ille, to avoid more unpleasant talk, poured into Cary's unheeding
ears the story (which he probably had heard fifty times before) how old
Chief-justice Hankford (whom some contradictory myths make the man who
committed Prince Henry to prison for striking him on the bench), weary
of life and sickened at the horrors and desolations of the Wars of the
Roses, went down to his house at Annery there, and bade his keeper shoot
any man who, passing through the deer-park at night, should refuse to
stand when challenged; and then going down into that glen himself, and
hiding himself beneath that oak, met willingly by his keeper's hand the
death which his own dared not inflict: but ere the story was half done,
Cary grasped Lady Grenville's hand so tightly that she gave a little
shriek of pain.

"There they are!" whispered he, heedless of her; and pointed to the oak,
where, half hidden by the tall fern, stood Rose and the Spaniard.

Her head was on his bosom. She seemed sobbing, trembling; he talking
earnestly and passionately; but Lady Grenville's little shriek made them
both look up. To turn and try to escape was to confess all; and the
two, collecting themselves instantly, walked towards her, Rose wishing
herself fathoms deep beneath the earth.

"Mind, sir," whispered Lady Grenville as they came up; "you have seen
nothing."

"Madam?"

"If you are not on my ground, you are on my brother's. Obey me!"

Cary bit his lip, and bowed courteously to the Don.

"I have to congratulate you, I hear, senor, on your approaching
departure."

"I kiss your hands, senor, in return; but I question whether it be a
matter of congratulation, considering all that I leave behind."

"So do I," answered Cary, bluntly enough, and the four walked back to
the house, Lady Grenville taking everything for granted with the most
charming good humor, and chatting to her three silent companions
till they gained the terrace once more, and found four or five of
the gentlemen, with Sir Richard at their head, proceeding to the
bowling-green.

Lady Grenville, in an agony of fear about the quarrel which she knew
must come, would have gladly whispered five words to her husband: but
she dared not do it before the Spaniard, and dreaded, too, a faint or
a scream from the Rose, whose father was of the party. So she walked
on with her fair prisoner, commanding Cary to escort them in, and the
Spaniard to go to the bowling-green.

Cary obeyed: but he gave her the