hought it might be the
sneck of a gate."

CHAPTER XXVI. "FOOL, DO NOT FLATTER."

When Mrs. Garth reached home, after her interview with Rotha in the
road, there was a velvety softness in her manner as of one who had a
sense of smooth satisfaction with herself and her surroundings.

The blacksmith, who was working at a little bench which he had set up
in the kitchen, was also in a mood of more than usual cheerfulness.

"Ey, he's caught--as good as caught," said Mrs. Garth.

Her son laughed, but there was the note of forced merriment in his
voice.

"Where do they say he is--Lancaster?"

"That's it, not a doubt on't."

"Were they sure of him--the man at Lancaster?"

"No, but _I_ were when they telt me what mak of man it was."

The blacksmith laughed again over a chisel which he was tempering.

"It's nothing to me, is it, mother?"

"Nowt in the warld, Joey, ma lad."

"They are after him for a traitor, but I cannot see as it's anything
to me what they do with him when they catch hod on him; it's nothing
to me, is it, mother?"

"Nowt."

Garth chuckled audibly. Then in a low tone he added,--

"Nor nothing to me what comes of his kin afterwards."

He paused in his work; his manner changed; he turned to where Mrs.
Garth was coiled up before the fire.

"Had _he_ any kin, mother?"

Mrs. Garth glanced quickly up at her son.

"A brother, na mair."

"What sort of a man, mother?"

"The spit of hissel'."

"Seen anything of him?"

"Not for twenty year."

"Nor want to neither?"

Mrs. Garth curled her lip.

CHAPTER XXVII. RALPH AT LANCASTER.

The night of the day on which the officers of the Sheriff's court of
Carlisle visited Shoulthwaite, the night of Simeon Stagg's departure
from Wythburn in pursuit of Ralph, the night of Rotha's sorrow and her
soul's travail in that solitary house among the mountains, was a night
of gayety and festival in the illuminated streets of old Lancaster.
The morning had been wet and chill, but the rain-clouds swept
northward as the day wore on, and at sundown the red bars belted the
leaden sky that lay to the west of the towers of the gray castle on
the hill.

A proclamation by the King had to be read that day, and the ancient
city had done all that could be done under many depressing conditions
to receive the royal message with fitting honors. Flags that had lain
long furled, floated from parapet and pediment, from window and
balcony, from tower and tu