Just before noon the turrets of Stafford Hall came into view. With a cry of exultation she spurred her horse forward.
“On, on!” she cried. “Thy journey is almost done!”
At full gallop she sped through the gates and into the base court. Her father’s horse, bridled and saddled, stood at the foot of the steps leading to the terrace.
“Mistress Francis,” cried Brooks, the old servitor who held the horse, “how came you here?”
“My father?” gasped Francis as she sprang to the ground.
“In the presence chamber, mistress. He——”
She waited to hear no more, but ran up the steps, through the ante-rooms, and bounded into the presence chamber. 225
Lord Stafford and his wife stood with their arms twined about each other, as if in the act of saying farewell. They started at her entrance, the utmost surprise upon their faces when they saw who the intruder was.
“Father!” exclaimed Francis running to him with outstretched arms. “Father!”
Her father did not stir to meet her, but, folding his arms, regarded her sternly.