"No news of her! no news of her!" said Arabella, addressing in a sad tone the maid Jane, who was arranging some articles of dress in her room.

"Indeed, lady," replied the maid, with a manner so much less earnest than Arabella's own feelings, that it seemed to her harsh and cold, "Indeed, lady, I am sorry to hear that; but I dare say the King's people have got hold of her. They tried to question me one night at Greenwich; and when I said I had nothing to tell, they threatened to apprehend me, and bring me before the Council."

"I trust it is into their hands she has fallen," said her mistress, "for then she has nothing to fear.--Now leave me, good girl, for I would fain think over this matter."

The maid obeyed; and the moment she was gone Arabella locked the door, drew forth the note from her bosom, and read it with eager eyes. As she did so she trembled violently, and sank down into a chair, murmuring, "Alone, alone!--All this to be done, and no one to help me!--Oh, Ida, Ida, it was cruel to take you from me! What is to be done? My thoughts are all in confusion. How can I ever carry this through by myself?" And bending down her head, she leaned her forehead upon her hand, and closed her eyes, as if seeking to still the busy and hurrying images of danger and disaster which whirled through her brain.

"But the good woman, Maude," she said, at length--"Ida told me she would give me aid. Oh, can I trust her? And even if I can, 'tis sad to have none but a stranger to rely on for support. Oh, Ida, dear, good friend, where art thou now?--But it must be done. That girl Jane I can place no trust in. She is cold and selfish; ay, and dull too. I must speak to the woman Maude, and that directly." And rising, she unlocked the door and called the maid.

"Jane," she said, "I wish you to remove all those things from the end of the room into that little cabinet there, and----"

"Dear lady," exclaimed the girl, interrupting her, "I can never do it by myself. I must have one of the men to help me."

"I was going to say you cannot do it by yourself," replied Arabella, "but I will not have the men brought hither. Go and call good Mistress Maude: she is strong and willing, and I know her."

The girl obeyed, and in a few minutes returned with the person she had been sent to seek. Having received the directions of the lady, they proceeded to execute them; and Arabella continued to gaze upon them as they did so, with a hesitating, uncertain look, as if she wished to speak, yet was afraid.

At length, however, when they had done, she broke silence, saying, "My poor Ida, whom they have taken from me, tells me, Maude, that you were born upon my grandfather's estate at Hardwick, in Derbyshire. I should like much to talk with you about it, but have something to do just now. Can you come to me in an hour?"

"Oh, yes, dear lady," replied the good woman. "I'll come without fail. I often wished to tell you, but did not venture to speak to so great a lady."

"A very poor one now," replied Arabella, "and never a very proud one, Maude. Pray come."

"That I will, madam," answered the servant, and retired.

For half-an-hour more the maid Jane continued to bustle about the chamber, doing but little, yet fancying herself very busy. At the end of that time, however, she left the room, and before the hour was fully gone, Maude was standing by the side of Arabella's chair. The question of Hardwick and Sir William Cavendish was soon discussed; and Arabella, looking up in the good servant's face, said, in a sad tone, "My good mother, whom you talk of, never thought to see her child so unhappy as I am; and she was spared the sight."

"'Tis a sad case, dear lady, 'tis a sad case," replied the servant. "When I think of it, and how little you deserve such treatment, I could tear the eyes out of that King, or cry."

"And now," said Arabella, "they have taken Ida Mara from me, at the very moment I needed aid and comfort most; and I have none to help me."

"Don't say that, lady; don't say that," cried the good woman; "I am not like Mistress Ida, to be sure; for she is as gentle and clever a young lady, as I am a rough and dull poor creature; but still I will help you in any way that you may command, cost what it may."

"Will you, indeed?" asked Arabella, taking her hand, and gazing up earnestly in her face.

"That I will, lady," replied the maid, "even if it goes with my head. I never knew any one that would not help you; you get round everybody's heart; and my poor master is half mad at being made your gaoler. You have nothing to do but to command; I will obey you, without one care for the rest."

Arabella covered her eyes with her hands, and burst into a violent and sobbing fit of tears; for the words of affection and kindness, in moments of deep sorrow and anxiety, seem, by their gentle touch, to unfetter the strongest feelings of the heart, and leave them to break forth in unrestrained emotion.

She soon recovered, however, and pressing the servant's hand in both her own, she cried, "Thank you, thank you! Mr. Conyers said something about going to the King tomorrow; do you know when he sets out?"

"At two, madam," said the good woman; "his horses are ordered at that hour; and Mrs. Conyers goes with him."

"Oh, that will just do," exclaimed the lady, "for the hour named is three. I must send the girl Jane away on some pretence."

"Oh, I will give her occupation, madam," replied Maude; "and if you want people out of the way, that is the best time of all; for there is a match of foot-ball on Highgate Green, and most of the men my master does not take with him will be there, I dare say; for, when the cat's away, the mice will play, you know, lady. Pray, have you any one you love coming to see you? If you have, I will take care that gates shall open, and doors be undone, without any one knowing aught about it."

"No," answered Arabella, timidly, and looking anxiously in the woman's face to mark the effect produced by what she was about to say; "it is not that, good Maude, but, on the contrary, I am going to see those I love."

The woman looked surprised, and paused a moment thoughtfully, without reply.

"Well, it does not matter," she said, at length, "whatever you wish I will do, lady. But I hope you have friends without to take care of you when you are there."

"Many," answered Arabella, "many, good Maude, watching for me anxiously. If, therefore, you can contrive to give occupation to my girl Jane, and come to me as soon as ever your master and mistress are gone out, you will confer an everlasting obligation upon one, who will never be unthankful, whether she have the means of showing her gratitude or not."

"Fear not, lady; fear not, sweet lady," replied Maude; "nothing shall stop me; and now I understand what you mean, all shall be ready. But I suppose we shall have Master Cobham to help us?"

"Alas! no," replied the lady; "he is seeking for poor Ida; and I fear will have occupation enough."

"Well, well, we can do without," rejoined Maude. "But I had better go now, for fear people should suspect anything."

During the many hours which had yet to run ere Arabella's project of escape could be executed, as may be well supposed, her mind continued in a state of agitation and alarm, which would have overthrown her corporeal powers, and rendered her unfit for the task, had not the sweet hope of seeing him she so dearly loved given her support and strength. Sleep visited her eyelids but little; and the very efforts she made to overcome her apprehensions and invigorate herself for the performance of her purpose, but tended to unnerve her.

She did her best, however, to appear cheerful and at ease in the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Conyers; and Time, though his wings seemed cut during the first hours of the morning, at length brought about the moment she desired.

A little after two, she saw the coach, which contained her host and hostess, roll away from the door of the house, followed by all the train of servants and horses, which were the customary accompaniments of ever so short a journey in those days, with people of wealth and station. Almost immediately afterwards, while she was waiting in agitated expectation for the coming of the good woman, Maude, her maid Jane entered, and asked her mistress's permission to go out for a short time, adding, in a deprecatory tone, "I have not been beyond the gates for more than a fortnight."

Arabella gave the permission with almost too much readiness; and in ten minutes after, she saw a gay party of men and maids take their way up the gravel walk.

The next instant, there was a tap at the door; and Maude came in, exclaiming, "Now, lady, now, the house is quite clear: there is nobody left but the cook and myself, and the old butler, who is in the buttery at the back of the house, corking the wine, and grumbling at the young lads for leaving him alone, though he has given them permission. I have brought you a cup of wine and a manchet, to strengthen you for your walk."

"But I must dress first," cried Arabella, whose limbs would scarcely support her. "I must not go in this garb."

"Take some wine, lady; take some wine," said her companion; "there is much courage in the bottle. What dress shall I give you?"

Arabella put her lips to the cup which the woman held, and took a small portion of the wine. "You will find it there, Maude," she said, "in that cupboard. There is the key. It is wrapped in linen."

Her companion took the key, opened the closet, and brought out the packet, which had by this time been opened; but, as she carried it to the bed-side, a sword fell out, and starting she exclaimed, "Why, goodness, lady, it is a man's dress!"

"Ay, good Maude," answered Arabella, while the colour rose warmly into her cheek. "I could not hope for security in any other guise. You must help me to put it on, for I am so little accustomed to such a thing that I should never accomplish it alone."

"Oh, I have seen many a lady in a man's dress," answered Maude, "in masques and mummings, in the Queen's time. Take heart, take heart, dear lady; do not let that frighten you. It matters not much what be the garb, so that you be safe under it. Here is a goodly doublet, trimmed with bugles. You had better put this on first. Let me untie your dress, lady--ay, it is pinned, I see. Come, come, let me help you, I will do it as soon again; your hands tremble so."

Arabella's gown was soon stripped off; and, in its place, her fair form was clothed in a velvet coat, though, to say truth, it needed some artful filling out to make it in any degree fit her slender waist.

"Why, these wide French hose," cried Maude, taking them up from the bed upon which she had laid them, "are as good as a petticoat at any time."

"Better for my purpose," answered Arabella, with a faint smile. "Yet I think I should die with shame to be seen in them, were it not for so great an object. That cloak is very large, however, and will nearly hide me altogether."

Some farther progress was then made in dressing her, and a long pair of russet boots with red tops, the least in size that Markham could procure, were drawn over her small feet and slender limbs. She was obliged to take them off again, however, for they were still too large.

"In truth," she said, "they will take slippers and all. Give me the shoes, good Maude. Now for the rapier," she continued, when the boots were once more fitted on. "Heaven send I have not to draw it; for I fear the sight of a sword well nigh as much as the King."

The cloak was then put on, and a large black hat, having some of the long locks of hair--at that time in fashion amongst men--fastened into the crown, was pulled over her fair brow.

"There now," cried Maude; "you are as gallant-looking a young cavalier as I should wish to look at."

"A sad, faint-hearted one," answered Arabella. "Run, good Maude, run and see if the way be clear. I fear my little strength will fail me, if we stay long."

"Finish the wine, lady; finish the wine, and take some bread with it," answered her companion. "I will go and make sure that all is right. Drink the wine, I beseech you. You need not think of your head. Fear will take off the effect."

Thus saying, she sped away, and returned in a few minutes, saying, "All is safe, the cook is by the kitchen fire, sound asleep; and I hear old Jones thumping at his bottles. The door is wide open, and the iron gates unlocked. Come, lady, come, you had better lose no time."

"Come with me to the iron gates, Maude," said Arabella, in a beseeching tone; "I can scarcely keep my feet."

"That I will, lady," answered the good woman.--"Courage, courage! the worst of the business is over."

"Would that it were," answered Arabella, leaning on her arm and proceeding down the stairs.

Nothing occurred, however, to increase her apprehension; all was silent in the house, the quiet sunshine sleeping on the hall-floor, and the insect world buzzing without. Not a sound met the ear, but that hum, and the sighing of a light wind through the trees. Making a great effort, Arabella quitted the arm of her companion, when they issued forth from the door, and, walking with an unsteady step along the path, soon reached the gates. There, Maude drew one of the valves back, and the lady put a ring into her hand.

"No, no," she said, "I will none of it. Keep diamonds for yourself, lady; but if you will give me something, I will take your gloves which lie upon the table, just to think of you by."

"Take anything, good Maude," replied Arabella; "and, above all, my truest thanks."

Thus saying, she passed out, and the maid closed the gates, and retreated.

Arabella stood alone, for a moment or two, in the open road, with her heart faint, and her brain turning round. She felt lonely, desolate, ashamed, terrified; she was like some domesticated bird just escaped from its cage, not knowing which way to turn in the wide world around her.

The next instant, however, her eye fell upon the form of a man, well dressed, and of gentlemanly air, in the lane which ran under the walls of the grounds. Her first impulse would have led her to push open the gate and run back; but, the moment after, she thought she recognised the person who was now approaching, though she had last seen him in a very different garb.

"Oh! it is--it must be--I am sure it is Markham," she cried, panting for breath; and then, running on, she met him and caught his arm for support.

"Right! right! This is all right, lady," he said; "everything is ready; I have horses at hand--a boat waits you at Blackwall--a ship at Leigh."

"But my husband! my husband!" said Arabella.

"He is by this time free," replied Markham; "you will soon see him. My Lord of Hertford commends himself to you, and has sent down men and maids to meet you."

"But my poor Ida Mara," asked Arabella; "have you heard of her?"

"No, indeed," answered Markham; "she must have been apprehended; but if so, she is quite safe. Come, lady, come."

Supporting her by the arm, Markham hurried on down the lane towards Newington, and through several other intricate turnings and windings, the rapid pace at which they went relieving the lady, in some degree, from her fears, by preventing her thoughts from resting on her own situation. She felt tired and exhausted, however; when, at the distance of about a mile and a half from Mr. Conyers' house, they came within sight of the small road-side inn, called "The Rose." Three strong horses stood before the door, with a man holding them, and a gentleman looking up the road.

"That is Crompton," said Markham; "an old friend of your family."

"How much I have to thank you all for," answered Arabella; and the next minute Crompton, advancing, took her by the hand, exclaiming, "How are you, sir? I am very happy to see you here."

The moment she paused, however, agitation and apprehension took possession of her again.

"I feel sick and faint," she said; and the ostler, who was holding the horses, remarking her face turn deadly pale, inquired, "Shall I call for some wine? The young gentleman seems ill."

"No, no," answered Arabella; "some water. I am only fatigued with a long quick walk."

Water was accordingly brought; and then Markham, approaching to assist her, said, "We are rather late; we had better make haste."

He then aided her to mount, while Crompton paid the ostler, who shook his head, observing, "The young gentleman will hardly hold out to London, I think." But the moment after, her paleness disappeared, blood mounted into her face, and, with a crimson cheek, she rode on with Markham.

Crompton followed them immediately, and, pursuing the by-paths, with which they were well acquainted, the two gentlemen led her at a quick pace towards Blackwall. They reached the shore of the river about six o'clock, and there they found waiting a boat with four oars, containing two of her old men-servants, and two women.

"We will see you down the river," said Markham; "but Crompton and I must there leave you. The boat behind contains your apparel and Mr. Seymour's."

"But my husband!" asked Arabella, in a low voice; "Where is my husband, sir?"

"He will follow, he will follow," answered Markham. "Sit here, sir," said Crompton, giving a sign to Markham to be cautious; "remember, lady," he continued, in a whisper, "these boatmen know nothing of the scheme;" and, ordering the rowers to pull away, they were soon skimming over the bosom of the Thames.

The boat directed its course at once to Gravesend, which they reached two or three hours after nightfall.

"We must land here for a moment or two," whispered Crompton to the lady; "but Markham will arrange with the men to take you on, while you get some refreshment."

Poor Arabella did all they wished; and though it was not without difficulty that her companions persuaded the rowers to go on to Leigh, a large bribe ultimately induced them to consent, and the lady and her companions were soon once more upon the Thames. The night, fortunately, was warm and clear; and although Arabella was wearied and exhausted with anxiety, exertion and want of repose during the preceding night, she closed not an eye, but watched the progress of the boat, with her thoughts full of him she loved; the hope of soon seeing him mingling with fears for his safety, and giving plentiful occupation for the busy mind during the whole night.

At length the sky began to glow with the first beams of the morning; and a ship of considerable size was seen lying about a mile farther down the river.

"There is the vessel, lady," whispered Markham, "which I hope will soon bear you and your husband safe to the shores of France."

"Perhaps he may be on board already," said Arabella, raising her head, which had been drooping with pure lassitude. "That indeed would give me new life."

"Perhaps he may be so," replied Markham, "but yet I doubt it. The wind is freshening for your voyage, however."

"We must stay for him, at all events," cried Arabella; "if he has not escaped, I cannot make up my mind to go."

"Indeed you are wrong," answered her companion, in the same low tone; "recollect, it is you who are the subject of the King's persecution, not Mr. Seymour. You once safe in a foreign land, his liberation would soon follow. I doubt not, ere three months were over, the King's full consent to your union would be given, in order to induce you to return."

Arabella saw that there was some truth in what he said; but her mind took instant alarm at Markham's words. "I think you are apprehensive that he has not escaped," she said, in as firm a tone as she could command.

"No, indeed I am not," he replied; "I feel confident he has; for Sir George Rodney, Sir Harry West, and many faithful friends, are all aiding him, and Wade, the Lieutenant of the Tower, disgusted at the treatment of the Court, will keep no very watchful eye upon his prisoner."

"God send it," cried Arabella.

"We shall soon know," rejoined Markham, "for he must be here in an hour at the latest."

"I hope--I trust, he is on board already," answered Arabella. "I have a fancy that it is so; and she went on buoying herself up with the happy expectation, till they were alongside of the vessel, and she could see the people upon deck."

Her husband was not amongst them. "He may be below," she thought, and her first question, when lifted into the vessel was, "Has Mr. Seymour arrived?"

The answer was in the negative; and the hope which had supported her during the last two hours being taken away, she sank at once, fainting, into the arms of Crompton, who was aiding her to her seat.

It was long ere she recovered herself sufficiently to speak; and then, gazing around her, she found herself in the cabin of the vessel, with the two maids who had been waiting for her at Blackwall, using means to bring her to herself. She closed her eyes again, for Seymour was not there. In about twenty minutes after, there was a knock at the door; and starting up, she exclaimed in a weak tone, but eagerly, "Open it, open it, perhaps he has come."

But it was only Markham who appeared.

"Dear lady," he said, approaching her side, "Mr. Seymour has not arrived, and there is nothing to be seen of him, as far as we can see up the river. Every moment that you stay endangers your safety. If he has escaped, he has gone to some other port; if not, your remaining here is ruinous to him and to yourself."

"Half an hour, yet half an hour," cried Arabella; "I beseech, entreat you, my kind friend, stay but that short space."

"Be it as you will, madam," replied Sir Griffin Markham, in a grave tone; "but that one half hour may be regretted bitterly hereafter, when it cannot be recalled."

"Well then, half that time," said Arabella; and bowing, the gentleman retired, giving orders to have everything ready to set sail the instant the signal was given.

The quarter of an hour was barely at an end, when he again went down, and approaching Arabella, said, "Now lady, now, remember, the safety of many others is compromised, as well as your own."

Arabella closed her eyes, and a slight shudder passed over her; but she made no reply.

Sir Griffin Markham, however, took her silence for a mark of acquiescence, and going back to the foot of the ladder, exclaimed to those on deck, "Away! Set sail!" and Arabella turned round upon the couch and deluged it with tears.