r I cannot go."

"Wherefore not, poor child?" my lady asked her.

"I have not been made an honest, wedded woman, and none would believe my
story, and--and he might come back."

"And if he came back?" said her ladyship.

At this question the girl slipped from her grasp and down upon her knees
again, catching at her rich petticoat and holding it, her eyes searching
the great lady's in imploring piteousness, her own streaming.

"I love him," she wept--"I love him so--I cannot leave the place where he
might be. He was so beautiful and grand a gentleman, and, sure, he loved
me better than all else--and I cannot thrust away from me that last night
when he held me to his breast near our cottage door, and the nightingale
sang in the roses, and he spake such words to me. I lie and sob all
night on my hard pillow--I so long to see him and to hear his voice--and
hearing he had been with you that last morning, I dared to come, praying
that you might have heard him let drop some word that would tell me where
he may be, for I cannot go away thinking he may come back longing for
me--and I lose him and never see his face again. Oh! my lady, my lady,
this place is so full of wickedness and fierce people--and dark kennels
where crimes are done. I am affrighted for him, thinking he may have
been struck some blow, and murdered, and hid away; and none will look for
him but one who loves him--who loves him. Could it be so?--could it be?
You know the town's ways so well. I pray you, tell me--in God's name I
pray you!"

"God's mercy!" Anne breathed, and from behind her hands came stifled
sobbing. My Lady Dunstanwolde bent down, her colour dying.

"Nay, nay," she said, "there has been no murder done--none! Hush, poor
thing, hush thee. There is somewhat I must tell thee."

She tried to raise her, but the child would not be raised, and clung to
her rich robe, shaking as she knelt gazing upward.

"It is a bitter thing," my lady said, and 'twas as if her own eyes were
imploring. "God help you bear it--God help us all. He told me nothing
of his journey. I knew not he was about to take it; but wheresoever he
has travelled, 'twas best that he should go."

"Nay! nay!" the girl cried out--"to leave me helpless. Nay! it could not
be so. He loved me--loved me--as the great duke loves you!"

"He meant you evil," said my lady, shuddering, "and evil he would have
done you. He was a villain--a villain who meant to trick you. Had God