"Humph!" said the Baron, as he hopped painfully behind his machine, vainly endeavouring to mount anew. "Happy, eh? And wherefore? Whom hast thou seen to change thy mood so greatly since this morning? 'Twas but a few hours ago that thou wast weeping over some trifle of a spilt oil-can. Ah, I am up at last!"
"I have seen none," said the lovely maiden, with blushing cheeks; "at least, save only——" She hesitated, doubtfully.
"Whom, girl?" insisted her father.
"Sir Algernon Fitzclarence."
With a desperate swerve, the Baron rode towards her, his face purple with passion.
"What, thou hast chosen to disobey me again? Talking with him whom I had forbidden to come within twenty leagues of my castle! Now, by St. Humber, both thou and he shall rue this day! I say that——"
The Baron's skill failed him once more, and he was shot off into the gooseberry-bushes.
"Nay, hear me, dear father——"
"Cease!" roared the angry Baron. "What ho, there! Lead the Lady Agatha," he commanded, as twenty men rushed forwards in answer to his summons, "into the upper dungeon. And, varlets, bring me the sticking-plaster."
Chapter XXII.