look it all, one part being screened from sight by the jutting buttresses of the tower.

Here, on this first night of his return, Antonio had a tryst with Alice Tilney; and though the evening was dark and chilly and full of creeping mist from the water, he knew she would keep it faithfully.

She was there indeed before him, and this time she had no reason to complain of his coldness; the sudden. flame of passionate excitement with which he seized and kissed her was something new.

"Ah, Tonio, but I thought you were never coming back!" sighed the girl. "What kept you so long

away?"

I had to wait as long as it pleased her Ladyship. Do you know, my Alice," he drew her down, holding her fast, on a stone seat under the great walls-"do you know that you are the loveliest woman here,-lovelier than Meg herself?"

"Do you know, Signor, that you are the greatest flatterer?" Antonio laughed. "It was not I that said it. Though I love you well, little Alice, I do not care to tell you lies."

The girl, at first blushing with pleasure, began to pout and to push him away. "Who said it then?

"

"Master Richard Marlowe, the Popinjay. I thought him a fool for his pains; but 'tis his way to blurt out anything he should keep to himself."

Alice's ready smile had returned; she was not displeased by Dick's admiration. "Well," she said, "if I am the prettiest woman,-'tis not true, I know, but you should not be the one to tell me so-ah, gently, rude wretch!" as her lover's caresses became a little too eager. "Let me speak. If I am the prettiest woman, Master Marlowe is the handsomest man.

I

Enough of his praises. Let me hear more, and I'll kiss you to death, and stick my dagger into him."

"No, no, you must keep him alive for Meg, if she is to have him. If only it were I, I should easily choose between him and that crazy lord with his long brown visage. But, Tonio, she is breaking her heart for him. Sometimes I can hardly refrain from telling her-"

"Peace!—that you dare not do."

"No; I should be slain twice over. But is that what my Lady means to do with Meg, to marry her to this worshipful Popinjay? What will my poor Jasper do?"

"Ay, and it is what she meant all along. Listen, and I'll tell you. It was as I guessed; my Lord had a fancy to take the prize for himself, instead of giving it to his brother. But now it seems Master Dick will win the race after all,-at least, my Lady means it, and mind you, Alice, my Lady is a greater queen than ever Queen Margaret was or will be."

"Her face frightens me," the girl said. "But go on, Tonio; tell me about Swanlea and all you did there."

He laughed queerly. "Another time, child; now listen, and obey me. If it pleases Dick Marlowe to praise your sweet face, or even to make love to you, do not answer him roughly. Draw him on, play with him, use all your pretty tricks; I give you full leave and licence. Well, why do you not answer? 'Tis no unkindness to Meg, and I will take care of myself, I promise you."

His instinct, even in the dark, told him that Alice was both puzzled and offended. She was by nature an honest girl, and if, for her misfortune, she had found him irresistible, it was not her way to waste favours on every

"I do not understand you," she said slowly. "At least, if I do," for he laughed, "I must have some reason for it. Why do you wish me to play with this boy's fancy, you, who say you love me? Are these the ways you have picked up among the great, for they are not those of Ruddiford or King's Hall. One love is enough for us here, Tonio.”

"Foolish girl," he said, more kindly. "Well, 'tis true, I ask you to behave as any great lady might, to further her own or her family's ends. You will not harm yourself; are you afraid of harming the innocent boy, Dick Marlowe?"

Again Alice paused a moment before she answered: "He has a sweet countenance, and for worlds I would not hurt him. Make me understand you, Tonio; what ends of yours shall I further by doing this?"

Antonio was angry, for the question was not easy to answer, and it was the first time that Alice, his willing slave, had not accepted his commands without question. But his clever brain did not fail him. ""Tis not for my sake," he said, "but for Jasper's. Maybe you do not know of his last exploit ?"

"Few things that Jasper does are hidden from me," Alice said and sighed. "How can I serve him by any commerce with a Marlowe? He would be ready to kill both you and me if he knew all that we know. And if this young man offered me his love, without any talk of marriage, which would be impossible-"

"I do not know why," Antonio muttered, so low that she hardly caught the words. "Sweetheart," he said aloud, "you take all this too seriously. At least, you can see that any passing fancy which draws away a hopeful suitor of Mistress Meg's must

not that I meant, for Jasper has offended Sir William, and Meg herself likes him not. I meant that a friend among the Marlowes would be useful to him, when he comes to give an account of their chief he has imprisoned, their men he has hunted and slain, their money and goods he has taken. What of Lord Marlowe's troop, Alice? Two of them, starving and wounded, joined us on our journey here."

"It was not Jasper's doing," the girl cried. "It was that wicked Leonard, who is his evil angel. And as to the taking my Lord himselfis it you, you, who dare blame Jasper for that?"

Antonio laughed. "Jasper is a fool, with his blundering Fellowship. He will make the country too hot to hold him. My Lady Marlowe is not a woman to be played with, and so we shall one and all find. Take my counsel, make a friend of Dick the Popinjay. And now, time's flying,kiss me, pretty sweet, and tell me how the days dragged with you while I was away. Tell me of poor Meg, too. By St. Antony and his devils, do you know that she has spoilt her beauty with pining for Mad Marlowe?"

While her Ladyship's new favourite was thus amusing himself and entertaining Alice Tilney, she and Sir William Roden were talking by the fireside, with perfect openness on one side and the appearance of it on the other. Isabel had a talent for suiting her talk and manners to her company. It seemed to Sir William that she was the very woman he had pictured to himself his old friend's wife must be, and he thought more scorn than ever of the warnings the Ruddiford busybodies had given him, and plumed himself on his wisdom and penetration in trusting to my Lady.

They talked politics a little, not going far, but far enough to settle Sir William's mind on that score. He was sure, more from what she did not say than from what she saidthat to call my Lady a Yorkist was to insult her. It appeared to him that she respected the traditions of her family, and this was enough for him. He told his story of Agincourt, and she smiled and asked questions about King Harry the Fifth and her husband in his young days. She knew Sir William's family history; she admired Ruddiford Castle, she praised the fine order of his house, the richness of his appointments. To herself she had wondered how it would be possible to pass even a few days in this savage hole far from modern civilisation, where the Middle Ages still reigned in all their barbarism; but she saw that the place was strong and could well be held for Edward, and she was sincere in thinking that her young Richard would find here no mean heritage.

Thus passed the first quarter of an hour of that interview. Sir William was at his best, happy and mild; his thin old hand stroked his white beard peacefully; his blue eyes, calm, confident, friendly, reposed on the still beautiful woman who sat upright in the chair opposite to him, her clear-cut face young and distinguished in the flattering light of the fire. Sir William himself had half forgotten, as he rambled on of old times and of his various possessions, the serious business that had brought my Lady to Ruddiford. She found it necessary, at last, to begin herself the subject of Lord Marlowe's strange conduct and disappearance.

"The old man is in his dotage," she said to herself. "Like his kind, he can only remember far-away things -Agincourt and such-battles fought before the world began. Antonio

told me less than the truth of the old fool and his folly." Aloud, she made formal apology to Sir William for what Lord Marlowe had done, and explained to him her real wishes, and her amazement at finding in how strange a manner the embassy had failed.

a

"Ah, your Ladyship's ambassador lost his head," the old man said, smiling. "Your son Richard, handsome lad he is, truly-should have come himself to WOO my Margaret. She is young, but Lord Marlowe was not the first man to be conquered by her lovely face. There's Jasper Tilney, a wild fellow whose estate borders mine, but I sent him packing, and the faster that Meg did not like him; she hath her fancies, this grandchild of mine."

"In my view," said Lady Marlowe a little drily, "young men and maidens should have no say of their own in matters of marriage. These things must be arranged by the family, for the advantage of all."

"Surely, surely,-your Ladyship is right-my Meg is a spoilt wench, poor little maid. 'Twas altogether a misfortunate thing, that affair of Lord Marlowe. She set her obstinate heart upon him. heart upon him. I would, my Lady, you had seen it all. There sat my Lord here stood Meg by my chair

Baroness's face; it was half a smile, curling the lips away from the teeth, but the eyes narrowed unpleasantly. "He did not tell me," she murmured. "Master Antonio did that, and why?"

"Out of pure mischief," the Knight said, nodding wisely. "A small frolic with a great result, which vexed Tony as much as any of us. But after all, to my thinking, the thing was done without any word from Tony. 'Twas love, my Lady, sudden and desperate. I was wroth with my poor Meg, and spoke sharply to her, but when I found that her fine lover had changed his mind as quickly as he made it, and gone north without a word, I was sorry for the maid and scolded her no more. For it seemed to me that, saving your presence, certain gossips were right who had whispered to me but your Ladyship is distracted?"

For Isabel was staring at the fire, and instead of listening to his talk, was muttering to herself with the same unpleasant smile. "So,-'twas part of the truth after all,-and the question might have served,-not too late to punish by and by,-a dangerous path to cross is mine, pretty boy!" Sir William's last words recalled her instantly, and with frank face and clear eyes she turned to him. "All this is past," she said. "Two things I have to say to you. Firstit was your wish,-I understood that you had written it in your will-that I should have charge of Margaret, educate her suitably in my Own house, protect her from unfitting suitors, marry her well. Your own life being uncertain, though I trust you may see a venerable age—you wished to have a mind at ease as to your granddaughter. I am right, Sir William?”

"All that was indeed my wish,' the old man said.

"Then I pray you to understand that this foolish business shall be to us,-to you and me-as if it had never been. I will accept the charge of Margaret, and I will marry her, as soon as may be, to the husband I chose for her on receiving your first letter, my son Richard Marlowe. As to my stepson, no woman has yet come between him and his Queen. He is a strange man, full of quips and turns of fancy, no mate for a fair young girl, such as your Margaret.”

"So indeed I think," Sir William said. "But Margaret, my Lady-" "Leave her to me." Isabel smiled her brightest.

"You will not carry her away now? Nay, nay, I cannot-"

"A moment's patience," she said. "I had a second thing to say. I am plagued with a doubt whether Lord Marlowe ever reached the Queen. Not a word have I had from him since he left Swanlea. I find that his men, having left Ruddiford by his orders to follow him north, never found him, but wandered on the moors, were attacked by outlaws,— as I suppose-robbed, killed, scattered. Two of them, by happy chance, met me on my way. Now, Sir William, by your leave, I will stay a while at Ruddiford. We will marry Richard and Margaret, and we will search every hole and corner in this wild country of yours to find my Lord Marlowe. For, though I may be displeased with him, I cannot allow my husband's son, the head of our house, to disappear like an unknown man.'

Surely not," Sir William cried, his pale old cheeks turning red. "This that you tell me is strange, and very terrible. Why, Meg feared as much. Who can have done this? There are wild fellows abroad. But no-he is bad enough, but he would not dare— where are these two men ?" He

started from his chair and shouted"Tony, Tony, rascal, where art thou?" while her Ladyship sat still and smiled.

CHAPTER IX.

IT appeared that the finding of Harry, or at least the gaining some news of him, filled Lady Marlowe's thoughts much more than the immediate marriage of her own son. Her eagerness and anxiety mystified Antonio not a little, for he found it hard to give her Ladyship credit for loving her eccentric and troublesome stepson. Yet, if she cared not at all what became of him, why should she have turned Ruddiford upside down in the attempt to trace his path on that fateful Christmas Day?

Sir William Roden, at least, found her behaviour all that he would have expected from the loyal wife of an elder Harry Marlowe. He was at her service in every way. Parties of

his own men and hers were sent out to patrol the north road for many miles. All that they found was the place where the bodies of Lord Marlowe's slain men had been buried by the country people. They searched the scattered farms, the wretched hovels by the way-side; they questioned the villagers with threats of punishment, here and there beating men till they remembered seeing a solitary traveller on foot struggling across the moor in the snow. To the question "Whither went he?" they pointed vaguely northward, ever northward, and it was a fair chance that the impatient men-at-arms, after a weary ride that way, would come storming back over the fells and for all reward beat the poor hinds again. After that their memories failed them, and enquiries were met with obstinate silence and ignorance, more honest than the men were ready to believe. They searched the open

moor, now purple and brown, boggy and wet with all the life of coming spring. Several of them were nearly lost in these bogs, which had swallowed men and horses before now. After searching the caves and rocky shelters, the scattered fir-groves, the acres of heather and gorse and ling, they returned at last to the castle, saying that without a doubt, unless he had gone away so fast as to outstrip his men entirely, which seemed impossible, some of those deep bogs held Lord Marlowe in their black depths, where only the Judgment Day would find him.

His own two men, who joined in the search, thought rather that he had been overtaken and killed by the same band of outlaws who had attacked them. They themselves followed the road in fear and trembling, expecting to meet those old enemies again, whose very existence was a mystery. Jasper Tilney's Fellowship kept their secrets well; the fray had been seen by no man; and there seemed no exact evidence to connect them with this last crime, committed while Ruddiford sat still on Christmas Day, lazily carousing. If Sir William and his people had any suspicion of them, nothing confirmed it; in all the castle only Alice and Antonio knew. Some of the Ruddiford men, despising these fellows from the south, said among themselves that there existed no large known band of robbers so near the north of the town, and suspected that Lord Marlowe's troop, left without a leader, had quarrelled and fought among themselves for the treasure they were known to be carrying; that the strongest had won, and the two cowards now at Ruddiford had run away. This was strongly the opinion of Black Andrew, Sir William's boldest follower, whose visit to Swanlea had filled him with scorn of the