"No luck, Sir Thomas, naught but ill news," said the baron, as he
replied to his friend's greeting; "'tis an ill wind this. There is
never a trace as yet, and----"

"Hist!" interrupted Margaret's lover. "I hear the sounds of galloping
hoofs."

Sir George opened the casement window, and peered out into the gloom.

"I cannot see them yet," he exclaimed, "but there are more than one,
and they are nearing fast. If it should be Dorothy," he said with a
sigh of intense feeling; "what joy!"

"Aye, there are more than one," said Stanley. "We cannot see them
here. Hark, they are thundering at the gate even now; let us go and
meet them, and heaven grant, whoever it may be, that they bring good
news."

"Amen," ejaculated the baron fervently, and his prayer was echoed by
the rest.

Before they could reach the gate, the horseman had been admitted;
and as Sir George and his friends stepped into the yard they
recognised--not the features of Sir Edward Stanley, as Margaret's
lover secretly thought, but the well-known form of Manners.

"How!--by my halidame, what meaneth this?" exclaimed the baron,
delighted beyond measure to see the esquire again. "Tell me, Manners,
where my Dorothy is?"