anding in the light of Raphael's star--a candle.

Up to that time I had been incredulous of Lilly's wisdom, and while I
had hoped to find my cousin, I had little faith in the result. But now
conviction came with a shock and, notwithstanding my joy at seeing
Frances, I found myself forgetting where I was in wondering whether Lilly
were a god, a devil, or merely a shrewd charlatan who had obtained his
wonderfully accurate knowledge from something that had happened in the
past wherein the king was concerned, or from some one who knew where
Frances had been taken.

I was awakened from my revery by hearing George call in a low voice to
Frances, telling her to fasten the ends of the leathers to a bedpost or a
heavy piece of furniture, and asking her if she could come down hand
under hand. She answered that she could and took the end of the reins
from Betty. After a minute or two spent by Frances back in the room, she
reappeared, tossed her cloak down to us, climbed out the window, and
stood for a moment beside Betty on the lower window cap. I heard Betty
encouraging her, and presently Frances began her descent, reaching the
ground safely. George would have been demonstrative, but I interrupted
him, saying:--

"Be ready to help me catch Betty in case she falls!"

Betty started down, but George called to her, telling her to climb into
the room, loosen the reins, and throw them out.

"But how shall I go down?" asked Betty, whose nerve was deserting her.

"You must come down as you climbed up--by the vines," returned George.

Betty climbed in at the window, and presently the leathers fell at our
feet. In a moment she reappeared, put one foot out the window, hesitated,
and called to me:--

"I'm afraid, Baron Ned. It seems so far, looking down."

George started toward the coach with Frances, leaving me and one of the
drivers to care for the girl who had saved our expedition from failure.

I could help Betty only by encouraging her, so I spoke softly: "Be brave,
Betty. Go slowly. Don't lose your head."

"It is not my head I fear to lose; it is my footing," she answered,
sitting on the window-sill, one foot hanging outside.

"But you must come, Betty," I said encouragingly. "Now say a little
prayer to the Virgin, and you'll be all right."

I saw her bow her head and cross herself, and the prayer giving her
strength, she climbed to the lower window coping and began her descent
on the vine. When halfway down she fell, and