"I have signed nothing!--I have signed nothing!" cried the girl, vehemently; "it was all my father's doing, and I do not think he signed anything either." "Well, we shall soon see," said Sir Harry West; "the only difficulty is, what is to become of you if you are taken from this man?" The girl looked down thoughtfully and sadly; and then replied, raising her eyes with a beam of hope in them, "I can knit, I can sew, I can work all kind of things--I hate singing and playing on the lute--I used to love it once; and it was my only comfort when my mother died; but I hate it, now that I am obliged to do it for strange men to stare at me." "I dare say thou dost," replied the knight, with feelings of deep interest growing upon him. "I will see what may be done for you, my poor girl; so take comfort, for this is a land where it seldom happens that those who are really good and in distress, do not find some one to help them." While they had been thus conversing, the whole party had proceeded on their way, George Brooke walking first, with the constable keeping a respectable distance, holding the gentleman's sword, it must be confessed, in great reverence, after he had seen how readily it sprang out of its sheath. The way was somewhat long, and quitting the lane in which they were, they turned into another on the left, before they reached the high road, upon which--as it led him in an opposite direction to that in which he wished to go--George Brooke burst forth with one of the blasphemous oaths so common in those days, adding to the constable, "In the name of Satan, and all the devils, is this never to come to an end? Why, you are taking me quite out of my way!" "'Tis but a short mile farther to Browbury House, master," replied the constable; "and there Justice Scully will soon settle your affair, I warrant ye." "Warrant!" exclaimed George Brooke; "I wish you and your warrants were at the devil. If I have any say in the world to come, you shall be kept sitting in a pair of red-hot stocks till the marrow fries in your ankle bones." "Where will you be then yourself?" asked the constable; and there dropped the pleasant conversation. At length they approached the house of the justice, which was a good old country mansion, with a village round about it. All parties seemed glad to see it, except poor Ida Mara, who, terrified at the thought of meeting her tyrant, crept up to the side of the old knight's horse, which he had remounted at the close of their conversation. "Do not be afraid, my dear," he said; "I will see that justice is done to you. Here, Lakyn, you look to her; and take care that she be well treated. I will go in and speak to worshipful Master Scully." "And so will I," cried George Brooke; "I am not to be kept like a lackey waiting in a hall."