“One moment, madam, if you please,” replied the officer, knocking at the General’s door. He was not bade to enter, but the single word, “Oxford,” uttered in a deep voice, came from within. The subordinate appeared to understand, and with a bow to the lady said: “Mr. Armstrong is waiting below. Will you come down, or shall I ask him to come up?” “You may tell him I wish to see him.” She walked to the head of the stair and saw Armstrong alone in the lower hall, pacing up and down with a fine swagger of Scottish indifference, which he must have been far from feeling, while the doorway was blocked by two guards holding grounded pikes. The moment the young man saw her he came bounding up the stair two steps at a time. All the guards, above and below, seemed struck with simultaneous alertness, and made a motion which, if continued, would have brought their weapons to bear on the prisoner, but a slight signal from the officer’s hand brought back their former stolidity. “Oh, Mr. Armstrong, I merely wished to know at what hour we set out to-morrow.” “_Do_ we set out to-morrow?” he asked in a whisper. “Yes, there is no obstacle between here and Oxford. I was up so late last night, and that, with this long, dragging journey to-day, has tired me. All I wished to know was the hour for to-morrow.” “But you will have supper with me?” “No. I can eat nothing. I am too tired.” “Now, that’s strange. I’m as hungry as the Tweed at flood time. Let me persuade you.” “Thank you, but I would rest. Good-night.” In all his life he never forgot that picture of the girl at the stair-head looking down upon him. There was a pathetic droop in her attitude which was usually so firm and erect, as if the gloom of this fortress-inn oppressed her. Childlike and forlorn she seemed, and a great wave of pity surged up in his heart for her, while his arms thrilled with a yearning to enclasp and comfort her. “Good-night!” he cried, impulsively thrusting forth his hand to her. She did not appear to notice the extended hand, and he almost imagined she shrank from it. As she went away he had one more lingering look from her, over her shoulder. A smile, sad and weary, but inexpressibly sweet, lingered on her lips. “Good-night,” she whispered. CHAPTER VI.--REJECTION. There had been a lashing of rain and a clatter of thunder over Northampton in the night, as if the town were again besieged; but morning broke clear and beautiful, and when the pilgrims got out into the country again, the freshness of the air, the sparkle of the rain-drops on the trees, caused the world to seem newly made. The girl rode silent and thoughtful, but the young man was bubbling over with high spirits.