Despite his melancholy forebodings, the earl little dreamed this would be the last night he should ever pass at the castle. He attended mass in the little chapel, and held a long consultation with his brother, Charles Rad-clyffe, who had now returned from Corbridge, as to the best steps to be taken.

“'Tis unlucky that our friends are scattered at this moment,” said the earl. “Had we been able to unite, instead of flying from arrest, we might have attacked Newcastle, and, if we had succeeded in capturing the place, we should have been masters of the county.”

“This may yet be accomplished,” said Charles Radclyffe.

“Not unless we can get together a sufficient force,” said the earl. “Forster and Lord Widdrington may not like to make the attempt, as I know they both deem it very hazardous. We shall hear what Widdrington says on his return from Lancashire.”

“Shall I appoint a meeting if I can find means of communicating with them?” asked Charles Radclyffe. “And where shall the place of rendezvous be fixed?”

“At Plainfield or thereabouts,” replied the earl. “Ten days hence I will be there, unless I am prevented, and will bring with me all the men I can muster.”

“I will find some means of sending this information to Forster,” said Charles Radclyffe, “and he will communicate with Widdrington. If the Earl of Mar would send us a Highland regiment it would help us greatly. Shall I write to him in your name?”

“Do so without delay,” said the earl. “The rising will never be successful unless our force is materially strengthened.”

“All your instructions shall be attended to,” said Charles Radclyffe, “and I trust nothing will go wrong to-morrow.”

The rest of the evening was spent in affectionate converse by the earl and countess. There were no guests in the house, so they sat together till supper, when they were joined by Charles Radclyffe and Father Nor-ham.

The countess was in excellent spirits, and laughed at the threatened visit of the magistrates. If the earl was not equally free from apprehension, he contrived to assume a cheerful aspect.

Next morning, soon after daybreak, Lord Denventwater arose. The countess was still slumbering, but before he took his departure he stooped down to print a kiss on her brow. Instantly awakened, she flung her arms round his neck and bade him adieu.

“I have had a very happy dream,” she said; “and I hope it may come true. I thought the king was restored, and chiefly by your instrumentality.”

“Much has to be done ere that can be accomplished,” rejoined the earl. “But I do not despair.”

“I wish you could remain here, and resist the officers,” she said. “How pleased I should be to see them driven hence!”

“There is no chance of such a result,” said the earl. “We must bide our time. In a few days we shall take the field.”

Tenderly embracing her, he then quitted the room.

None of the household were astir as Lord Derwentwater went forth. He gave one look at the mansion, heaved a deep sigh, and proceeded towards the wood.

The morning was grey and misty, the trees in the park could scarcely be distinguished, and the brook at the bottom of the glen was hidden by vapour.

Gloomy thoughts likewise possessed him, and as he tracked the sombre alley, he thought he beheld a female figure, arrayed in white, advancing towards him.

Not doubting it was the Maiden, he instantly stopped.

In another moment the phantom stood before him. Its looks were sad and compassionate, but it spoke not, and terror kept him dumb.

After remaining thus transfixed for a few moments, he broke the spell and moved forwards, but the phantom waved him back, and he again halted.

With another warning gesture, accompanied by a look of indescribable pity, the figure vanished.

Not for some minutes after issuing from the alley, did the earl recover from the shock he had received, and he was still leaning for support against a tree, when he was roused by the approach of the woodcutter and his dog.

“I fear your lordship is unwell?” remarked Nathan.

“No,” replied the earl, “but I have been much alarmed. I have just seen the Maiden.”

“Then I don't wonder your lordship is disturbed,” said the woodcutter. “May I venture to ask what occurred?”

“The spirit warned me to turn back,” said the earl. “But it is now too late.”

The woodcutter made no remark, but seemed to think that the warning ought not to be neglected.

On reaching the hut, Lord Derwentwater threw himself into the arm-chair and presently fell asleep. Nor did he awake for some hours.

During this interval, Dame Blacklaw moved about as noiselessly as she could, so as not to disturb him—Cheviot crouched at his feet—and Nathan went on with his work outside; but he left it, ever and anon, for a short space, while he flew to the skirts of the woods to reconnoitre.