began to desert their labours and hurry towards the sound; and in

Tunstall hamlet a group of poor country-folk stood wondering at the

summons.

Tunstall hamlet at that period, in the reign of old King Henry VI.,

wore much the same appearance as it wears to-day. A score or so of

houses, heavily framed with oak, stood scattered in a long green

valley ascending from the river. At the foot, the road crossed a

bridge, and mounting on the other side, disappeared into the

fringes of the forest on its way to the Moat House, and further

forth to Holywood Abbey. Half-way up the village, the church stood

among yews. On every side the slopes were crowned and the view

bounded by the green elms and greening oak-trees of the forest.

Hard by the bridge, there was a stone cross upon a knoll, and here

the group had collected--half a dozen women and one tall fellow in

a russet smock--discussing what the bell betided. An express had

gone through the hamlet half an hour before, and drunk a pot of ale

in the saddle, not daring to dismount for the hurry of his errand;

but he had been ignorant himself of what was forward, and only bore

sealed letters from Sir Daniel Brackley to Sir Oliver Oates, the

parson, who kept the Moat House in the master's absence.

But now there was the noise of a horse; and soon, out of the edge

of the wood and over the echoing bridge, there rode up young Master

Richard Shelton, Sir Daniel's ward. He, at the least, would know,

and they hailed him and begged him to explain. He drew bridle

willingly enough--a young fellow not yet eighteen, sun-browned and

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