At length the service was over. She hailed its conclusion with a sigh of relief, mentally promising the new confessor but a small portion of her favour if he were always as long-winded as he had been on this occasion; and she anxiously awaited the moment when Sir George would rise from his knees and lead the way out, so that she might carry Dorothy off in safety. The time came in due course. The baron rose; the others followed his example, and as Lady Maude, less haughty than usual, led the way out of the chapel, Margaret eagerly caught hold of her sister and led her away in silence across the courtyard and into the hall. CHAPTER XIX. "THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE." 'Twere wild to hope for her, you say, I've torn and cast those words away, Surely there's hope! For life 'tis well Love without hope's impossible. --COVENTRY PATMORE. Father Philip had lain under the sod but one sunset before the fruits of Margaret's intriguing began to make themselves apparent. It was with a secret sense of misgiving that Manners received an invitation, which he readily construed into a command, to attend the baron in his private room, and it was with a fluttering heart that he prepared himself to meet Dorothy's father. Nor were his forebodings set at rest or in anywise lightened by the first view he got of the baron. Sir George was pacing up and down the room, but hearing the door open he stopped suddenly, and when Manners entered he saw upon the knight's face a look which at once struck a chill to his heart. "Sit down, Manners, sit down," said the baron curtly. He was nervous and excited, and as Manners obeyed the injunction he clearly perceived this fact, and it afforded him a little satisfaction. "You wished to see me?" he exclaimed, breaking the awkward silence which ensued after he had sat down. "Eh, yes, I did." Another long pause followed, which was painful alike to both. The baron's agitation increased, and it did not need any great exercise of shrewdness to guess the cause. The lover guessed it intuitively, and deftly altered the topic which was just about to be broached. "Poor Father Philip is gone," he exclaimed in a sympathetic tone. "Ye-e-s," slowly assented the baron. "And you miss him, I perceive," pursued the esquire tremulously. "Very true, but--" "And I hear Nicholas Bury is about to depart," hazarded Manners, interrupting the baron. "Eh! what?" exclaimed Sir George. "Father Nicholas going?" "He has informed Everard so." "No, he must stay," returned the knight, banishing the wrinkles that had contracted his brow; "of course he must stay." He was clearly off his guard now, and Manners breathed easier again; for, thanks to the efforts of Dorothy and Crowleigh, as well as to his own perceptions, he was by no means ignorant of the conspiracy of which he was the victim, and he wished to procrastinate the inevitable interview until a more favourable time presented itself for the purpose.