All that remained for them was the hope that they had not been seen as yet, and that their pursuers would not come over to their place of concealment. But as thus they lay close in dire suspense, they were not aware of a more instant danger. Within a few yards of them, on their own side of the hedge, a man with a dog was approaching. As yet the man had not seen them, but alas! the dog had already discovered them. It ran straight to where they lay concealed in the grass, and to their horror began to fondle Anne and lick her face. In the next moment a man on a horse was bending over them. Thrusting the dog away from her, Anne looked up and saw the man, and as she did so her heart died within her. It was John Markham the falconer. His eyes were fixed upon the prostrate form of Gervase. In the very fascination of terror she watched his hand stray to the hilt of his dagger. Both the fugitives lay in the grass staring up helplessly into the grim eyes of the falconer. They could neither move, speak nor act. A chill of horror was upon their souls. But the dog, Anne’s old friend and companion, was overjoyed and continued to lick and fondle her. Of a sudden John Markham’s hand forsook the hilt of his dagger. And in the same instant his face changed from the tawny bloom of health to a hue far otherwise. His rather slow brain had realized who it was that lay by the side of the escaped prisoner. The falconer grew white as death. He was the devoted servant of a good and honored master. But beyond all things he was the slave of his young mistress. All was mad turmoil at the Castle. As yet none had had thought to spare for Mistress Anne. Her absence had not been noted, perhaps not even by the Constable himself. All that was known was that the condemned man had made his way out of his prison, in a manner bordering upon the miraculous, within some two hours of the time fixed for his execution. Here was the explanation of the mystery! In a moment of harrowing bitterness of soul John Markham read the terrible truth. “Oh my mistress!” was wrung from his lips. John Markham’s was a slow brain, but now his high devotion lent it swiftness and subtlety. In that instant he had learned all. She whom he had adored with a passionate fidelity had given everything that was hers to one whom by all the terms of his honorable service he was pledged to retake. “Oh my mistress!” A tear sparkled upon the falconer’s cheek. The fugitives lying in the grass made no reply. And in his anguish of mind the falconer seemed as helpless as they. In the next moment came a shout from the other side of the hedge. “Hulloa, Markham, what have you there!” The words broke the spell for the man who loved his young mistress devotedly. “The dog seems to have found a rabbit,” was his answer. “Naught better than that!” came in tones of disappointment. “We were hoping he had found something else.” The falconer called off the dog, and then immediately rode away to join his companions.