"I thought I heard someone shouting for help," observed the latter during the silence which followed a heavy peal of thunder; "who could it be? Shall we go and see?"
"Best be careful, Harry," advised the gipsy; "we don't want to fall into a trap and be found in the preserves, and that Brown is a wily one."
The old man grunted assentingly, but he seemed reluctant to proceed, and stood still listening.
"It sounded to me like a child's voice," he said; "you don't think your little maid has wandered into the woods and lost herself, do you?"
Poacher and vagabond though he was, the young man was an affectionate father, and the thought that his little daughter might have missed her way, and was terrified by the storm, roused him to go and ascertain if such was really the case. Bidding his companion wait for him, he disappeared over the hedge, into the wood beyond, and after a few minutes cautious search, he came upon Felicia drenched to the skin, the most forlorn-looking object possible. She had given up hoping any one would find her whilst the storm lasted, and therefore great was her relief of mind when the gipsy touched her on the shoulder as she crouched against the trunk of a tree, and asked her in accents of intense amazement what she did there alone.
"I've lost my way," she said tremulously; "oh, take me home! Take me home!"
THE GIPSY TOUCHED HER ON THE SHOULDER AS SHE CROUCHED
AGAINST THE TRUNK OF A TREE.
"Why, it's the little lady from the Priory!" he exclaimed. "Come with me, miss; 'tis dangerous under the trees. Come."