Three weeks passed. Letter after letter came from Algy. His fiancée was pressing on the marriage; he had resorted to every expedient to postpone it; he knew not what he could do next; the day had to be named; wedding presents were coming in; and the learned lawyer proved more odious than could be imagined. Lord Chester was not idle. He was sitting one afternoon at this time, Algernon's last despairing letter in his pocket, on a hill-side four or five miles from the Castle. Beside him stood a young gamekeeper, Harry Gilpin, stalwart and brawny: there was no shooting to be done, but he carried his gun. 'It is our only chance, Harry,' said Lord Chester, in low, earnest tones. 'We must do it. Things are intolerable.' 'If there's any chance in it; but it is a poor chance at best.' 'What, Harry! would you not follow me?' 'I'll follow your lordship wherever you lead. I'll go for your lordship wherever you point. Don't think I'm afeard for myself. I'm but a poor creature--easy to find plenty as good as me; and if so be I must end my days in a convict-prison, why, I'd rather do it for you, my lord, than for lying accusations.' 'Good, Harry,' Lord Chester held out his hand. 'We understand each other. Death rather than a convict-prison. We strike for freedom. Tell me next about the discontent.' 'All the country-side is discontented, along o' the old women. It's this way, my lord. We get on right well, let us marry our own gells. When the gells gets shoved out o' the way, and we be told by the Passon to marry this old woman, an' that, why ... 'tis nature.' 'It is, Harry, and my case as well as yours. Then if all are discontented, we may get all to join us.' 'Nay, my lord; many are but soft creatures, and mortal afraid of the women. We shall get some, but we must make them desperate afore they'll fight.' 'You keepers can shoot. How many can we reckon on?' Harry laughed. 'When your lordship lifts up your little finger,' he replied, 'there's not a keeper for miles and miles round that won't run to join you, nor a stable-boy, nor a groom, nor a gardener. Ay! a hundred and fifty men, counting boys, will come in, once pass the word. A Chester has lived in these parts longer than men can remember.' 'Do they remember, Harry, that a Chester once ruled this country?' 'Ay ... so some say ... in the days when ... but there! it is an old story.' 'But the girls, Harry, who have lost their lovers,--your own girl, what will she do?' 'They whimper a bit; they have a row with the old woman; and then the Passon steps in and talks about religion, and they give in.' 'What! If they saw a chance, if they thought they could get their sweethearts back again, would they not rejoice?' Harry hesitated.