She looked at me with a merry twinkle in her eyes, and I feel sure I knew what she was thinking of. But Nance Lousely was a simple country maiden, such as I was born and bred amongst, and at that time I had no vile red stubble, rough as a horse-comb, on my chin. We were interrupted by the lackey, who came with Mr. Dot Gibson's respects to his honour, and would his honour like the refreshment of a shave and a bath as both were at his service? Like master, like man. This resplendent person was for the nonce humility's self. I went with him and was made clean and comfortable, and my rags trimmed a little. This was preliminary to being summoned by Master Freake to a discussion with their lordships, with whom was Margaret, aloof and icy. "At the 'Ring o' Bells,'" began Master Freake, addressing me, "you took from my lord Brocton's sergeant, now dead, a bundle of papers?" "Yes, sir." "Among them a letter addressed simply, 'To His Royal Highness'?" "That is so, sir." "You gave that letter to me, unopened, in the presence of Mistress Waynflete?" "I did," said I, and Margaret nodded agreement. "Several attempts have been made to recover the letter from you?" "At least three such attempts were made by the late sergeant, and two by my lord Brocton," I replied. "Their lordships' urgent need of recovering the letter is thus proven, and the Court will attach due weight to the facts," said Master Freake. Brocton turned white as a sheet, and the old rogue shook as a dead leaf shakes on its twig before the wind strips it off. There was in them none of the family pride which keeps the great families agoing. "I opened the letter. I mastered its contents. I still have it," continued Master Freake, every sentence, like the crash of a sledge-hammer, making these craven bystanders shake at the knees. "It is deposited, sealed up again, with a sure friend, who has instructions, unless I claim it in person on or before the last day of this year, to deliver it in person to the King. At present no one knows its contents except my lord Brocton who wrote it, and I who read it." "Thank God!" ejaculated the rascal old earl fervently. "Egad," thought I to myself. "It's the Ridgeley estates no less." "We will call it, for the purposes of our discussion," said Master Freake soothingly, "a letter about certain lands." "Yes! Yes! Certainly! A letter about lands! So it was!" cried the Earl eagerly, and Brocton began to look less like a coward on the scaffold. "Would you prefer any other designation or description, my lords?" inquired Master Freake. "I'm quite satisfied, my good Master Freake," babbled the Earl. "What lands?" I burst out, unable to hold in my curiosity any longer. "The lands known as the Upper Hanyards in the county of Staffordshire," replied Master Freake. "Well I'm ----," cried I, in amazement, but pulling up in time, and Margaret's blue eyes were as wide open as mine.