Soon, all too soon, the brief interview came to an end, and Dorothy had to go back to the Hall, while her lover, having reluctantly parted from her when he dare accompany her no further, slowly wound his way back to the sorry hut which served him, in common with the rest of his fellows, as a home.
He had no heart to join in the boisterous fun with which his companions were making themselves merry as he entered, and passing them unnoticed by, he took a seat in the furthest corner of the room and watched the faggots as they blazed and burned away upon the hearth in front of him.
Dorothy returned with a sad heart, too. The moment of bliss which had so transported her with delight had passed away again, and she found herself in pretty well the same downcast frame of mind in which she had been before, for she knew not when she would see her lover again, and she dare not let herself ponder on the terrible risks her noble lover ran.
"Well, Dorothy," said Lady Maude, as she burst into the maiden's room ere Doll had found time to divest herself of hood and wimple, "thou art serving us a pretty trick. Thou would'st meet thy whilom lover all unbeknown to us, eh? Pick up thy things and follow me."
It would have been worse than useless to have refused, and argument, Dorothy knew of old, at such a time would have been equally futile; so, while her blood almost froze with terror in her veins, she meekly obeyed her step-mother and followed her through the long ballroom into the banqueting-room below in a perfect agony of terror lest her lover had been taken and was about to be confronted with her.
The stone-flagged chamber, in which the festive table, which has creaked under many a load of beef and venison, still stands in grandeur all unique, was in full glory then. The musicians' gallery was richly bedecked with gilt, and was adorned with antlers, the trophies of many a chase, in place of the dingy, whitewash-spotted, pictures which, hang upon its walls to-day (and look as if they were sadly in need of a washing). Gay hunting-scenes, and a canvas on which, were delineated the forms of the Virgin and her Babe, met the eye and pleased it. A savoury odour of newly-baked cakes floated along the passage from the kitchens right into the room, and a piece of tapestry, one of Dorothy's first attempts, depended over the doorway of the carved wooden screen to keep out draughts, and at the same time give a warm and pleasing effect to the interior.
It was into this room, in which sat the baron and Sir Thomas Stanley, looking terribly grave and severe, that Lady Vernon led poor Dorothy.
"Come hither, Dorothy," said the baron, as she entered.
The "Dorothy" sounded ominous, and she advanced in great trepidation.
"You have been out without our knowledge," he exclaimed.