“‘It was past midnight, when a foot came gliding along the passage, and a finger gave three slight scratches on the door of the chamber. The maid went out, and after a brief conference suddenly returned, red with blushes from ear to ear. “O my lady!” said the trusty maiden,——“O my sweet young lady, here’s that poor young lad,——ye know his name,——who gave me three yards of crimson ribbon to trim my peach-bloom mantle, last Bakewell fair. An honester or a kinder heart never kept a promise; and yet I may not give him the meeting. O my young lady, my sweet young lady, my beautiful young lady, could you not stay here for half an hour by yourself?” Ere her young mistress could answer, the notice of the lover’s presence was renewed. The maiden again went; whispers were heard, and the audible salutation of lips; she returned again more resolute than ever to oblige her lover. “O my lady, my young lady, if ye ever hope to prosper in true love yourself, spare me but one half-hour with this harmless kind lad. He has come seven long miles to see my fair face, he says; and, O my lady, he has a handsome face of his own. O, never let it be said that Dora Vernon sundered true lovers! But I see consent written in your own lovely face,——so I will run; and, O my lady, take care of your own sweet, handsome self, when your faithful Nan’s away!” And the maiden retired with her lover. “‘It was half an hour after midnight when one of the keepers of the chase, as he lay beneath a holly-bush listening, with a prolonged groan, to the audible voice of revelry in the hall, from which his duty had lately excluded him, happened to observe two forms approaching; one of low stature, a light step, and muffled in a common mantle; the other with the air and in the dress of a forester, a sword at his side and pistols in his belt. The ale and the wine had invaded the keeper’s brain and impaired his sight; yet he roused himself up with a hiccup and a “Hilloah,” and “Where go ye, my masters?” The lesser form whispered to the other, who immediately said, “Jasper Jugg, is this you? Heaven be praised I have found you so soon; here’s that north-country pedler, with his beads and blue ribbon, he has come and whistled out pretty Nan Malkin, the lady’s favorite and the lord’s trusty maid. I left them under the terrace, and came to tell you.”