Face to face with the past he stands,
With guilty soul, and blood-stained hands;
And his deeds rise up against him.
Too weak to win, he cannot fly,
He begs for life and fears to die,
But justice overtakes him.

The second day’s search for Dorothy proved as ineffectual as the first, and yielding with ill grace to the counsel of his friends, Sir George Vernon submitted to retire from active search, and agreed to remain at Haddon while others scoured the country round for the truants.

“It is of no use,” said the baron, “I cannot sleep. I shall not attempt it to-night either. It is enough that I should consent to stay at home.”

“But you must have rest,” expostulated Stanley, “or you will quickly break down under the strain.”

“I shall stay here, I tell you,” was the dogged reply, “and receive the reports as they come in. There are four or five out yet.”

“Has Crowleigh returned?” asked Sir Thomas abruptly.

“Not yet; may he bring her back.”

“’Tis most queer,” soliloquised the young knight. “I cannot understand it, I confess. Do you suspect him, Sir George?”

“No, I don’t,” he replied, bluntly, “do you?”

“I do now. I suspect the whole lot of them; and that Manners and De la Zouch are at heart at daggers drawn.”

“And Doll?”

“As for her,” continued Sir Thomas, demurely; “she is far too fond of Manners. I thought we should have trouble with her, for she has a stubborn will.”

“Like Lady Maude,” exclaimed Sir George sententiously, “but go! Leave me alone; you must be in the saddle early in the morning, and you at all events require rest.”

“Will nothing shake your determination?” pursued Stanley, as he looked in unfeigned pity at the toil-worn, care-riven brow of the unfortunate baron. “You will make yourself far worse else.”

“I shall sit and wait. Send me in Father Nicholas, for he alone shall bear me company.”

“Well, well,” he replied, “I would persuade thee if I could Sir George, but since I cannot do that I will go, but you should rest,” and leaving these words to ring in the baron’s ears, the young nobleman retired to his couch and left the baron alone.

The sun had not long risen ere he was with Sir George Vernon again. His horse was ready to carry him once more upon the search, and he himself was ready for the ride. He had expected to find the baron asleep, but in this he was disappointed, for Sir George sat beside the table deep in converse with the priest. Crowleigh had returned, and so had the rest, but their tales were alike despondent; none of them had discovered a trace, and good Father Nicholas had found it a difficult task under the circumstances to revive the drooping spirit of his master.

“No luck, Sir Thomas, naught but ill news,” said the baron, as he replied to his friend’s greeting; “’tis an ill wind this. There is never a trace as yet, and ”

“Hist!” interrupted Margaret’s lover. “I hear the sounds of galloping hoofs.”

Sir George opened the casement window, and peered out into the gloom.

“I cannot see them yet,” he exclaimed, “but there are more than one, and they are nearing fast. If it should be Dorothy,” he said with a sigh of intense feeling; “what joy!”

“Aye, there are more than one,” said Stanley. “We cannot see them here. Hark, they are thundering at the gate even now; let us go and meet them, and heaven grant, whoever it may be, that they bring good news.”

“Amen,” ejaculated the baron fervently, and his prayer was echoed by the rest.

Before they could reach the gate, the horseman had been admitted; and as Sir George and his friends stepped into the yard they recognised not the features of Sir Edward Stanley, as Margaret’s lover secretly thought, but the well-known form of Manners.

“How! by my halidame, what meaneth this?” exclaimed the baron, delighted beyond measure to see the esquire again. “Tell me, Manners, where my Dorothy is?”

“Speak fair words,” cautioned Stanley, with a frown.

“Dorothy!” gasped her lover. “Hasten, I beseech thee. She is at Ashby. Where is De la Zouch, the villain?”

“On his way home,” answered Sir Thomas.

Manners groaned aloud.

“Heaven forfend us, then,” he cried. “He is a monster of iniquity. We must hasten back, an you would rescue Dorothy.”

“There is some conspiracy in this,” exclaimed Stanley. “Here is De la Zouch’s page lurking behind these horses. Come hither, sirrah, for I recognise thee well. ’Twere a bold thing of thee to venture on so rash an errand here.”

Eustace was pushed unwillingly forward, and as he stood before the knight his knees knocked together under the terrible frowns that were bestowed upon him.

“Nay, it is right,” expostulated Manners. “Leave him alone, Sir Thomas, he will be of service to us yet.”

“But where is Dorothy?” asked the impatient baron. “What has become of her? Why does she not return with thee?”

“De la Zouch waylaid us,” answered the esquire, “and we fell into his trap. I have ridden hard from Ashby since the sun last set. I escaped his dungeon by the aid of this, his page, to save poor Dorothy. I am faint from my bruises and hard riding. Cannot you believe me?”

“Sir Henry,” replied the baron, with a sneer. “Sir Henry told us a similar story, but then it was you who had waylaid him.”

“The villain!” groaned Manners, “I will have revenge.”

“That’s just what he called you,” said Sir Thomas, promptly. “Two of a trade never agree.”

“My master felled Master Manners to the ground himself,” interposed the page; “or rather, I mean he struck him senseless while he lay injured on the ground.”

“And he carried Doll away to his castle,” said Manners. “I shall avenge her, though. I can understand your suspicions now, and forgive you, for De la Zouch has played you false as well as me, and has returned to his castle now to reap the reward of his villainy. I shall pursue him, though. He sought my life, defamed my name, imprisoned me, and now he has gone when I get here. Eustace,” he added, turning to the page, “let us return; I will gather friends of my own with which to rescue her, and I shall be strong till I have met and paid my enemy. God grant we may yet be in time. Crowleigh, you believe me? You will come, and, mayhap, we may intercept him ere his journey’s end, for he cannot long be gone.”

“Nay, nay, man; stay and have thy wound attended to,” said the baron sympathetically. “Thou’rt honest, I would swear.”

“And yesterday he seemed well nigh dead,” said Eustace, referring to Manners. “Sure I am he can ride no longer. We rode hard here, and well I trow his wound ”

“Stay not for me,” interrupted Manners. “This is precious time. I command you to hasten or it will be too late, for when De la Zouch discovers I am gone, he will certainly remove her to another place.”

“We will,” enthusiastically shouted Sir George, and in the twinkling of an eye he seized hold of the alarm-bell rope and in an instant awakened the tired sleepers of the neighbourhood by its clang.

“And thou art his page,” said Stanley. “Thou wilt show us the way.”

“Aye, that I will an it please you, my lord, but I will never return to him.”

“Meg, we are off,” exclaimed Sir Thomas to his betrothed, who had hastily descended from her own room, startled at the unusual noise in the courtyard at that early hour. “We are going to bring Dorothy back."’

“Where is she?”

“At Ashby Castle, so Master Manners saith,” he replied. “You will go with us, I hope,” he added, turning round to the esquire. “You will want to revenge yourself.”

“I will avenge her, yes;” he responded, not heeding the convert sneer, “that I will right heartily.”

Meanwhile lanterns had been glimmering in the lower portion of the yard; men had been frantically shouting to each other, and their voices had mingled with the trampling of horses’ feet; and now, everything being ready, the fact was announced, and in a few minutes the cavalcade started out upon its expedition, determined not only to rescue the maiden, but also to administer a sharp and well-merited rebuke upon the faithless knight who had decoyed her away.

De la Zouch arrived at his castle soon after the party started from Haddon, and although he had failed to lull the Vernons into a false belief in his fidelity, yet he had put them on a wrong scent, and he congratulated himself inasmuch as he had left behind him no strong suspicion of the truth.

Simon Greenwood had retired to rest. Sir Henry was not expected home so soon. Indeed, he had told his chamberlain confidentially that if events progressed aright he should probably not return for a week or maybe more, and the sudden return of his lord found the worthy deputy in nowise prepared to meet him, and he had his good dame to thank that, inasmuch as she had deprived him of liquor sufficient to make him drunk, he was in no worse condition than he happened to be.

“Ha, Simon,” exclaimed the knight, as that functionary put in an appearance, “I am back again, you see.”

“Troth, and in good time, too, my lord.”

“Aye, I have come pretty quick, I assure you. The birds are safe, eh?”

“Safe enough, I would stake my head on that.”

“That’s right, I knew I could trust you, Simon. I am hungry though, and by all the saints in the calendar, I am sore and stiff as well. I am injured, too, for my horse fell down with me and crushed my leg.”

“You look it, my lord, and worse,” exclaimed Dame Greenwood. “You look badly hurt.”

“Ah, my own fault, my own fault; I have been a fool. Eustace himself could not have ridden worse. Where is Eustace, I have not seen him yet?”

Simon looked inquiringly at his better half, and to his discomfiture, she stolidly returned the glance. Neither of them appeared to know anything of his whereabouts. In the scuffle and worry of the time he had been forgotten, and they had to make the best defence they could.

“Methinks he is paying a visit to some fair damsel of the town, Sir Henry, with his dulcimer,” suggested the dame. “I saw him with the music some while before the gates were closed.”

“He was prating this and that to me, my lord,” added Simon, who found his tongue at length, “until I threatened to whip him. He sneaked away quick enough then, ha, ha!”

“Ha, ha!” laughed the knight, as he divested himself, with Simon’s aid, of his riding coat, “he would order thee about, eh? But, by my faith, man, I am hungry, I swear. I am quite ready to sup when I have seen my prisoners.”

Dame Greenwood took the hint and went out to procure the meal. “Sir Henry is in wonderful good humour to-night,” she murmured, “and ’tis a good thing, too for Simon, that he is. What a fool he would be without me,” and comforting herself with this reflection, she hastened to obey her lord’s behests.

“Dorothy is in the tower?” asked Sir Henry as he ravenously fell upon his meal. “How is she now? Proud, I suppose, eh?”

“Humph! well enough, though a trifle obstinate.”

“Well, we will go and see her. And Manners, what of him?”

“Ha! high and haughty. Rides the high horse, my lord. Has friends at Court and friends all around coming to release him.”

“A pretty tale, truly, Simon,” laughed the knight, as he finished his hasty meal and ordered some more spiced wine to drink.

“Yes, my lord,” replied the chamberlain. “So I put him in the old dungeon.”

“Eh, what! You have put him where?” asked Sir Henry, turning back breathlessly. “You idiot, you; where are the keys?”

“In the old dungeon, I said,” explained the wonder-stricken chamberlain. “The safest part of the castle, my lord.”

“Where are the keys?” thundered his master. “Quick!”

Simon handed them over, and struck with intense amazement at the sudden and complete change in his master’s manner, he awaited the course of events.

“Follow me,” said the knight, sharply, as he opened the door and started across the yard. “Did I not command thee to put him in the tower?” he cried.

Simon returned no answer. He was stupified. His head swam, and he half persuaded himself as he followed his master across the yard that he was the victim of some dread nightmare.

“See here!” exclaimed Sir Henry as he kicked the drunken gaoler aside and sharply awoke him; “and here!” he added, as he unlocked the ponderous door and held the glimmering lantern up. “See here,” he cried, “what’s this?” and he pushed the wondering Simon in.

“Why how! He has gone,” he gasped.

“Of course he has.”

And true it was. The worst fears of De la Zouch were realised. Manners, as we already know, had found out the secret of the dungeon, and his flight was only just discovered.

Sir Henry de la Zouch was prompt in action, and immediately upon satisfying himself of Dorothy’s safety, he set out, accompanied by a number of his retainers, to find her lover, feeling pretty well convinced that he would be discovered lurking somewhere in the neighbouring woods. It was in vain they searched. Under the eye of their ubiquitous lord, the tired followers beat every copse and glade, and it was not until the afternoon was well advanced that the Knight of Ashby relinquished the search and thought of turning back.

“Hark!” said Simon to his master, as the latter gave the order to return, “I hear the tread of horse.”

“We will advance, then,” was the reply, and the unwilling company once more turned their backs upon their homes, and marched further into the forest.

The two parties had for some time unconsciously been approaching each other, and when the quick ears of the chamberlain had detected the proximity of Sir George Vernon and his followers, they were only separated from each other by a narrow strip of thickly-grown wood, and a minute or two sufficed to bring them into collision.

“Ha, ha!” shouted Sir George, as he sighted the faithless knight. “Ha, ha, torn clothes, we have you now. Here the villain is,” and he spurred his horse forward to cope with his enemies single-handed.

De la Zouch was amazed and staggered at the sight, and without waiting to meet the baron he rode back to his party, hotly pursued by the King of the Peak and his men of Derbyshire.

“Stay,” cried Manners, “we will settle this between ourselves”; and without waiting for assistance he dashed forward at De la Zouch, and made a furious onslaught upon him.

It was no tournament now; it was a struggle for life itself! And whilst Dorothy’s lover was animated by a stern resolve to punish his foe, at whatever the cost, De la Zouch fought like a madman, because he fought with a halter round his neck.

As for the latter’s followers, at the first charge, with one accord they turned, and leaving their lord, for whom they had little love, to meet his fate, they tried to save themselves by flight.

The struggle was not prolonged. Manners was by far the better swordsman of the two, and De la Zouch, disheartened at the flight of his followers gradually weakened in his attack, and at length fell mortally wounded, leaving no one now to hinder them from marching victoriously on to Ashby.