he
could not be discovered, and, finding that he had just been seen in
the vicinity of the old archer's room, they turned their feet in that
direction, only to find themselves once more baffled when they arrived
there.

"No, your ladyships," replied the serving-maid, in answer to their
inquiry, "he has gone again just now; you will be sure to find him in
the kitchen, though."

"'Tis as good as a badger hunt," laughed Crowleigh, as they trailed
into the kitchen again, "but prithee, fair mistress, what shall we
gain by discovering the august knight?"

"In truth I cannot tell," replied Dorothy; "but, trust me, Margaret
has some plan or other in her head.

"Yes," said Margaret, "but see him, here he is; the master of the
house, our guardian, our protector; behold him where he lies," and she
pointed to where the too festive knight lay doubled uncomfortably up
in the salting trough.

"I expected about as much," she went on, "and I want to cure him; what
shall we do?"

"Salt him," slyly suggested Dorothy, "that is the usual way."

"Fasten him down in the box for the night," suggested Crowleigh.

"We will," she said; "here is the lid, we can easily fasten it down so
that he cannot undo it, and we will have a peep at him to see that he
is not smothered when we come back."

In accordance with this decision Sir Benedict was unconsciously made a
prisoner, as securely as any culprit in Derby gaol, and leaving him
in this position the merry quartette started off upon their evening
stroll.

Disdaining the highway, they followed the beaten path which led
through the wood to Rowsley, Crowleigh doing his part to aid his
friend by walking on with Margaret in front, and so deeply engaged her
interest by recounting some of his adventures in badger hunting that
she entirely forgot her sister, who followed behind her in a more
leisurely fashion with Master Manners.

In vain the anxious esquire sought to broach the topic which lay so
near to his heart; the words would not come, and beyond a few gallant
and courtier-like remarks--to the like of which Dorothy had often
listened beforetimes with impatience--he could not succeed; and when
at last he began to give expression to his feelings, it was in a wild
and almost incoherent manner.

As for the maiden who lightly tripped by his side, although she wore
a sober, pensive look, yet she was filled with a silent joy, and the
great fire of love which was burning in her breast she fo