plied Lady Stanley, and she went away to
seek the truant sister, leaving her husband to beguile the tediousness
of the time by engaging in conversation with his brother. Sir Thomas
was in high glee, and could find no sympathy with the miserable
forebodings of his younger brother.

"I tell thee what, Edward," he said, "thou must let her have more
freedom. You are too rash; you must be astute an you would succeed.
Dorothy is drawn by affection, not driven by ill words or sour looks.
It had been better for thee, I trow, an thou hadst not pressed for the
marriage so soon; but thou hast done it now."

"Lady Maude advised me in it, and I cannot say I repent it now, though
my heart does misgive ever and again," he replied.

"That John Manners," continued the elder Stanley, "is a good enough
man, a likely fellow, and would have done well for Dorothy; aye, and
had not you been in the way, he would have won her, too. Thou art no
match for him, Edward; thou art too impatient."

Edward hung down his head, and gazed uncomfortably upon the floor. He
was conscious of the truth of his brother's statement, and could not
well refute it. He paused in silence, hoping that the subject would be
pursued no further.

"Here comes Margaret," he said, lifting up his head and feeling
mightily relieved that the awkward pause had come to an end; but
sorely dismayed to see no Dorothy following behind.

"Where is she?--she has gone!" he almost screamed as he saw the look
of consternation on her face.

"I cannot find her," Margaret replied, addressing herself to Sir
Thomas. "I have searched her rooms, but all in vain; and no one knows
aught of her, no one has seen her."

"Said I not so?" furiously exclaimed Sir Edward. "She has gone; the
bird has flown."

"What bird?" asked the baron, coming up.

"Dorothy, Sir George. Dorothy has fled."

"Fled; nay it cannot be," returned the baron, stoutly. He had too much
faith in Dorothy to believe that.

"They are searching for her now," said Margaret. "Nobody knows where
she is, and Sir Edward has missed her long. I cannot understand it."

"Her clothes are gone. Her riding habit has gone," exclaimed one of
the domestics, rushing breathlessly up to the group. "Father Nicholas
hath just come in and he says two horses, galloping, passed him on the
Ashbourne road. One, he thinks might have been a lady, but it was too
dark to see distinctly."

This she gasped out in jerks, but her news was intelligibl