nvestigations of
the mysterious crime--he would learn something vastly horrible and
awesome, something he had best never know.

He tried to take indifferent leave of the ladies, yet he quite dreaded
to meet Lady Sue's eyes. If all the misery, the terror which she must
feel, were expressed in them, then indeed, would her young face be a
heart-breaking sight for any man to see.

He kissed the hand of Editha de Chavasse, and bowed in mute and
deferential sympathy to the young girl-wife, who of a truth had this day
quaffed at one draught the brimful cup of sorrow and of shame.

An inexplicable instinct restrained him from taking de Chavasse's hand;
he was quite glad indeed that the latter seemingly absorbed in thoughts
was not heeding his going.

The squire in his turn now passed out of the little gate. The evening
was drawing in over-rapidly now, and it would be a long and dismal ride
from here to Sarre.

Fortunately he had two serving-men with him, each with a lantern. They
were now standing beside their master's cob, some few yards down the
road, which from this point leads in a straight course down to Sarre.

Not far from the entrance to the forge, Boatfield saw petty-constable
Pyot in close converse with Master Hymn-of-Praise Busy, butler to Sir
Marmaduke. The man was talking with great volubility, and obvious
excitement, and Pyot was apparently torn between his scorn for the
narrator's garrulousness, and his fear of losing something of what the
talker had to say.

At sight of Boatfield, Pyot unceremoniously left Master Busy standing,
open-mouthed, in the very midst of a voluble sentence, and approached
the squire, doffing his cap respectfully as he did so.

"Will your Honor sign a warrant?" he asked.

"A warrant? What warrant?" queried the worthy squire, who of a truth,
was falling from puzzlement to such absolute bewilderment that he felt
literally as if his head would burst with the weight of so much mystery
and with the knowledge of such dire infamy.

"I think that the scoundrel is cleverer than we thought, your Honor,"
continued the petty constable, "we must not allow him to escape."

"I am quite bewildered," murmured the squire. "What is the warrant for?"

"For the apprehension of the man whom the folk about here called the
Prince of Orleans. I can set the watches on the go this very night, nay!
they shall scour the countryside to some purpose--the murderer cannot be
very far, we know that he is dre