“‘Tis a wild beast!” And giving the view halloo of that day, a number of huntresses were soon about him, and kept him at bay. And indeed, they quite protected Nancy, and Plunket had the worst of it. Meanwhile, poor Lionel was wandering in this very wood, at this very time, and disconsolate as Ariadne, but not one millionth part as faithless. It was a grand court hunting day in fact; Elizabeth Tudor had got up that morning at six to chase the deer, and one of many huntresses present was Lady Henrietta. Coming again to Lady Henrietta, I may mention that the company she had most loved since her forced visit to the farm house was her own; indeed, she too had grown melancholy, but hers was very far from such a dismal strait as Lionel’s. Well--in one part of the forest sat on the turf Lord Tristam and Martha (let us call her Martha now and then). The thing which my lord could not comprehend was why her ladyship had left the queen’s party--the _queen’s_ party. He could see no significance in the answer--because she wished to be alone. At last she plainly asked him to leave her, and, hardly believing the testimony of his ears, he ambled away. And then it was that her tears went tumbling down upon the dewy grass. Oh! if no bitterer tears had ever been shed than Lady Henrietta’s what a blissful world it would have been down to that precious May morning! And thus Lionel, ever wandering in the wood, found her. The next scene is really so painful that I would rather shut my eyes to it; but alas, did I do so there would be such an hiatus in this true history that you might fancy the printing gentlemen engaged upon it were of the eccentric kind. So in a few short and unwilling words let me tell the cruel truth. He recognized her and she screamed. Thereupon, Lord Tristam, who, of course, was not far off, made his appearance, and with him a perfect posse. Then and there Lionel declared the lady his servant--the Lady Henrietta! So they declared he was mad, and were going to fall upon him, when she interceded for him and prayed that they would let him go. Then it was that Plunket came on the scene and recognized Martha; but little said he, smart farmer. Suddenly, the sound of loud trumpets declared Elizabeth, Queen of England, was near at hand, and, as they finally drove Lionel back, he, poor fellow and foundling, thought of the small diamond ring which was to be so talismanic. He took it from his finger, pressed it within Plunket’s right hand, and bade him give it to the queen. “Aye-aye, lad,” said Plunket; and meant it. CHAPTER V. That pleasant old farm house, once so happy, was as dull as the forest at midnight. Lionel grew more and more melancholy; and, indeed, farmer Plunket was not very cheerful, though he would not give in. Plunket was sitting by himself one day, and waiting for somebody--whom? The Lady Henrietta herself. Her conscience was at work. So she determined to save him.