That evening, as you may guess, there was no playing of hunt and hide in the corridors of Larkland, nor dancing in the little parlor. Instead Lady Sybil went hither and thither, and gave orders and sent off letters, while Merrylips, holding fast to her crossbow, trudged bravely at her heels. Next day Goody Trot, who since Will Lowry's coming was quite sure that the Spaniards were upon them, went away in a wagon to her daughter in the next village. The next day after that old Roger had the coach horses shod with extra care. Finally, on the third day, came a messenger, riding post, from the Duke of Barrisden, who brought an answer to the letter that Lady Sybil had sent him. Lady Sybil read this letter, seated in her chamber, beside a chest where she was sorting garments. When she had read, she drew Merrylips to her, with a gayer face than she had shown since the morning of Rupert's flight. "Methinks we shall yet be clear of this gin," said she. "Here's his Grace most courteously assureth me that no let nor hindrance will be put in my way, if I wish to quit Larkland and go unto my friends who, even as myself, are Cavaliers--malignants, he is pleased to call them." "Shall we go on a journey, then?" asked Merrylips. "That's brave!" "Ay, brave indeed!" said Lady Sybil, and she flushed and smiled like a girl. "We'll go in the coach, thou, and I, and Mawkin, and Roger, and with us--lean closer, darling!--with us will go the jewels, snugly hidden in our garments. We'll guard them for the king." "God save him!" whispered Merrylips. "And at Winchester," Lady Sybil went on, "there'll be trusty men to meet us. I have written unto them. And whom dost thou think to see commanding them?" Merrylips caught her breath. "Not--not--" she faltered. "Ay, thine own dear brother, Longkin. Thy father will send some of his troop to guard us, and they will take us--where thinkest thou?" "Oh!" cried Merrylips. "To Walsover! To Walsover! Sweet godmother, we're going home at last to Walsover!" CHAPTER VIII THE SILVER RING That night Merrylips hardly slept a wink. No doubt it was the thought of home that kept her wakeful, but she wondered why that thought should also make her head heavy and her throat dry. As long as it was dark, she thought that when morning came she should have to tell her godmother that she was not feeling well. But when the day broke, she found so much to do that at first she forgot about herself. Later, when she remembered, thanks to the ache in her head, she was afraid that if she said a word about it, she should not be allowed to run to and fro and help her godmother, so she kept silent.