"Then, Dorothy, we must flee together."

"What!" she exclaimed, in surprise. "Leave Haddon?"

"Hush, Doll, I fear it must be so."

"Oh, John," she sobbed, "I cannot do it, indeed I cannot do it. Is there no other way? Have you no other plan?"

"Sir George will never relent," Manners replied, "and in another month--"

"Nay, nay, John, I have refused the one, I am resolved not to wed the other."

There was a painful pause for a minute or two, but at length Manners spoke. His voice trembled and betrayed the depth of his feelings plainly.

"'Tis a hard choice, Doll," he said, "but you must choose betwixt Haddon and me. If you say me nay, I shall lose you."

"Wait, John, you can trust me?" she sobbed.

"Aye, that I can," he returned, tenderly; "but the flower is withering, and will soon be gone. This face was not so pale nor yet so thin before. Dorothy, I cannot see thee droop like this before my eyes."

"You can trust me," she replied; "then wait awhile."

"And then; what then?"

"If they are against us then, I will do thy will and go with thee."

"Nay, Doll, I should lose thee, and that would break my heart; it must be yes or no, there is no other way of escape."

Dorothy bowed her head upon his shoulders while the tears ran freely down her cheeks, and Manners stood over her, his breast heaving in fierce thrills of mingled emotions.

"Choose for thine own happiness, Doll," he whispered, breaking again another painful spell of silence.

"I cannot leave my father so--and Margaret," she added, after a pause.

"Margaret will leave thee soon enough," replied her lover, "and Sir George would wed thee to Sir Edward Stanley in a month. Thou wilt have to leave them soon, anyhow--why not with me? I would brave the world for thy sake."

"I know it," she replied, "but I cannot say 'yes.' Do not persuade me, I will give thee an answer in a little while.

"I have made arrangements," Manners answered. "Everything is ready. We shall go to Nottingham; all our plans are laid ready for the wedding."

"I cannot refuse thee, John," whispered Dorothy, as she dried her tears, "but I cannot consent--not yet, at least. Lettice shall bring thee word."

"So be it, then," he said. "Kiss me, Doll, it may be for the last time; an you decide to stay, I shall go to the wars again."

"Hush, your words are over loud, John. If you go, I die. Listen!"

Manners needed not the injunction, for someone was unmistakably rushing towards them. He turned, and faced the intruder.

"Hold!" he cried, "or you shall rue it. Stand back," he added, as the figure of a man ran towards Dorothy.

"Lettice," exclaimed the other, "could I think this of thee? I had trusted thee better. What have I done that thou should'st treat me thus? As for thee--" he said, turning to Manners.

"Tut, man, doff thy cap," interrupted the latter. "This is Mistress Dorothy Vernon."

"Thou hast met here often enough before," continued the unbelieving Will, "but I'll warrant me this shall be the last time. Mistress Dorothy, indeed! A likely story that; but I know that hood too well to be deceived. You are Sir Edward Stanley, or Master Manners, perchance, I suppose. Roger Morton shall know of this."

"Lettice is in the hall," said Dorothy. "I know thou art to be trusted, Will, for Lettice ofttimes speaks of thee. This is Master Manners. Hush! not a word, tell it not to anyone."

It was the voice of Dorothy, beyond dispute, and not the voice of Lettice, and the astonished youth dropped down upon his knees and sued forgiveness.

"And you knew me not?" asked Manners, as he clapped his companion familiarly upon the back. "I deceived thee, then? Have not the others found out my disguise? Methinks they have looked at me askance of late."

The young woodsman rubbed his eyes to convince himself that it was a reality, and that it was not a vivid dream.

"Nay," he replied, at length; "they said thou wert seeking to rob me of my Lettice, for we knew thee not."

"I am a craftsman still," returned Manners, "mind you tell them not.

There, I shall rejoin thee soon."

Lettice's lover took the hint and departed, not at all loth to get out of the way, and feeling mightily relieved that things happened to be as they were, and were not any worse.

"Doll," said her lover, as the retreating sound died away in the distance, "we have another friend in him. Do thou tell this to Lettice, happen it will enliven her. I will not press thee for thy answer now; we shall love each other to the end, I know. Remember this, Doll, thy happiness as well as mine is at stake. Sir George cannot take back his words even though he repent them. He cannot relent, for he has promised thee, and he is the very soul of honour, but, an we please ourselves, he cannot help it, and all will come right. Nay, interrupt me not, I have weighed my words, there will never be such another chance for us to flee. There, now, thou knowest all I can tell thee, thou shalt decide anon."

Dorothy was silent, but if looks had speech, she had pleaded eloquently. Her resolution swayed to and fro in the terrible struggle of her affection: her soul was riven. She was too happy in the company of her lover to say him nay, and yet, at the same time, the bond of love which drew her to her father was far too strong to be suddenly snapped.

"I must go," she said, at last, "but whether it be aye or whether it be nay, in life and in death I am thine alone. Kiss me, John, and let me go."

Manners was deeply agitated. He took her face in both his hands, and stooping down, he kissed her again and again.

"It may be the last time," he said, "but trust me, Doll, I am only thine. I shall keep my love-troth true. Keep a stout heart, my sweet one, and by my faith we shall be happy yet."

They had approached the Hall as near as was safe, and now the moment for parting had arrived Dorothy tried to speak, but her heart was too full, and words failed to come at her command. She listened to her lover's last injunction to keep up a brave heart, and wringing his hands in agonised silence, she gathered her cloak around her, and hastened into the Hall.

CHAPTER x.x.xI.

THE TOKEN.

And whilst the feast progressed apace, The music swelled in joyous strain; But midst the group was one fair face That scarcely hid the look of pain.

And ever and anon she looked away; And when the others went she turned to stay.

Early next morning, as Manners was engaged in collecting f.a.ggots for the hungry fires at the Hall, he was startled to hear himself addressed by his proper name.

He turned round aghast, but was rea.s.sured when he saw that it was none other than Lettice's lover who stood by his side.

"Hush, Will," he said, "call me Hubert still; it were dangerous for my name to be overheard. But thou hast news for me, I can read it in thy face."