Sir John Finett, by advice from his friend Weldon, determined on
acquainting their host with the lady's disappearance. They had a shrewd
suspicion that Buckingham was the contriver of this daring outrage;
though from his great power, influence, and audacity, they had
everything to fear and but little to hope from the result. Yet no time
should be lost in the attempt.

As they entered the hall, Sir Gilbert Hoghton and several of the guests
were still making merry after the feast. Calling him aside, they
communicated the dismal tidings.

"Grace Gerard amissing, say ye?"

"'Tis even so," said Sir John; "we have yet no clue to the search; but
this night shall not pass without the attempt, at any rate. In the
morning we will to the king with our complaint."

"Boy," said the baronet to his little henchman, "go to the woman's
suite, and rouse Grace Gerard's maid."

"The woman was in the kitchen some half hour agone, conveying her
mistress a warm draught, or some such puling diet," said the page.

"Haste," cried Sir John impatiently, marvelling at this unexpected
intelligence,--"the lad is blinded by some misapprehension. I'll forfeit
my best jewel she is not in her chamber. This interlude works i' the
plot--part of the trickery now enacting."

But the page made a quick return.

"What news?" said Finett.

"The lady is gone to rest; something discomposed, though, and out of
spirits. So says her maiden, whom I would have questioned more
straitly, but she rebuked me sharply for my impertinence."

"Pray you send and question her," said Sir John.

"Nay," returned Sir Gilbert, smiling, "I'll be bound the lady is safe;
and her maiden has other guess-matters to look to than letting out the
secrets of her mistress's chamber."

They were obliged to rest satisfied, or rather unsatisfied, with this
answer. But the mystery was more and more inexplicable. Either some
laughable mistake or some deep-laid villany was intended. Sir John dared
not pursue the subject to this extremity. He felt assured of her purity
and honour. Her manners, so confiding and unsuspicious, showed a heart
unacquainted with guile.

After a sleepless night Sir John arose, feverish and unrefreshed. He
threw open the window of his chamber, which looked into the courtyard.
Near a side postern stood a grey palfrey, caparisoned for a lady's use,
and impatiently awaiting its burden. The hour was too early for morning
rambles, but the beast was evidently equip