"Well met, Mistress Mary! I looked well to find you near--for I take it 'twas Sir Guy passed me a minute gone, spurring as 'twere a shame to see." She looked up and saw a stout, middle-aged countryman on horseback, holding a folded paper in his hand. "Oh, 'tis thou, Gregory!" she said, coolly. "Mend thy manners, man, and keep thy place." The man grinned. "For my place, Mistress Mary," he said, "I doubt you know not where your place be." She looked up with a frown of angry surprise. "Up here behind me on young Bess," he grinned. "See, here's your father's letter, mistress." She took the paper with one hand while with the other she patted the soft nose of the mare, who was bending her head around to find her mistress. "Good Bess--good old mare!" she said, gently, gazing pensively at the letter. How well she knew every wrinkle in that paper, every curve in the clumsy superscription. Full well she knew its contents, too; for had she not read this very note to Copernicus Droop at the North Pole? However, partly that he might not be set to asking questions, partly in curiosity, she unfolded the paper. "DEAR POLL"--it began--"I'm starting behind the grays for London on my way to be knighted by her Majesty. I send this ahead by Gregory on Bess, she being fast enow for my purpose, which is to get thee out of the clutches of that ungodly aunt of thine. I know her tricks, and I learn how she hath suffered that damned milk-and-water popinjay to come courting my Poll. So see you follow Gregory, mistress, and without wait or parley come with him to the Peacock Inn, where I lie to-night. "The grays are in fine fettle, and thy black mare grows too fat for want of exercise. Thy mother-in-law commands thy instant return with Gregory, having much business forward with preparing gowns and fal lals against our presentation to her Majesty.--Thy father, Isaac Burton, of Burton Hall. "Thy mother thinks thou wilt make better speed if I make thee to know that the players thou wottest of are to stop at the Peacock Inn and will be giving some sport there." "The players!" she exclaimed, eagerly. "Be these the Lord Chamberlain's men?" she asked. "Is there not among them one Will Shakespeare, Gregory? What play give they to-night?" "All one to me, mistress," said Gregory, slowly dismounting. "There be players at the Peacock, for the kitchen wench told me of them as I stopped there for a pint; but be they the Lord Chamberlain's or the Queen's, I cannot tell." "Do they play at the Shoreditch Theatre or at the inn, good Gregory?" "I' faith I know not, mistress," he replied, bracing his brawny right hand, palm up, at his knee. Mechanically she put one foot into his palm and sprang lightly upon the pillion behind the groom's saddle. As they turned and started at a jog trot northward, she remembered her sister and her new-found aunt. "Hold--hold, Gregory!" she cried. "What of Rebecca? What of my aunt--my gowns?"