e night
bird and the soughing of the wind fell upon deaf ears for she was so
absorbed in the one idea of getting home that all else was unheeded.

In the darkness she was obliged to proceed slowly, trusting rather to the
instinct of the horse than to the dim light of the lantern. The dripping
trees saturated her garments almost as thoroughly as if it were indeed
raining, but the fire of filial love was in her heart, and its flame
rendered her impervious to creature discomforts. At length the dawn
came, and the sun's bright beams soon dispersed the mists of the night,
his revivifying rays inspiring the girl with new courage. The horse, of
his own volition, struck into a brisker gait, and Francis was obliged to
control her emotion as each succeeding moment brought her nearer the
Hall.

Just before noon the turrets of Stafford Hall came into view. With a cry
of exultation she spurred her horse forward.

"On, on!" she cried. "Thy journey is almost done!"

At full gallop she sped through the gates and into the base court. Her
father's horse, bridled and saddled, stood at the foot of the steps
leading to the terrace.

"Mistress Francis," cried Brooks, the old servitor who held the horse,
"how came you here?"

"My father?" gasped Francis as she sprang to the ground.

"In the presence chamber, mistress. He----"

She waited to hear no more, but ran up the steps, through the ante-rooms,
and bounded into the presence chamber.

Lord Stafford and his wife stood with their arms twined about each other,
as if in the act of saying farewell. They started at her entrance, the
utmost surprise upon their faces when they saw who the intruder was.

"Father!" exclaimed Francis running to him with outstretched arms.
"Father!"

Her father did not stir to meet her, but, folding his arms, regarded her
sternly.

"False girl," he cried, "why come you hither?"

"To save thee, my father." Francis paused bewildered by his manner.
"Father, they accuse thee of treason. The queen's men are coming to take
thee to the Tower. You must fly."

"And do you bid me fly? You who have betrayed me? You whom I trusted? You
who vowed that not even the rack could extort one syllable from your
lips? Base girl, is it thus that thou dost requite my love? Away! Go back
to that court whose enticements have caused thee to betray thy father."

"I betray thee?" cried Francis in horror. "I, Francis Stafford, betray my
father? Never! Never!"

"Seek not to d