Heiress of Haddon. W. E. Doubleday

litter was made, upon which the unfortunate knight was set and carried away, loudly lamenting the unkindness of the fate which had brought him to such a sorry plight.

      "And now let us see what we can do for De la Zouch," said Sir George Vernon, and they proceeded to the spot where the injured knight was lying.

      "How now, Sir Henry? What's this, any bones broken, eh? How did you do it, man; was it here?" and having delivered himself of this string of questions, the King of the Peak leaned against the wall and awaited the reply.

      "More hurt than injured, I believe," replied the other, "but Eustace here will tell thee all about it;" and Eustace, who had carefully got the story by heart, recounted how, when they were after a fine bevy of quail, his master's pole had snapped as he was springing up, and instead of clearing the wall he had fallen heavily against it.

      The pole, broken in twain, which lay upon the grass close by, attested the truth of the statement.

      "Sir Benedict," exclaimed the baron, "thou art somewhat learned in leechcraft; see if thou canst do aught. Tell us what is amiss."

      À Woode stooped down, and after a prolonged examination he gave it as his opinion that some of his friend's ribs were broken.

      Another litter was quickly made up and De la Zouch, who was now feeling the full effects of the injuries he had received, and who in reality stood in need of assistance, was placed upon it and carried off in the wake of Sir John de Lacey.

      Leaving them to pursue their way homewards, the hunting party set off once more to make a fresh attempt at sport ere the day should close. But now the fortune which had so favoured them during the day deserted them. Not a bird was seen, and after vainly beating about for some time the party at last reluctantly determined to wend its way once more towards Haddon. Sir George sounded his horn again, and in answer the wanderers returned from all quarters of the wood, all of them light-hearted and most of them light-handed too.

      The route now taken was precisely the same by which they had advanced during the day, and they soon arrived at the spot where the struggle had taken place. Dorothy discovered the first signs of the conflict.

      "Why, what in the name of faith is this?" she cried, as she pointed down to the ground. "'Tis a noble, I declare."

      "And here is another," added Crowleigh, stooping down and picking up the glittering coin.

      "And here's a comb, what a nice—"

      Sir Benedict never missed that sentence, for as he bent down to pick it up he caught sight of the body of the packman, and he started back affrighted at the sight. "Look!" he cried, "'Tis a—the blessed saints protect us, 'tis a murder see!" and he pointed to the tree.

      "A what?" asked Sir George, coming up. "What's a murder? Where?"

      "Here, see!" and à Woode pulled away the twigs which had but half hidden the body from view.

      "Heaven forfend us!" ejaculated the baron as he gazed horror-stricken at the body. "'Tis a foul villainy, and so near Haddon, too."

      "'Tis the poor Derby pedlar," exclaimed Dorothy, "and it was but yester e'en since he was at the Hall."

      "Ha! 'tis lately done, I see. Trust me, I shall see to this. We'll have no ghosts round Haddon, Doll. To-morrow we'll enquire into it. I must get to the root of this."

      "'Tis evident it was a robbery," suggested Manners. "Even now the knaves may be lurking round."

      Sir George took the hint and the vicinity was closely examined, but, of course, not a trace of the perpetrators could be found; so, leaving the followers to bring on the body in the rear, the party hurried forward to gain the friendly shelter of the Hall and to partake of the bountiful feast which the Lady Maude had provided for them.

CHAPTER IV.

       Table of Contents

      DAME DURDEN'S ORDEAL.

      Fear fell on me and I fled.

       * * * * *

       I took the least frequented road,

       But even there arose a hum;

       Lights showed in every vile abode,

       And far away I heard the drum.

       Roused with the city, late so still;

       Burghers, half-clad, ran hurrying by,

       Old crones came forth, and scolded shrill,

       Then shouted challenge and reply.

      AYTOUN.

      Next morning the Hall was early astir. The news of the murder had spread far and wide, and had caused a feeling of consternation in the neighbourhood, which was intensified by the mystery in which it was enshrouded.

      De la Zouch had grown worse during the night, and soon after the break of day had departed, with Eustace, for Ashby Castle, declaring that in spite of the good intentions of Sir Benedict his case was not understood, and that it had been aggravated rather than improved by the attentions he had received from his friend.

      Sir George, as magistrate of the district, had caused the body to be dressed, and for a long time he sat in his dressing-room pondering what steps he had better take next. There was absolutely no clue, yet the baron was determined not only to discover the culprit, but to make such an example of him as should effectually deter a repetition of such a crime in the neighbourhood of Haddon, at least for some time to come.

      At length he issued from his room, and, passing along the corridor, he ascended a short flight of stairs, and stopped at the door of the room in which Dorothy was busily engaged in making some new tapestry hangings. He paused, uncertain whether to turn back or to enter.

      "Yes, I will," he muttered; "she has the clearest head of them all," and suiting the action to the word he gently turned the handle and went in.

      Dorothy had dropped her work, and so intently was she gazing through the open lattice window that she did not notice the arrival of her father.

      The knight stood still for a moment or two, and involuntarily admired the graceful figure of his daughter, and stepping gently forward, he tapped her lightly upon the shoulder.

      Dorothy turned hastily round, and as she did so he caught her deftly in his arms and printed a loud, smacking kiss upon the fair girl's cheek.

      "There," said he, "I'll warrant me thou wert longing for it; come now, confess."

      Dorothy disdained any such idea.

      "Nay," she replied, "I was but thinking of the poor pedlar. I had bought these from him only the day before," and she pointed to a little heap of silks which lay upon the table.

      "I had come to talk it over with thee, Doll," replied the baron as he sat himself comfortably down upon a chair. "I think it was a robbery, eh?"

      "Yes," slowly replied the maiden, "I should think so, too. Meg and I paid him six nobles."

      "And only two were found."

      "Only two?" asked Dorothy.

      "That is all," replied the knight. "The knaves must have made off with the rest. That ill-favoured locksmith would be as likely a rascal as any; I must examine him."

      "Nay, that cannot be, he was all day in the stocks."

      Sir George scratched his head in despair. He had privately determined that the locksmith was the guilty one, but now that his idea was entirely disproved he felt sorely at a loss how to proceed.

      Dorothy watched him in silence; she was as helpless as the baron.

      "Was the packman staying in the village?" asked Sir George, lifting up his head after a long pause, during which he had kept his glance