THE days slipped by all too quickly and the children spent every available moment in the secret room. But it was not very safe for them to disappear from sight too often and moreover, other obligations had to be fulfilled. Sometimes they were able to arrange that one should remain with Ian while the other was occupied elsewhere.

On one of these occasions, while Audry was in the secret room, Aline went down to the Arnsides. On the way she met Father Laurence coming up from Middleton. It was an unusual thing for him to come to Holwick and Aline was surprised. “Good day, Father,” she said, as she dropped a curtsey.

“Bless you, my child,” said the old man, looking at her keenly, “talium enim est regnum dei,”[16] he whispered softly to himself. “How profound Our Lord’s sayings were. Yes, it does one good even to look at a child,” and then he noticed that Aline seemed sad and troubled and lacked her usual buoyant vivacity. “Are you not happy, little maiden?” he said gently.

16 For of such is the kingdom of God.

Aline looked at him with an expression of wonder; “No, not exactly,” she said.

“What is it, my child?”

“Oh, many things, Father; the world is difficult.”

183

They had drawn near to the side of the road and Aline was leaning against the wall; she plucked the top of a tall ragwort and began pulling off its yellow petals one by one.

The priest put his elbow on the wall and looked down at her. He was very tall indeed, with a rather thin face and deep sad eyes. He at once saw that she did not want to tell him her troubles and he had too much instinctive delicacy to press the child. He laid his disengaged hand kindly on her head, and she looked up at him.

“Strange,” he thought, “I might have had such a child of mine own; but no, it was not to be. Yes, I know what sorrow is: I have indeed made my sacrifice.

“All things work together for good, Aline,” he said aloud, “the forces of good must win in the end, but the powers of darkness are strong and the victory may be long delayed; yet it will come.”

“But the world is cruel, Father,” said Aline.

“Yes, my child, I know, and the world often seems to be victorious; but it is only victorious in the things of the world. The principle of love and the principle of beauty will outlast the world,” and he smiled a sweet smile.

Aline gazed into his face and he seemed to be looking into the things beyond.

“Be of good courage, little maiden, fear not them that have power to hurt the body. The Lord be with you, and may the Mother of God watch over you; farewell.”

He turned as he spoke and Aline saw him cross over to the cottage of Benjamin Darley. She went on to the184 Arnsides and found both mother and son at home.

“Ah, Honey,” said the old woman, “it is good to see your bonnie face, it’s a sight for sair een.”

“Mistress Aline is not looking very well, mother,” said John.

“Nonsense, John,” said Aline, and added brightly,—“I have come to ask you all you can tell me about Newbiggin. I know I can trust you.”

“Dear heart,” said Janet, “you do us honour.” She skilfully lifted the peats with the long tongs and rearranged them on a different part of the hearth and soon there was a bright fire.

“That’s a merry blaze,” said Aline; “it seems to cheer one’s heart.”

For an hour they sat and talked about Newbiggin; and the child, with what she already knew, was able to make a shrewd estimate of the true state of affairs.

After a while the subject not unnaturally turned to “Moll o’ the graves” and Aline was dismayed when she heard that Moll had been talking about seeing a man on the moors, and saying that it would be the beginning of troubles.

“What did she mean by that?” asked Aline.

“She would not explain,” said Janet; “she refused to tell any one anything more. ‘The time is not yet, the time is not yet,’ she kept repeating; ‘when all is ready and I have discovered the workings of the fates, I will tell you more than you wish to know.’”

“People have gossiped about it a great deal,” Janet went on, “but Moll will say nothing further.”

“I trust that her evil desires may be foiled,” said Aline, “but I must not tarry.”

185

As she went up the street she again met Father Laurence coming out of Peter’s cottage and he seemed more sorrowful than ever.

“Peace be with you, Aline,” he said. “I have a right melancholic thing here,” holding out a letter. “But it cannot grieve thee beyond what thou already knowest. It is a letter from Durham, long delayed in transit, concerning the death of little Joan. Will you read it or shall I?”

Aline’s eyes filled with tears, “I should like you to read it,” she said.

Father Laurence then read—

    “To Peter Simson in Holwick

    “It beseemeth me to send thee word, although my heart is right heavy within me, of the passing of the small damsel y-cleped[17] Joan, who came from Upper Teesdale. Of this you will have already heard: but my sister was herself sick of an ague at the time and Sir Robert Miller, her confessor, saith that her mind wandered. He writeth this for me. She herself lingered not many days,—God rest her soul,—and, when I came from Skipton, where I dwelled, she was buried.

    “I only k............