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 n.o.bles."
"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 upon his foot, as if seeking inspiration there.
"He stayed at Dame Durden"s, I believe."
"What, the witch?"
"Yes."
"I have it, then," he exclaimed as he struck his hand heavily upon the table. "I have it!" and without saying another word he hastened out of the room.
Although the knight had thus decisively declared that he "had it," yet whatever it was that he had got, he did not feel equal to proceeding in the matter alone, and before he had proceeded many steps he turned back again.
"Come, Doll," he said, as he opened the door again, "we will go together," and the two went off in company to consult the rest of the family.
The Lady Maude was seated in a low, easy chair, And with an air of languor upon every feature of her countenance was listening to Sir John de Lacey, who was reading to her out of Roger Ascham"s treatise on Archery. As the knight stepped into the room the remembrance of the previous day"s mishap was strongly brought back to his memory.
"What ho! sir knight," he exclaimed; "better, eh!"
"A little stiff about the joints, mine host," he replied, "for which I have thee to thank."
"Tush, man, don"t mention it," laughingly returned the baron. "There"s no question of thanks betwixt me and thee."
"They gave me some hot sack, and then rolled me in the river," whined De Lacey, "and the pity of it is I cannot remember which of them it was, or else I"d--I"d--"
Sir John de Lacey paused to consider what course of action he would have taken, but ere he had resolved, the door opened, and Sir Thomas Stanley entered, bringing in with him the Lady Margaret.
"Well, well," returned Sir George, "since it baffles thy wits to discover whom it was, thou hadst best have the grace of forgiveness, it will become thee well. But a truce to this. I came to counsel with you of the murder. Any more news, Sir Thomas?"
"I hear that the old hag, Durden, had a quarrel with the pedlar the day before his death," answered Stanley, "and she told him to his face that he would come to no gentle end."
"They have often quarrelled," added Margaret, who felt bound to add something to her lover"s statement.
"Yes, then," said Sir George, "I have it now. I guessed it was her from the very beginning."
"Nay, nay," interrupted Dorothy, "you suspected the smith at first."
"Well, Doll, it makes no matter of difference if I did. "Tis the old witch, sure enough, and she will either hang or drown for it, I swear."
"Not so fast, either though, worthy knight," interrupted Stanley. "I am not yet satisfied that it really was the witch, for she seems to have been at home all day, except when she was by the side of the stocks."
"Courting the proud smith," added Lady Vernon, referring to a rumour in the neighbourhood.
"But he was killed in the woods," said Dorothy.
"Tut, there"s not a doubt about the matter," pursued Sir George, "not the shadow of a doubt."
"Nevertheless there is something in what Dorothy urges, and we had better make some sort of inquiry," suggested the more cautious Stanley; "for thou hast many jealous enemies, Sir George, who would gladly score a triumph over thee an they had but half a chance."
"Sir Ronald Bury, for instance," added Margaret.
"But why Sir Ronald?" asked De Lacey. "He is a simple enough knight, I trow."
"Pooh, I care naught for him," replied Sir George Vernon; "he is jealous of the beauty of my daughters."
"And wants a husband for his child," added Lady Maude.
"Let him want, then," testily returned the baron. "He may turn green with envy for aught I care. I"ll do it to his face, I will."
But in the end wiser counsels prevailed, and the knight gave way so far as to order a trial of touch--a superst.i.tious form of trial much relied upon in the times when witchcraft was commonly believed in.
The witching hour of twilight was chosen for this crude but solemn trial, and at the time appointed a large crowd was gathered in the great courtyard of Haddon in obedience to a mandate of the King of the Peak, which they dared not disobey.
As the crowd swayed to and fro it was in marked contrast to the usual way in which they were wont to a.s.semble within the great walls of Haddon. No loud laugh or sound of boisterous merriment broke the stillness of this solemn eventide; no tricks were attempted now upon unconscious friends, and even the almost invariable little groups of admirers listening to the marvellously strange tales of those who had crossed the seas were not to be found. All was silent save the screeching of the owls every now and again, and the subdued hum of conversation which rose up from the awestruck a.s.sembly as they patiently awaited the test which was to bring home the guilt of the murderer.
They had a long time to wait, and the moon had long been out before the proceedings were properly commenced.
A loud blast from the trumpets of the sentries gave the first intimation of the approach of the head of the house of Vernon. The great gates swung open and Sir George slowly advanced through the throng, which respectfully fell back on either side and made an open pa.s.sage for him. A few yards behind followed a bare-headed priest, chanting prayers for the departed, and heading a diminutive procession, in the midst of which the body of the unfortunate pedlar was carried on a bier. They stopped at the foot of the steps which stretch across the courtyard; the doleful chant ceased, and an impressive hush fell upon the a.s.sembly, as with bated breath they awaited the next scene in the awful drama.
Sir George did not hurry himself, for it was necessary to the success of the ordeal that the culprit, whoever that was, should be duly impressed with a sense befitting the character of the moment, and a little suspense, he shrewdly guessed, would tend to make the guilty one tremble and offer signs which would make detection the easier.