“He's simply mad, that's all,” returned Steve, sadly--“mad with drink. For whoever heard one in his senses, or even drunk in a natural way, talk such infernal rubbish! Didn't he say he was 'my Lady's' husband!” The answer was drowned in a great shout of laughter, and so the men passed on. Mary waited until she was sure there were no more to come, then walked on with her arms outstretched before her, as fast as she dared go. Suddenly there was a sharp and rusty shriek behind her, and a glare of lurid light which shewed her the gateway right in front. “They have begun to fire the rockets,” muttered she; “so there will be nobody in the village, that is certain.” The little street, much lighter than the way by which she had hitherto come, was indeed quite empty, but by no means noiseless; a sound of confused shouting came dully up from the bottom of the hill, where, as she well knew, the Cage was situated; and truly, as Anne Rees had said, it struck upon the ear like the roaring of some angry beast making night hideous. Mary stopped for a moment to listen; and when she went on, her face was paler, though not less determined-looking than before. “Sir Richard is a bastard--a bastard--a bastard! My Lady is not nearly so good as she should be; and I'm her husband in the lock-up! Down with the Lisgards--down with them; and down they shall come!” These were the words, but interspersed with the most hideous imprecations, with which Mistress Forest's ears were greeted as she approached the little round house. Taking advantage of a momentary pause in the stream of denunciation, she knocked with her clenched hand at the nail-studded door. “Sir Richard is a bastard! no more Sir Richard than you are!” shrieked the voice within. “Be sure you go to the magistrates' meeting at Dalwynch on Thursday, and let all Mirk go with you; then shall you see pride have a fall, and the Lisgards come down with a run! Down with them--down with them--and down they shall come!” “Ralph--Ralph Derrick, it is me.” “Who's me? a woman?” inquired the prisoner eagerly. “Then I'll tell you about my Lady, because you'll enjoy it. She's _not_ my Lady; she's no more my Lady than you are.” “Ralph Gavestone, I know that,” answered Mistress Forest, with her mouth glued to a crack in the door. “Oh, you know that, do you? Then you must be the devil, whom I have lately suspected to be of the female gender, and am now convinced of it. You are of course aware, then, that I am her husband?” “Yes, I am.--Will you be quiet, and go away to Dalwynch, and not try to enter the Abbey grounds again this night, if I let you out?”