The night was hot, and Dorothy fell asleep with her door wide open.

In the morning Marquis was nowhere to be found.  Dorothy searched for him everywhere, but in vain.

‘It is because you mocked him, my lord,’ said the governor to his father at breakfast.  ’I doubt not he said to himself, “If I am a dog, my lord need not have mocked me, for I could not help it, and I did my duty."’

‘I would make him an apology,’ returned the marquis, ‘an’ I had but the opportunity.  Truly it were evil minded knowingly to offer insult to any being capable of so regarding it.  But, Charles, I bethink me:  didst ever learn how our friend got into the castle?  It was assuredly thy part to discover that secret.’

‘No, my lord.  It hath never been found out in so far as I know.’

’That is an unworthy answer, lord Charles.  As governor of the castle, you ought to have had the matter thoroughly searched into.’

‘I will see to it now, my lord,’ said the governor, rising.

‘Do, my lad,’ returned his father.

And lord Charles did inquire; but not a ray of light did he succeed in letting in upon the mystery.  The inquiry might, however, have lasted longer and been more successful, had not lord Herbert just then come home, with the welcome news of the death of Hampden, from a wound received in attacking prince Rupert at Chalgrove.  He brought news also of prince Maurice’s brave fight at Bath, and lord Wilmot’s victory over sir William Waller at Devizes—­which latter, lord Herbert confessed, yielded him some personal satisfaction, seeing he owed Waller more grudges than as a Christian he had well known how to manage:  now he was able to bear him a less bitter animosity.  The queen, too, had reached Oxford, bringing large reinforcement to her husband, and prince Rupert had taken Bristol, castle and all.  Things were looking mighty hopeful, lord Herbert was radiant, and lady Margaret, for the first time since Molly’s death, was merry.  The castle was illuminated, and Marquis forgotten by all but Dorothy.

CHAPTER XXV.

Richard Heywood.

So things looked ill for the puritans in general, and Richard Heywood had his full portion in the distribution of the evils allotted them.  Following lord Fairfax, he had shared his defeat by the marquis of Newcastle on Atherton moor, where of his score of men he lost five, and was, along with his mare, pretty severely wounded.  Hence it had become absolutely necessary for both of them, if they were to render good service at any near future, that they should have rest and tending.  Towards the middle of July, therefore, Richard, followed by Stopchase, and several others of his men who had also been wounded and were in need of nursing, rode up to his father’s door.  Lady was taken off to her own stall, and Richard was led into the house by his father—­without a word of tenderness, but with eyes and hands that waited and tended like those of a mother.