“It would be a pity to disturb them,” said the high sheriff. “To-morrow I will present myself at the castle with sufficient force to render all resistance useless.”
Hedgeley, the emissary to Dilston, had not fared so well as his comrade. Stopped at the gate, and unable to explain his business entirely to the porter's satisfaction, he was locked up in a strong room for the night. This was done by Colonel Oxburgh's order, who chanced to be in the court at the time, and interrogated him. Except detention, the spy had nothing to complain of, for he had plenty to eat and drink.
Jesmond had correctly informed the high sheriff, when he told him that a grand dinner would be given that day at the castle. A vast deal of handsome plate was displayed at the banquet, which was far more agreeable to the noble host than the dinner of the previous day, since it was graced by the presence of his affianced bride, who now sat next to him, and looked more charming than ever, being beautifully dressed, and in high spirits. The prince was likewise in a very lively mood, and contributed to the general gaiety at the upper end of the table.
In the evening there was music in the grand saloon, which was brilliantly lighted up for the occasion. Anna produced a great effect, and her magnificent voice enraptured the prince as much as it had enraptured Lord Der-wentwater when he first heard it.
Very different in style, but equally effective in their way, were some simple ditties sung with great taste and feeling by Dorothy Forster.
As we have intimated, the prince was in a very gay humour and seemed to take no thought of the morrow—though that morrow had much in store for him. He talked lightly with Anna and Dorothy, laughed and jested with Sir John Webb, Colonel Oxburgh, and Forster, but he talked seriously with no one.
So passed his last night at Dilston Castle.