ws awaits her concerning her family at Penshurst.'

Philip Sidney's voice and manner had almost a magic power.

Mistress Crawley begged his pardon, nor would she wish to interfere with
her lady's orders. She would take another opportunity of reporting Mistress
Forrester's conduct to her. And, with a profound curtsey to Philip, and an
angry glance at Lucy, she retreated from the field to renew her attack at a
more convenient season.

'Oh! sir,' Lucy began, 'a letter was brought for me, and Mistress Crawley
would not suffer me to have it. I was angry--' and Lucy cast down her eyes,
the long lashes wet with tears; she could not meet the calm, grave face
looking down on her.

Yet through all, there was the sense of infinite delight that Mr Sidney was
her friend, and that Mistress Crawley was discomfited.

'My poor child,' he said, 'I am sorry for you, if, as I think, the letter
contains news of your sister's illness and of her great trouble.'

'Mary, is it Mary who is sick, sir?'

'Yes, and worse than that, her boy has been stolen from her.'

'Then I know who has done it,' Lucy exclaimed. 'I know it was that dreadful
man with the cruel eyes who scared me almost to death a month ago. He said
he wanted to see Ambrose, and now he has stolen him.'

They were at the door of Lady Pembroke's room by this time, and Philip
Sidney drew aside the over arras hanging on it to let Lucy pass in. To her
disappointment he said,--

'I will leave you now to the Countess for comfort and counsel,' and then
the arras fell, and Lucy was called by Lady Pembroke to the further end of
the room, where she was sitting with parchment and pen before her.

'Is that you, Mistress Forrester?' she said. 'Come hither. Mr Sidney has
brought tidings of Mistress Gifford, which are very grievous. Master
Humphrey Ratcliffe has gone to Penshurst, and will use every effort to
recover the boy, who--may God help her--has been stolen from his mother.
She is, I fear, very sick in body as well as mind, and I am debating
whether it would not be well for you to return to Penshurst under care of
some of the servants, who will be sent thither on the morrow. It would be a
comfort, surely, to your sister to have your presence.'

Poor Lucy! This unexpected end to her bright hopes was too much for her.
Tears coursed each other down her cheeks, as much for her own
disappointment as sorrow for her sister. She stood before Lady Pembroke,
unable to utter a word.

'Sit