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Sir Everard Crowleigh rode hard all the morning, and stopping on his errand but once to partake of a light meal he arrived at the abode of his friend as the twilight put forth its gentle mask of gloom. Deepdale was an attractive spot, but it was not the natural beauty of the scene which had first attracted the eyes of Nicholas Bury so much as the facilities it offered for his purpose.
Margaret and Dorothy were thus thrown much upon their own resources, and they managed to spend the time wearily enough at the tapestry frame until Manners and Crowleigh paid a visit to the Hall ostensibly to inquire after the health of the wounded knight.
They needed not the urging, for they had ridden hard, almost without a rest, and not only was Nicholas thoroughly wearied out by the unusual exertion of riding but the horses were sorely jaded too. In a few minutes they all three rode up to the doorway together, and leaving their steeds to Manners, Sir Everard Crowleigh took the priest to the sick man's chamber.
"You will be yourself again directly," and raising his horn to his lips he blew a loud, clear note upon the still evening air. "What does that portend?" asked the conscience-stricken and mistrustful knight. He feared that he was about to be carried off to answer for his misdeeds. "There will be help soon," said Crowleigh. "Lie still, for you are hurt. You will be better by-and-by.
"And here is another," added Crowleigh, stooping down and picking up the glittering coin. "And here's a comb, what a nice " Sir Benedict never missed that sentence, for as he bent down to pick it up he caught sight of the body of the packman, and he started back affrighted at the sight. "Look!" he cried, "'Tis a the blessed saints protect us, 'tis a murder see!" and he pointed to the tree.
He was not very strong in his belief of Sir Henry's innocence as yet, though the evidence in De la Zouch's favour would have been decisive enough for him had not Stanley shaken it so. "Has thy Dorothy forsaken thee, then, Sir George?" asked Crowleigh pertinently. "Why no, Sir Everard yes; that is I cannot say," he hopelessly replied. "It must be so, and yet, no! I cannot believe it either."
It is enough that I should consent to stay at home." "But you must have rest," expostulated Stanley, "or you will quickly break down under the strain." "I shall stay here, I tell you," was the dogged reply, "and receive the reports as they come in. There are four or five out yet." "Has Crowleigh returned?" asked Sir Thomas abruptly. "Not yet; may he bring her back."
"My poor pets!" exclaimed the hermit sorrowfully, as he lifted up the stone; "they are all killed." "'Tis a case of death, I fear," pursued Crowleigh, referring to the father's illness. "I fear it is," replied the other, looking ruefully at his dead pets. "Thou hast killed my companions, Everard." "Ugh! pretty companions, I trow," said the knight, scornfully; "but we must hasten.
He would have communicated his fears to Dorothy, but he feared lest she should misjudge him and interpret it as an ebulition of jealousy, and there was none other except his friend Crowleigh in whom he could confide.
The faithful animal, which had regarded the intruder with marked disfavour, rolled itself up again in obedience to the command, and remained in the corner watching the knight with glistening eyes. "Nicholas," repeated Crowleigh, for he had not yet been noticed.
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