"Why have I not been brought to trial?" continued the girl, "Others were tried and sentenced and met their doom, while I linger on, not knowing what my fate is to be." "I know not," answered Mrs. Shelton again. "Question it not, girl. There are those here who have lain for years in like uncertainty, and will so wait until death releases them." "And their lot will be mine," observed the maiden mournfully. "Happy were they who met death on the block! I am so young and so strong. 'Twill be long ere the tomb claims me. And to look forward to all those years--oh, 'tis hard, hard!" She paused for a time, and then went on pathetically: "I dreamed of the fens and the wildwood last night, mistress. Methought the breeze came fresh from the distant sea. I felt its breath upon my cheek. I heard the sound of the horns, and the bay of the hounds as they were unleashed for the chase. I mounted my palfrey, and dashed in pursuit of the dogs. I rode as ne'er I rode before. On and on! and then, as the clamor of the hounds told me the game was brought to bay, I reached for my bow, and--touched the walls of my prison. Then I awoke. It was all a dream," she ended with a sob. "All a dream, and I shall never ride in the forest again." "There, sweetheart! think no more on it," soothed Mrs. Shelton. "Come! let us go down to the bonny laddie who, even if he be thine enemy is more real than dreams." Francis composed herself and followed the woman into the garden where Edward Devereaux already wandered. As she answered his greeting with a slight smile the youth ventured to enter into conversation. "Hast heard the report?" he began eagerly. "'Tis said that the Spanish have been driven back to their coasts by a storm, but are again preparing to sail for England. Oh, for a chance at them! If I could but once take a Don by the beard I would content me to stay in these walls forever." "Say not so, Master Devereaux," said Francis. "'Tis a dreary place, and hadst thou been here for nigh two years as I have been thou wouldst not utter such things. 'Tis dreary--dreary!" She sighed heavily, and despite herself a tear rolled down her cheek. "How now, Francis," cried Devereaux touched by her distress. "Thou with the megrims? Why, Francis, 'tis unlike thy spirit!" "I had a dream," said Francis striving to repress her tears, "and it hath made me long for liberty." And she related it to him. "I wonder not at thy longing," said the lad. "I too desire with all my heart to be free. And," he lowered his voice and glanced about for Mrs. Shelton but she was busied over some plants, and out of earshot, "and I intend to be soon." "What!" cried Francis, her grief forgotten, looking at him with eagerness. "Not so loud," cautioned Edward. "I mean to escape, Francis, and to go to Lord Howard to help fight the Spaniards." "Oh, Edward," breathed the girl, "take me with you."