He felt the great gulf which lay between him and the pure woman whom he had so cruelly deserted--a gulf, too, separating him from the child in his innocent childhood--the possession of whom he so greatly coveted. For a moment or two softer feelings got the mastery, and Ambrose Gifford stood there, under the starlit sky, almost resolved to relinquish his purpose, and leave the boy to his mother. But that better feeling soon passed, and the specious reasoning, that he was doing the best for the child to have him brought up a good Catholic, and educated as his mother could never educate him, and that the end justified the means, and that he was bound to carry out his purpose, made him say to himself, as he turned away,-- 'I will do it yet, in spite of her, for the boy's salvation. Yes; by the saints I will do it!' * * * * * The next few days passed without any summons for Lucy to join the household at Penshurst. She became restless and uneasy, fearing that, after all, she might miss what she had set her heart upon. Troubles, too, arose about her dress. She had been conscious on Sunday that the ladies in attendance were far smarter than she was; and she had overheard the maiden, who was addressed as 'Betty,' say,-- 'That country child is vain of her gown, but it might have been put together in the reign of our Queen's grandmother. And who ever saw a ruff that shape; it is just half as thick as it ought to be.' Poor little Lucy had other causes, as she thought, for discontent. The long delay in the fulfilment of her wishes was almost too much for her patience; but it was exasperating, one morning, to be summoned from the dairy by little Ambrose to see a grand lady on a white horse, who asked if Mistress Lucy Ratcliffe had gone to London. Lucy ran out in eager haste, hoping almost against hope that it was some lady from Penshurst, sent by the Countess to make the final arrangements. To her dismay she found Dorothy Ratcliffe being lifted from the pillion by a serving man, attired in a smart riding-robe of crimson with gold buttons and a hood of the same material to protect her head from the sun and the keen east wind which had set in during the last few days. 'Good-day to you,' Dorothy said. 'I did not hope to find you here. Methought you had set off for London days ago! Whence the delay?' 'I am waiting the Countess of Pembroke's pleasure,' Lucy said, with heightened colour. 'The tourney has been put off.' 'As we all know,' Dorothy remarked, 'but it is well to be lodged in good time, for all the quarters near Whitehall will be full to overflowing. Prithee, let me come in out of the wind, it is enow to blow one's head off one's shoulders.'