This was indeed a trying moment. The young lord was now to be transformed into the peasant boy--his long bright curls were cut off, his face and hands were stained with a brown liquid to make him look sunburnt, as if he was used to work in the fields, and his rich velvet apparel was changed for coarse homespun woollen cloth. But he cared not what they put him on--his only thought was that he was going away from his beloved mother, perhaps never to see her more. He clasped his arms round her neck and clung to her sobbing, as if his heart would break, and the tears were streaming down her cheeks too, as she fell on her knees and murmured a prayer that heaven would watch over and protect her fatherless boy. "My lady--my dear lady," said old Hubert; "you must not stay here longer--the sooner this parting is over the better it will be for you both. Come, my Lord Henry, it is time we were moving." So saying he gently disengaged the boy from his mother's encircling arms and lifted him into the cart, making a private signal to Rolf to drive away as fast as he could. He then respectfully entreated his unhappy lady to return to her party, and she, scarcely conscious of what she was doing, suffered him to lead her back, and as soon as he had seen her safely placed in the litter with Cicely and the two children, he mounted his horse and galloped off as if to join Rolf and his young charge, but in reality to take quite another route, for Henry was to pass, during this journey, for a poor boy whom Rolf was taking home to his native village, and it would not have done for him to be attended by Lady Clifford's seneschal.