‘Lord Hal is a lad of his word. Peace with thy lords and ladies, woman, thou’lt have the archers after him at once.’ ‘She makes no secret of being of gentle blood--a St. John of Bletso.’ ‘A pestilent White Rose lot! We shall have them on the scent ere many days are over our head! An unlucky chance this same snow, or I should have had the wench off to Greystone ere they could exchange a word.’ ‘Thou wouldst have been caught in the storm. Ill for the maid to have fallen into a drift!’ ‘Well for the lad if she never came out of it!’ muttered the gruff old shepherd. ‘Then were her tongue stilled, and those of the clacking wenches at York--Yorkists every one of them.’ Mother Dolly’s eyes grew round. ‘Mind thee, Hob!’ she said; ‘I ken thy bark is worse than thy bite, but I would have thee to know that if aught befall the maid between this and Greystone, I shall hold thee--and so will my Lady--guilty of a foul deed.’ ‘No fouler than was done on the stripling’s father,’ muttered the shepherd. ‘Get thee in, wife! Who knows what folly those two may be after while thou art away? Mind thee, if the maid gets an inkling of who the boy is, it will be the worse for her.’ ‘Oh!’ murmured the goodwife, ‘I moaned once that our Piers there should be deaf and well-nigh dumb, but I thank God for it now! No fear of perilous word going out through him, or I durst not have kept my poor sister’s son!’ Mother Doll trusted that her husband would never have the heart to leave the pretty dark-haired girl in the snow, but she was relieved to find Hal marking down on the wide flat hearth-stone, with a bit of charcoal, all the stars he had observed. ‘Hob calls that the Plough--those seven!’ he said; ‘I call it Charles’s Wain!’ ‘Methinks I have seen that!’ she said, ‘winter and summer both.’ ‘Ay, he is a meuseful husbandman, that Charles! And see here! This middle mare of the team has a little foal running beside her’--he made a small spot beside the mark that stood for the central star of what we call the Bear’s Tail. ‘I never saw that!’ ‘No, ‘tis only to be seen on a clear bright night. I have seen it, but Hob mocks at it. He thinks the only use of the Wain is to find the North Star, up beyond there, pointing by the back of the Plough, and go by it when you are lost.’ ‘What good would finding the North Star do? It would not have helped me home if you had not found me!’ ‘Look here, Lady Anne! Which way does Greystone lie?’ ‘How should I tell?’ ‘Which way did the sun lie when you crossed the moor?’