"In sooth, it was but a poor return for thy kindness to leave thee my bow," observed the girl as she hastened to relieve him of the crossbow that he held. "Thy pardon, Master Hugh. I was intent upon the race and thought not of it. It was a good dash, I promise you." "Ay! I make no doubt of it," grumbled the old man seating himself. "But 'twere meeter for a maiden to embroider, or to play the virginals than to shoot the bow or run with the hounds as thou dost." "Said I not my Latin well this morning, cousin?" queried Francis. "Doth not my lady mother instruct me in the tent and cross-stitch each day? Besides doth not even the Queen's Majesty disport herself with the bow? 'Tis the fashion, good my master." "Ay! 'Dum vitant stulti vitia, in contraria currunt,'"[A] spoke the old man sharply. "Be not angry, cousin, I did but ill in running from thee." "Marry! let it pass, but I mislike such sturdiness, Francis. Thou hast led me a sorry chase and we are far from the Hall. If I mistake not, we are even now in Sanborne Park and that, thou knowest, is trespass." "Nay, cousin; not unless we kill some of the red deer with which it abounds, and that we have not done--yet," spoke the maiden demurely. "The thought of such a thing should not be entertained by the daughter of Lord William Stafford. Thou durst not think it, Francis." "Durst not?" laughed Francis teasingly. "Should one stray in our path I will show thee what I durst." "Boast not, girl. It bespeaks ill for thy breeding. Thou art too prone to vaunt thy skill in shooting. Not so was that flower of womanhood, the Lady Jane Grey. Once," and the tutor spoke warmly for this was a favorite theme, "once it was my good hap to pass some time at Broadgate, her father's seat in Leicestershire, and never have I seen her like for love of learning. Greek, Latin, French and Italian spoke she as well as her own tongue. Some knowledge had she also of Hebrew, Chaldee and Arabic. She loved not such idle sport as the chase. Would that thou wert like her." "Out upon thee for so evil a wish," chided Francis, but there was a merry twinkle in her eye that softened the harshness of her tone. "Wouldst have me beheaded? Yet it may be that I am such a dullard that thou dost wish that I should meet with a like fate." "Nay, child! Thou knowest better." The face of the old man softened involuntarily as he gazed into the laughing countenance of the girl before him. Her head was crowned by a mass of red gold hair which, guiltless of crisping or curling pins, fell in ringlets over her shoulders; her complexion was of creamy fairness; her features regular, her eyes dark and luminous; her whole expression full of winsomeness; but there was a sparkle in the dark eyes now so full of mischief, and a set to the rich red lips that spoke volumes for the spirit of Mistress Francis Stafford.