all these centuries?" he cried—"they can not have been merely weeks—without my Goddess, my Star—" and so on, after the highflown fashion of the days of Pope and Dryden. To which Prue was well accustomed, and did not find any too fantastic for her highly cultivated vanity.

"Rise, Sir Geoffrey," she said very graciously, and when he obeyed, offered him her glowing cheek, upon which, one may be sure, he made haste to imprint more than one or two impassioned kisses. Then Margaret, who at first kept discreetly in the background, came forward and presented her hand, contenting herself with a salute of a more perfunctory nature.

"When did you return to town, Sir Geoffrey?" Prue inquired.

"Can you ask?" he said reproachfully. "You may be sure I have only waited to shake off the dust of travel, before hastening to throw myself at your feet."

"And how did you leave Bleakmoor?" she went on, "and have you seen our host and his friends since we left them?"

"Bleakmoor, deprived of the sunshine," said Sir Geoffrey, including the two girls in a low bow, "has by now been given over to the bats and owls. Brooke hath betaken himself to Malvern, and his friends are scattered to their own homes. The hunting is better since the thaw, but I have lost all taste for the field when Prue no longer leads the hunt."

"We scarcely expected that you would follow us so soon," remarked Peggie.

"Was I in too great haste?" he demanded. "Had I been warned of your sudden journey, I might, perhaps, have offended by offering my escort."

"You would have had a chance of playing the knight-errant," said Prue, "and coming to the rescue of two forlorn damsels set upon by footpads and forced to resort to all kinds of feminine wiles to protect their jewels."

The baronet rapped out an oath. "The fellows attacked you and I was not there to make mincemeat of them!" he exclaimed. "By Jove, these rascals become more and more audacious every day. A band of them attacked Will Battersea and myself on the North Road, where we had the good fortune to capture the ringleader and hand him over to the officers of justice."

"Bravo!" cried Margaret, clapping her hands. "Tell us all about it, Sir Geoffrey."

"Oh! 'twas the usual thing," he began. "We were on a lonely road, not far from Willesden—Will and I riding in front, with our fellows close behind—when several masked horsemen appeared from behind a clump of bushes, and covering us with their firearms, demanded our money or our lives—"

("Stand and deliver—" murmured Peggie, with a covert glance at her cousin.)—"We proceeded to argue the matter," Sir Geoffrey continued, "and either by accident or to intimidate us, one of the rascals let fly and hit my man Brown in the shoulder. Instantly, there was a mêlée, in the midst of which approaching shouts were heard and the highwaymen, at the word of command, dashed off, pursued by Will Battersea and myself. A parting shot, fired at random, brought down the horse of one of the highwaymen, who threw his rider into a ditch and rolled over him. There we found him with a broken collarbone, and handed him over to the mounted constabulary, who had arrived so opportunely."

"I shudder to think what might have happened," said Prue gravely, "had their arrival been less well-timed."

"Spare your tremors, my dearest," replied Sir Geoffrey, rather nettled by her tone. "You surely do not think that Will and I were in any peril from half-a-dozen highwaymen? To say nothing of our men, who were both sturdy rustics and had served in the West-Riding Yeomanry. I vow I was disappointed at the interruption, and would rather have taken Robin Freemantle with my pistol at his ear, than pulled him out of a ditch with the help of a constable."

"Robin Freemantle!" the two ladies exclaimed simultaneously. Then the blood rushed so tumultuously to Prue's face, that she was thankful for the dim light that hid her confusion.

"What! was it he that assailed you on Bleakmoor? The fellow is ubiquitous!" cried Sir Geoffrey. "I will not forget to add this to his other crimes, when I am witness on his trial. The man who has dared to attack the fairest lady in England—the protégée of her Grace of Marlborough—should be drawn and quartered; hanging is too good for him."

"Sir Geoffrey! I forbid you to mention my name!" she exclaimed, in a great flutter. "It may not be the same man—besides, he took nothing from us, did he, Peggie? Nothing, that is to say of any—any—"

"My dear Prudence—the mere fact of his attacking you would rouse the country," cried her lover, rather pompously. "It would have more effect upon the jury than a dozen ordinary highway robberies—"

"I do not wish to rouse the country," interrupted Prue. "What! am I to be discussed by lawyers and jurymen, and lampooned, forsooth, in the Flying Post! My grandmother would never forgive it—"

"Dearest Prue, pardon me for suggesting anything that could for one moment distress you; it was but my eagerness to punish the scoundrel for his crimes. Let us relegate him to oblivion. Such subjects are not for the lips and ears of Beauty. Tell me, sweet Prue, when may I hope to see Lady Drumloch and implore her sanction to my suit?"

"I have already broken the matter to her," replied Prue, "but, as we anticipated, without any great success, at present. She is, as you know, an ardent Jacobite and can not be expected to approve your politics, which are considerably more important to her than my happiness. Mayhap, when she becomes acquainted with you she may blame me less. You must exercise your eloquence on her as you did on me," she added, with a coquettish smile, "and then I think I can safely leave our cause in your hands. My prayers shall accompany you, and if necessary we will kneel side by side and implore the ancestral benediction."