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.