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Updated: June 3, 2025
Long ago the golden-haired beauty had passed from Cosford to Fernhurst, where the young and beautiful Lady Edith Brocas is the belle of all Sussex, a sunbeam of smiles and merriment, save perhaps when her thoughts for an instant fly back to that dread night when she was plucked from under the very talons of the foul hawk of Shalford.
At sight of her he doffed his hat and reined his horse. "This house should be Cosford," said he. "Are you by chance the Lady Mary who dwells there?" The lady bowed her proud dark head. "Then," said he, "Squire Nigel Loring sends you greeting and tells you that Saint Catharine has been his friend." Then turning to his servant he cried: "Heh, Raoul, our task is done!
"You can be quick enough when you choose, Master Malapert. But you are more fit to speak of high and weary matters with my sister Mary. She will have none of the prattle and courtesy of Sir George, and yet I love them well. But tell me, Nigel, why do you come to Cosford to-night?" "To bid you farewell." "Me alone?" "Nay, Edith, you and your sister Mary and the good knight your father."
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