Dorothy's lot, meanwhile, had not been a bright one. Edward Stanley was relentless, and in answer to her piteous appeals that she loved him not, he cited the baron's words, referred her to the promise Sir George had rashly made to Sir Thomas; he declared that he loved her fervently, and, had it not been for the baron's interference, would have carried her off at the end of a month and have married her straightway.