“Tut! tut! What manners is that, and you handsome enough to kiss,” adds the little Baronet diplomatically. “Come now, off and implore Lady Peggy to hasten.” “Her Ladyship’s from home,” finally Chockey says. “What! Not at Kennaston?” Sir Robin’s sharp eye can not help peering regretfully at the shilling Chockey twirls in her fingers. “In Kent, doubtless, a-visiting her godmother, and a-hoping to see me there! eh, in Kent?” “I don’t know, Sir,” replies the girl with a hint of tears in her voice. “Don’t know! What do you mean?” exclaims Sir Robin suspiciously. “I means, Sir,” fires up Chock, “that My Lady ain’t by way of telling me her matters. His Lordship, her father’s down with his leg; Her Ladyship’s mother is a-visitin’ the sick in York. As they supposes, Sir, Lady Peggy is in Kent, also, a-visitin’ the sick, Her Ladyship’s godmother.” Chockey curtsies and turns to the door, out of which Sir Robin reluctantly goes, putting spurs to his horse, dining at the Mermaid and then chartering a post-chaise to take him, sans delay, to Kent. He crossed but one traveler on his way from Kennaston Castle to the village inn; a man of stout and comely build on a steed that took even Sir Robin’s dull eye, so was its blood and lineage marked in its long splendid gait. This horseman too pulled rein at Kennaston, sprang from his saddle, and, as Bickers hobbled up to take his beast, Mr. Grigson, for ’twas he, jumped up on the steps and caught Chockey’s apron-string just as it was fluttering in the closing door. “Hey, missus!” cried he, twirling Chock about and chucking her under the chin, which was rewarded by as smart a slap as that which had erstwhile burned Sir Robin’s cheek. “I must see Lady Peggy Burgoyne on the spot, without ceremony or a-waitin’ ’ere coolin’ my heels. I’ve a letter for Her Ladyship meanin’ life and death to my master, Sir Percy de Bohun.” “Have you?” says Chock, looking with admiring eyes upon the smart livery of Mr. Grigson, dust and mud-stained though it was. “Yes, straight from London town, where ’pon my life, there’s no sweeter mug than hers I sees before me now!” “Lawk!” cries Chock, appeased. “But my mistress is from home.” “Not here! where is she then? A-visiting in the neighborhood?” Mr. Grigson turns on his heel and chirrups for his mount. “No,” returns Chockey. “She ain’t.” “Well, whereabouts is she? For if it’s as far as the Injies, Grigson’s bound to find her and deliver this love-letter!” “I don’t know where she is, Sir,” whimpers Chock. “There, there! Don’t be a-cryin’ and a-sobbin’, Duckie, I ain’t gone, yet! Go ask His Lordship the address; bring me a mug of ale, and I’ll give you a kiss.” “Drat you, Sir,” cries Chockey. “Don’t you be talkin’ like that!” Yet sidles she quite cozily in the encircling arm of the admirable Grigson. “His Lordship, nor Her Ladyship, nor no one else knows where my mistress is.”