agged chamber, in which the festive table, which has
creaked under many a load of beef and venison, still stands in
grandeur all unique, was in full glory then. The musicians' gallery
was richly bedecked with gilt, and was adorned with antlers, the
trophies of many a chase, in place of the dingy, whitewash-spotted,
pictures which, hang upon its walls to-day (and look as if they were
sadly in need of a washing). Gay hunting-scenes, and a canvas on
which, were delineated the forms of the Virgin and her Babe, met the
eye and pleased it. A savoury odour of newly-baked cakes floated along
the passage from the kitchens right into the room, and a piece of
tapestry, one of Dorothy's first attempts, depended over the doorway
of the carved wooden screen to keep out draughts, and at the same time
give a warm and pleasing effect to the interior.

It was into this room, in which sat the baron and Sir Thomas Stanley,
looking terribly grave and severe, that Lady Vernon led poor Dorothy.

"Come hither, Dorothy," said the baron, as she entered.

The "Dorothy" sounded ominous, and she advanced in great trepidation.

"You have been out without our knowledge," he exclaimed.

"Out; of course she has," interrupted Lady Vernon. "See, she cannot
deny it, she has the tokens of guilt upon her now," and she derisively
pointed at the tell-tale garments she had made her carry in.

"Hush, Maude," said the baron, "you will frighten her. Dorothy, you
have been with Manners," he added, turning severely towards her.

Dorothy hung down her head, but vouchsafed no reply. She was in an
agony of fear for the safety of her lover, but amid all her terrors
she was resolved that no words should fall from her lips which might
bring trouble upon him.

"Aye, and with Master Manners again," repeated the dame.

"What have you to say, Dorothy?" asked Sir George quickly.

"Nothing," she replied.

"Then you _have_ been with him?"

"Nay, I said not so."

"Of course she has," exclaimed Lady Vernon, "who can doubt it?"

"We heard Manners speaking; I could swear to it now," said Sir Thomas
Stanley.

"I fear it is even so, Dorothy," said the baron, not unkindly. "There
is a guilty look upon thy face. Now tell us where he is and we will
forgive thee thy share."

Dorothy returned no answer. She was determined that no words of hers
should injure him.

"He saved my life," she replied, as the question was repeated.

"Tut, tell us where to find him, else tho