Presently a knock at the front door aroused him. “Who comes hither, Nell?” he asked. “’Tis late for visitors.” “It is the gentleman you spoke with as we walked to church on Sunday, sir,” said Nell. “What! good Mr. Adam Head, of Cheap-street? I trust he does not want us to lodge any of the King’s officers.” “There is an officer with him, sir,” said Helena. “A gentleman with lank black hair.” Before more could be said the two visitors were shown into the room, and the good Rector was courteously receiving them with bows, and no apparent lack of hospitality, though in the dim recesses of his mind there lurked a troubled consciousness that the guest rooms were already full. “I must present you, sir, to my noble guest, Lord Falkland,” said Mr. Head. (“After all he does not want to lie here this night,” reflected the Rector, his manner becoming still more cordial.) “My lord, this is Dr. Twisse, who will, I am sure, be ready to serve your lordship.” Falkland’s greeting was full of charm. He bowed low to Helena as she was about to glide quietly by them to the door, but the Rector put his hand on her arm and stayed her. “Wait, Helena,” he said, “I am sure my Lord Falkland will spare a moment to let us thank him for the very kind trouble he took in sending you the last details as to your father. This, my lord, is the daughter of Major Locke, whose death at Marlborough you notified to us.” Falkland gave a glance full of kindness and pity at the delicate, fair-haired girl; the colour had risen in her pale face, and her blue eyes were bright with tears. He bent down and kissed her hand, vividly recalling as he did so the face of the dead Parliamentary officer lying in the church at Marlborough. “It was through Mr. Harford, madam, that I learnt your address; being unable to write to you himself while a prisoner, he begged me to send you word of what had passed.” As he spoke he saw the colour deepen and spread in Helena’s pretty face, and knew by the tone of her voice that she was far from indifferent to the young lieutenant. Remembering the miniature of the beautiful dark-haired girl, and Gabriel’s own words as to a kinswoman of the Bishop of Hereford, he guessed that there were all the materials for a tragedy in this little maid’s romance. “Is it true, my lord, that the prisoners in Oxford Castle are cruelly treated?” asked Helena. “We have heard such shocking tales of their sufferings.” “I fear the tales are o’er true,” said Falkland, sadly. “I did what little was possible for Mr. Harford, and have spoken to those in authority as to his exchange, but at present there is nothing for it but patience, and that he has--the patience of a man who believes in his cause.”