'Not if the summons came now,' Dorothy said, with a disagreeable smile. 'You couldn't ride to Court in homespun, methinks. Her Highness the Queen, so I hear, is vastly choice about dress, and she has proclaimed that if the ruffs either of squires or ladies are above a certain height they shall be clipped down by shearers hired for the purpose--willy nilly. As you have no ruffs, it seems, this order will not touch your comfort. Good-day.' Lucy looked after her departing visitor, seated on a pillion with the serving-man, with a scornful smile. It was irritating, no doubt, to be pitied by Dorothy Ratcliffe, and to have to stand by her in such humble attire, but did she not know that George, poor George, loved her, and her alone; did she not know that he would never suffer himself to be entrapped into a marriage with his cousin, even though she had bags of gold, and finally--and that was perhaps the sweetest thought of all--did she not know whether in faded homespun, guiltless of lace or ruffle, or in her best array, no one could look twice at Dorothy Ratcliffe while she was by. So the poor little vain heart was comforted, as Lucy turned to Mary, who had been in the bakehouse kneading flour for the coarse, brown bread consumed by the household at Ford Manor far too quickly to please Mistress Forrester, with a merry laugh,-- 'To think on't, Mary. Doll Ratcliffe has been visiting me to tell me she is to marry George, and be the fair mistress of Hillbrow. I could split my sides with laughing to think of it! And she came to pity me--pity me, forsooth! because I have to wait long for the summons to join my Lady Pembroke, and she starts on the morrow. I hate pity, Mary;--pity, indeed, from a frump like that! I can snap my fingers at her, and tell her she will want my pity--not I hers.' 'Go and finish your work, Lucy,' Mary said. 'Strive after a gentler and more patient spirit. It fills me with foreboding when you give your tongue such licence.' 'Mary!' Lucy said, with a sudden vehemence. 'Mary! I heard you sobbing last night--I know I did. I heard you praying for help. Oh! Mary, I love you--I love you, and I would fain know why you are more unhappy than you were a while agone. Has it aught to do with that black, dreadful man I saw on the hill?' 'Do not speak of him--not a soul must know of him. Promise, Lucy!' Mary said. 'But George Ratcliffe knows how he scared me that day, though he did not see him. He said he would track him out and belabour him as he deserved.' And now, before Mary could make any rejoinder, Ambrose was calling from the head of the stairs,-- 'Mother, I am tired of staying here, let me come down.' 'Yes, come, Ambrose,' Mary said, 'mother's work is over, and she can have you now near her.' The child was the next minute in his mother's arms. Mary covered him with kisses. 'And you have stayed in my chamber for these two hours?' she said. 'My good, brave boy!'