n adventure gave it a charm
for her.

"When, Ned?"

"When I send word."

"Very well. I will be ready."

Before Edward could reply, Bertram Lyngern's horn sounded through the
forest, saying distinctly to all who heard it, "Time to go home!" The
three rose and walked towards the trysting-place, both Constance and
Maude possessed of some ideas which had never presented themselves to
them before.

Bertram and Maude rode back as they had come. Maude was very silent,
which was no wonder; and so, for ten minutes, was Bertram. Then he
began:--

"How liked you this forest life, Mistress Maude?"

"Well, Master Lyngern, and I thank you," said she absently.

"And to-morrow is a week our Lady's Grace shall wed?"

"Why, Master Lyngern, you know that as well as I."

Maude wished he would have left her to her own thoughts, from which his
questions were no diversion in any sense.

"Mistress Maude, when will you be wed?"

The diversion was effected.

"I, Master Lyngern! I am not about to wed."

"Are you well avised of that, Mistress Maude?"

"Marry, Master Lyngern!" said Maude, feeling rather affronted.

"If you will take mine avisement, you will be wed likewise," said
Bertram gravely.

"What mean you, Master Lyngern?"

Maude was really hurt. She liked Bertram, and here he was making fun of
her, without the least consideration for her feelings.

"Marry, I mean that same," responded Bertram coolly. "Would it like
you, Mistress Maude?"

"Methinks you had better do me to wit whom your avisement should have me
to wed," said Maude, standing on her dignity, and manufacturing an angry
tone to keep herself from crying. She would certainly have released her
hold of Bertram, and have sat on her pillion in indignant solitude, if
she had not felt almost sure that the result would be a fall in the mud.
Bertram's answer was quick and decided.

"Me!"

Maude would have answered with properly injured dignity if she could;
but a disagreeable lump of something came into her throat which spoilt
the effect.

"Thou hadst better wed me, Maude," said Bertram coaxingly, dropping his
voice and his conventionalities together. "There is not a soul loveth
thee as I do; and thou likest me well."

"I pray you, Master Lyngern, when said I so much?" responded Maude,
stung into speech again.

"Just twenty years gone, little Maude," was the gentle answer.

Bertram's voice had changed from its bantering tone into a tender, quiet