elp
thee more, but I fear that cannot be."

"Bid her keep her tryst to-night, Lettice," he replied, "and thou wilt
serve thee well."

"I fear me she cannot. Oft has she tried and failed; she is watched
too well. An she were to pass the gate alone the whole Hall would know
of it."

"Look, then, Lettice, could you come?"

Lettice often had done so before to meet her own stalwart young lover
in the privacy of the wood, and she blushed at the question.

"I come?" she replied, "happen I might were I but to speak to the
chamberlain first."

"Speak to him, then, for mercy's sake, speak," replied the lover,
quickly. "Lend Doll your hood and shawl, none will know the difference
in the dark. Tell the porter to expect you. There, adieu; fail me not,
good Lettice," and without leaving her time to make reply he
rushed hastily out of the room, and left her alone to carry out his
instructions as best she could.

Dusk was rapidly deepening into darkness when John Manners stole out
of his humble abode to wend his way to the old trysting place, whither
he had been so frequently of late. His progress was watched by a pair
of eager, jealous eyes, as their owner silently but surely dogged
his every footstep; and when the tree was reached at last Manners lay
wearily down at its foot, fully resolved not to depart from thence
until he had brought matters to a crisis. At the same moment the
figure of a young man glided stealthily into the cover of a bush
within a few yards of where the other lay. Manners was not aware of
the fact; he had neither seen nor heard his pursuer, and in happy
ignorance of the circumstance he awaited Dorothy's appearance.

The night was chilly, for the snow had just departed from off the
ground, and the fast gathering leaden clouds threatened to quickly
cover it over again; but, buoyed up with hope and excitement, Manners
heeded it not. Quietly, but not calmly, he lay, impatiently awaiting
the coming of his love.

At last she came, but she approached so silently that her lover was
not aware of her presence until she spoke.

"John," she exclaimed, "I am here."

He was upon his feet in an instant.

"My darling, my beloved;" he cried, as he rapturously embraced her in
his arms. "This is good of thee, 'tis more than I deserve."

"Say not so," she replied. "I would do aught for thy dear sake. I have
endured much for thee, but I have been happy in it because it was for
thee."

"Thou would'st do aught for