old to Dorothy's
father, and Sir Walter was getting a little fun at the expense of
Johnnie and his wrestlings with the muse of poetry. A lively,
good-humoured sally, at the moment when Dorothy's trembling limbs
carried her over the threshold, evoked a peal of stentorian laughter
from Master Morgan's capacious lungs. The tearful maid stood
bewildered for an instant, then a roar from all three men brought the
colour back swiftly to her cheeks. Johnnie Morgan dying? The wicked
rascal was convulsed with merriment, and his friends, who should be
sorrowing for his untimely fate, were as merry as he! With an
indignant look at the chuckling Peggy, the maiden turned and fled into
the garden again. But Master Morgan, who had been anxiously listening
for her amidst all the chatter and uproar, heard the light patter of
her footsteps upon the flagged courtyard. He sprang to the window,
caught sight of the flying figure, felt his heart beating like a great
drum, murmured an apology to his companions, and darted out of the
room, almost laying Peggy full length on the threshold as he ran off.

Chapter VI.

A SINISTER MEETING.

When Master Windybank left the quaint, riverside garden of Captain
Dawe, he was feeling about as amiable as a wolf might feel who has just
been scared from the side of a lamb by the timely arrival of a huge
sheep-dog. He growled with anger, showed his teeth for an instant,
then slunk away with his tail between his legs. He was a spiteful,
malevolent creature, cunning, unprincipled, and tainted with cowardice.
He had pluck of the wolfish sort, and could fight desperately if
cornered; but he shunned the open unless hard pressed, and preferred
snapping at an opponent's heels to flying in his face. He was a
dangerous foe, and pretty Dorothy had gone far towards making one of
him.

In no pleasant frame of mind, Andrew Windybank strode up the high
street of the town. Few of the townsfolk gave him a good-day; he was
not a popular personage. For one thing, he was a Littledean man and
not of the river-side; his family was purse-proud and tyrannical; worst
of all in the eyes of a Pope-hating people, the Windybank family still
clung to the old faith. Young Master Andrew was quite accustomed to
cold looks, and, as a rule, they troubled him not at all. He was by
nature reserved and uncommunicative, and he was sufficiently well
satisfied with himself to care but little for the opinion of other
people.