be well. God will speed us.'

'Nay, dear friend,' Mary said. 'Nay, it cannot be. I can never be your
wife.'

'And, by Heaven, why not? What hinders? Something tells me, presumptuous
though it may be, that you might give me a little--a little love, in return
for mine. Why is it beyond hope?'

'Hush!' Mary said, 'you do not know why it is beyond hope.'

Humphrey's brow darkened, and he bit his under lip to restrain his
irritation.

Presently Mary laid her hand on his shoulder as he knelt by her.

'It is beyond hope,' she said,'because the man who stole my child from me
is my husband.'

Humphrey started to his feet, and said in a voice of mingled rage and
despair,--

'The villain! the despicable villain! I will run him through the body an I
get the chance.'

'Nay, Humphrey,' Mary said in pleading tones, 'do not make my burden
heavier by these wild words. Rumours had reached me in the winter of last
year, when the Earl of Leicester with his large following were at
Penshurst, that my husband was alive. Since then I have never felt secure;
yet I did not dare to doff my widow's garments, fearing--hoping the report
was false. As soon as I heard of this man lurking about the countryside, a
horrible dread possessed me. He asked Lucy to bring Ambrose to meet
him--this strengthened my fears. From that moment I never let the boy out
of my sight. Thus, on that morning of doom, I took him with me to look for
the shepherd and the lost lamb. Ah! woe is me! He was lying in wait. He had
told me, when as I sat late in the porch one evening, that he would have my
boy, and I knew he would wreak his vengeance on me by this cruel deed. I
seized Ambrose by the hand and ran--you know the rest--I fell unconscious;
and when I awoke from my stupor, the light of my eyes was gone from me.

'Ah! if God had taken my boy by death; if I had seen him laid in the cold
grave, at least I could have wept, and committed him to safe keeping in
the hands of his Heavenly Father--safe in Paradise from all sin. But
now--now he will be taught to lie; and to hate what is good; and be brought
up a Papist; and bidden to forget his mother--his _mother_!'

Humphrey Ratcliffe listened, as Mary spoke, like one in a dream.

He must be forgiven if, for the moment, the mother's grief for the loss of
her boy seemed a small matter, when compared with his despair that he had
lost her.

For a few moments neither spoke, and then with a great rush of passionate
emot