“It is but too great an honor to squire the Queen of Bideford,” said Cary, offering his hand. “If I am your queen, sir, I must be obeyed,” answered she, in a meaning tone. Cary took the hint, and went on chattering cheerfully enough. But Don Guzman was not to be found in garden or in pleasaunce. “Perhaps,” at last said a burgher's wife, with a toss of her head, “your ladyship may meet with him at Hankford's oak.” “At Hankford's oak! what should take him there?” “Pleasant company, I reckon” (with another toss). “I heard him and Mistress Salterne talking about the oak just now.” Cary turned pale and drew in his breath. “Very likely,” said Lady Grenville, quietly. “Will you walk with me so far, Mr. Cary?” “To the world's end, if your ladyship condescends so far.” And off they went, Lady Grenville wishing that they were going anywhere else, but afraid to let Cary go alone; and suspecting, too, that some one or other ought to go. So they went down past the herds of deer, by a trim-kept path into the lonely dell where stood the fatal oak; and, as they went, Lady Grenville, to avoid more unpleasant talk, poured into Cary's unheeding ears the story (which he probably had heard fifty times before) how old Chief-justice Hankford (whom some contradictory myths make the man who committed Prince Henry to prison for striking him on the bench), weary of life and sickened at the horrors and desolations of the Wars of the Roses, went down to his house at Annery there, and bade his keeper shoot any man who, passing through the deer-park at night, should refuse to stand when challenged; and then going down into that glen himself, and hiding himself beneath that oak, met willingly by his keeper's hand the death which his own dared not inflict: but ere the story was half done, Cary grasped Lady Grenville's hand so tightly that she gave a little shriek of pain. “There they are!” whispered he, heedless of her; and pointed to the oak, where, half hidden by the tall fern, stood Rose and the Spaniard. Her head was on his bosom. She seemed sobbing, trembling; he talking earnestly and passionately; but Lady Grenville's little shriek made them both look up. To turn and try to escape was to confess all; and the two, collecting themselves instantly, walked towards her, Rose wishing herself fathoms deep beneath the earth. “Mind, sir,” whispered Lady Grenville as they came up; “you have seen nothing.” “Madam?” “If you are not on my ground, you are on my brother's. Obey me!” Cary bit his lip, and bowed courteously to the Don. “I have to congratulate you, I hear, senor, on your approaching departure.” “I kiss your hands, senor, in return; but I question whether it be a matter of congratulation, considering all that I leave behind.”