rust
thee, thou wert ever rash and headstrong."

Two days later, ere the Sabbath mass began, there stole into the
little chapel of Haddon the figure of a man, which ever since the
break of day might have been observed crouched down at the bottom of
the mighty brewing vat. Had anyone cared to look under the cloth which
covered it they would assuredly have discovered him there.

The door of the sanctuary had just been thrown open, somewhat later
than usual, for the servants had evidently overslept themselves, and
were now to be heard throwing the shutters open, and bustling about in
the kitchens, trying to make up for the time they had lost.

The man, by his garb, might have been taken for a labourer. His black
hair hung in matted patches upon his shoulders; his clothes were torn
and patched, and the coarse leather jerkin he wore, which was almost
ready to be replaced by a new one, gave unmistakable tokens that the
wearer was a man of toil.

In spite of all these signs the face of the man was handsome, and not
without traces of hauteur. His hands were red and rough, but not hard
and horny as those of other craftsmen were; and his whole bearing
would have impressed a critical observer that this man at least was
worthier of a better lot.

Yes, it was John Manners. He was bearding the lion in his den.

Pushing the inner door ajar, and casting a look around the yard at
the same time to satisfy himself that he was not observed, he quietly
entered the edifice, and closed the door.

"Ha, ha," he mused. "At last we shall meet again," and at the thought
of it he heaved a sigh of relief.

Seating himself in the family pew, he pulled out a book from his
capacious breast-pocket, and as he anticipated a long period of
uninterrupted peace, he commenced to peruse it. It was "Tottel's
Miscellany," a collection of amorous sonnets, and little love sonnets
and little love songs, and he read page after page, to the delight
of his heart, until he was startled to a sense of his position by the
sound of voices just outside.

"No, no, Sir Edward. We must give her a little longer time, she will
come round soon to our opinion," were the words he unmistakably heard.

"But you promised her to me this Christmas, remember," was the quick
reply.

"Aye, so I did," returned the first speaker. "I would that I had not
promised her at all, she is so unhappy over it."

"And I have laid my plans according to that promise," rejoined his
compani