ghts and squires who surrounded them and
dutifully paid their court to them with all the reverence of a
fast-departing chivalry.

The chase was to be on foot, and in the rear followed a number of
pages, each leading his dogs and carrying his own as well as his
master's jumping pole. Everything promised well. The turf had dried
after the recent floods, with a pleasing elasticity. The sun shone
brilliantly upon the gold-trimmed jerkins of the hawks, and the hum of
conversation, with its occasional outburst of merry ringing laughter,
added to the tinkling of the sonorous little falcon bells, or the bark
of the dogs every now and again as they ineffectually tried to break
away from the leashes in which they were held, all tended to put the
party in the best of spirits.

Dorothy Vernon, as usual, was surrounded by a circle of admirers,
each of whom was anxious to bring himself under her especial notice by
anticipating her wishes, or quickly fulfilling her slightest commands.

Sir Henry de la Zouch was there, as a matter of course. He was most
assiduous in his attentions, and although it was plainly visible that
his presence was as little appreciated as his suit, yet he still kept
by her side.

"Methinks, fair demoiselle," he began, "thou art hardly so sprightly
this morning as the occasion might warrant. Now, Mistress Margaret,
there--"

"Aye, Margaret again, Sir Henry," interrupted the maiden; "thou art
for ever placing me beside my sister Margaret. He bears too hardly
upon a simple maiden, does he not, Sir John?"

Sir John de Lacey, a little fidgety old man on the wrong side of
sixty, nervously played with his collar, and, delighted at the
opportunity thus afforded him of paying back a grudge of long
standing, he summoned to his aid all the dignity he was capable of
assuming, and declared that the whole of Sir Henry's conduct was
ungallant to the last degree.

De la Zouch darted a look of intense wrath at the old man, but as the
latter was yet rearranging his collar, the effort was lost.

"Nay, nay, sweet Dorothy," he said, "I meant to say naught that would
vex thee, for I would have thee smile upon me and not frown; and if my
words have not been pleasing to thee in the past, I am sorry for it,
and will endeavour to amend my ways in the future."

"Where do we go to-day?" asked Dorothy, not noticing his last remark.
"We are full late for the woodcock, and the partridges are not yet
ready."

"There are plenty o