IAN had started a letter to Aline some time before, using the parchment with the holes. This he finished and carefully wrapped it up with the buckle, the testament and the chatelaine.

In the morning he found Walter and drew him aside. “She may have a letter to send back,” he said, “so try and give her an opportunity. Keep your eyes and ears open too, and find out and tell me everything that you can.”

Walter Margrove put the packet inside his doublet, and, after settling the girths of his horses, shook hands warmly with Ian, mounted and rode away down English Street to the South Gate, leaving Ian looking after him, as he gradually drew away.

He had a long journey before him and his thoughts were full of the man he had left behind. He had heard Ian Menstrie speak at an open air meeting in Northampton, and at first had been struck by the fiery eloquence of the young Scot and had then been arrested by his message. He had always longed to meet him again; and here he was, actually able to do him a small service. Then his thoughts turned to Holwick and the beautiful irresistible child that had so strangely fascinated him, in spite of himself, in the few minutes that he had seen227 her. He had not liked to question Master Menstrie, but he wondered what could be the connection between the two; what could the child, obviously a lady, have to do with Menstrie, a common carpenter? Truly it was a remarkable world.

He reached Haltwhistle that evening and did a little business there on the following day and called at a number of outlying houses on the way to Hexham. Business was good and it was nearly three weeks before he found himself turning his horses’ heads over Middleton bridge to reach the hamlet that has a way in but no way out. “No wonder they say, ‘do as they do in Holwick,’” he muttered,—the local proverb for “doing without,” as his horse stumbled in the thick muddy track.

Somehow he felt full of forebodings as he approached the Hall.

Fortune favoured him in one respect, however, as he met Aline herself a few hundred yards from the gate. She smiled brightly when she saw him, and held up her hand. He took the little hand and then dismounted and led the horse. “I am so glad to have you come,” she said; “I have been looking for you for a long time. You look tired. I wonder if Elspeth could get you something nice before you have to undo your pack. I’ll run on and ask her.”

Before he could stop her she had run on, and he had to mount his horse and trot after her and call;—“Not so fast, Mistress Aline, I have something to say to you and we may not get another opportunity. Here is a small packet from Master Menstrie. Hide it in your dress.” Aline’s eyes shone with sudden pleasure; but228 as Walter looked at her he thought she was not looking well.

“How did you find him? Do you know him? Where is he? How is he? What is he doing?” said Aline, all in a breath.

“Softly, softly, fair and softly; one question at a time,” said Walter. “I found him in Carlisle, and by accident I mentioned Holwick and he sent this to you.”

“But how is he and what is he doing?” asked Aline.

“He seems fairly well and is working as a carpenter.”

Aline looked surprised. “I did not know he was a carpenter,” she said. Ian had not spoken much about his past life. She remembered him saying something about working on hinges, but she had thought of him in that connexion as a master artist, and so humble an occupation to one of her birth and surroundings was a little bit of a shock; but she checked it instantaneously and added, “But I expect he is a very good carpenter.”

Walter Margrove was puzzled. Aline then apparently did not know a great deal about Ian Menstrie and he did not know how much to say and how much to leave unsaid.

“I am afraid I do not know very much about him,” Walter deemed the safest reply; “but he seemed to be getting on all right.”

Aline too felt something of the same sort, while Walter thought it best to change the subject, and added,—“But I have something else for you, Mistress Aline.” He produced another small packet, which he undid, and took out a beautiful carved ivory comb. “This,” he said, “is from Andrew Woolridge. You can let the others see it if you like, but perhaps it would be wiser not.” Walter229 was thinking that it would be best not to call the attention of people to the fact that he was in any way a means of communication between Aline and others. “Andrew cannot write, like Master Menstrie, but he bade me tell you that he wished you well and that he hoped some day to show himself worthy of your forgiveness, but that meantime he would say nothing more.”

Aline was quite overcome for a moment. “I am afraid I judged him too harshly, and he has already sent something to Master Mowbray.”

“Yes,” said Walter, “I think the man has turned over a new leaf. But we are near the house and I want also to give you a little thing from myself; it is only a length of fine linen, but it may be as useful as trinkets. I have it here in my holster. If you do not care to be seen with it, I daresay old Elspeth will manage it for us.”

“But you must not give me things,” said Aline. “Why should you?”

“Well, Mistress Aline, I know of something in Master Menstrie’s package, as he bought it from me, and I fear me that you will meet with trouble. Pray God the way may be smooth to you; but it is not so for many who have dared to read the Scriptures for themselves. I am of the reformed faith myself and He has dealt mercifully with me; for I know I am a weak vessel. But remember you have only to call on Walter Margrove and if ever he can help you he will do it.”

“Good day to you, Walter,” said the voice of Master Mowbray. They were approaching the drawbridge and there was no opportunity for further conversation.

Master Mowbray was coming out, but he turned back230 when he saw them approaching. “So you have fetched the packman and all his fine wares,” he said to Aline. “Are you trying to buy up the best things before we get a chance, lassie?”

The thud of the hoofs on the drawbridge and their clatter on the stones within, had already drawn forth heads from the windows and in a moment a crowd of persons was gathering round Walter and asking him a hundred questions.

Walter answered the questions as well as he could and made his way to the great hall, where Mistress Mowbray had the first chance of inspecting his stock.

She was in a more affable mood than usual and laid in a good supply of materials, amongst others some very fine kersey, which she said should be used to make a cote-hardie for each of the children, and a piece of applied embroidery for orphreys.[20] Audry was standing with her arm round Aline, next to Walter, and, as Mistress Mowbray turned aside to examine some silk nearer the light, he slipped the parcel of linen into her hand and whispered that it was for Aline.

20 Broad bands of applied embroidery.

It was somewhat late in the day when Walter arrived, so that he decided that it was necessary to stay the night. His horses were stabled at the Hall and he himself lodged at the house of Janet Arnside.

Walter knew that she had recently come over to the new faith and he sought an opportunity for a meeting with two or three others in her house. They came very quietly, but their coming was not likely to arouse suspicion, as the packman was considered good company wherever he went.

231

After they had all gone Walter began to talk about Aline, her strange power of fascination and her unique, almost unearthly beauty. “I wonder if the child can be happy up there,” he said.

“I doubt if she is,” said Janet; “she comes in here often and John and I have many times noticed a far-away wistful look in those deep blue eyes of hers, bright and cheerful as she always is.”

“I wish, Mother, she could hold our faith,” said John. “I am sure it would make her happier. Life has been a great deal more to me since these things first came my way.”

Walter sat and said nothing; he thought that on the whole it was far safer for little Aline if no one knew. “Poor little soul,” he said to himself, “it is a different matter for these people who can confide in each other, with no one else in the house; but for her, sweet innocent, it is indeed a case of the dove in the eagle’s nest.”

John watched Walter’s thoughtful face and then said, “Is there anything we could do for her?”

“Not that I can see,” said Walter; “but look you, there might be; the child, as we know, is not exactly among friends and none can say what a day may bring forth. She has had a narrow escape already. You keep a careful look-out, my lad, and if ever you can get a chance you can let Walter Margrove know all that goes on. By my halidame, I would not have any harm come to the bairn. I do not know why she has got such a hold on me, but so it is.”

“That will I do,” said John, “she has the same hold on all of us. There can hardly be a man or woman in the parish that would not die for that child. They just232 worship her. Those of the old faith are sure she is a saint. I should not be surprised but that they say prayers to her, and she is sweetly unconscious of it all. You know old Benjamin Darley? Well, I was passing his house the other day, and Mistress Aline was seated near the door with her feet on a little wooden stool. She rose up when she saw me and said good-bye, as she wanted to come and see my mother; but ran across into Peter’s cottage to fetch something. Old Benjamin did not see me, as I stood there waiting, but I saw him pick up the stool and kiss it reverently and put it away on the shelf, while the tears stood in his eyes.”

“I guess, lad, you have done the same,” said Walter.

“And what about yourself, Walter?” said John, evading the question.

“Maybe I do not get such opportunities; are you coming up to the Hall with me to-morrow to see me off?”

“No, I must be off to work, but good luck to you.”

So the next day Walter said good-bye to Janet and went up to the Hall. He met Elspeth in the courtyard. “Good morning, neighbour, how is all with you and how is your bonnie little mistress?”

“I am doing as well as can be expected, and Mistress Audry is not ailing.”

“I meant Mistress Aline, not that Mistress Audry is not as bonnie a child as one would meet in a nine days’ march.”

“Ay and a good hearted one too, neighbour,” said Elspeth. “It’s not every child who would take kindly to ranking second after they had always been reckoned the bonniest in the whole countryside. But there, Mistress Aline might give herself airs, and yet one really233 could not tell that she knew she was pretty; so I do not think it has ever occurred to Mistress Audry to mind and she just enjoys looking at her. They are fine bairns both of them.”

“Ay, they are that,” said Walter.

“I just pray,” continued Elspeth, “that I may live to see them well settled. My mother served in the Hall and my grandmother and her father and his father again, and so it is. As long as there is a Mowbray I hope there will be some of our blood to serve them and Mistress Gillespie is a Mowbray, mind you that, and some say,” she went on in a whisper, “that she should be the Mistress of Holwick. It was a new place when the old man built it, the old Mowbray property is down Middleton way and is now let. Maybe, if there’s anything in it, that’s partly why Mistress Mowbray does not love the child. But there, it is all gossip, and I must be moving.”

Walter settled his packs and took as long over it as he could in the hope of catching sight of Aline. In this he was successful, for a few minutes afterwards he saw the children, who were really looking for him. Aline handed him a letter for Ian and asked how soon he expected to be able to deliver it.

“I wish we could see him,” said Audry involuntarily.

Aline looked at her and Audry subsided.

But Walter, who spent his life studying human nature, saw the glance and began to puzzle it out. “So Ian Menstrie does know both the children then and it was not a mere matter of courtesy to send the chatelaine for Audry. But this is very curious,” he reasoned. “Janet Arnside has not mentioned him nor have any234 others of the reformed faith. Strange how he could be in Holwick and not see them. And I mind too, that he said he had never seen Richard Mowbray. Truly it is mystifying.”

Another thing that perplexed him was Janet and John’s desire that Mistress Aline should hear of the faith. Obviously, she knew of it and yet they were unaware of the fact. He began to see daylight;—somehow the children must have found Menstrie in some hiding place. Walter was too cautious a man to mention anything that he discovered in his journeys that might conceivably bring mischief, and too honourable a man to try and discover a secret that clearly did not concern him.

The children seemed to cling to Walter as though loth to let him go and even after he had mounted his horse they accompanied him a long way down the road; then, fearing, if they went too far, it might give rise to questionings they bade good-bye and after waiting to wave a last farewell as he reached the next bend they turned reluctantly back.

“You should not have said that just now,” observed Aline.

“Said what, dear?”

“Said that you wanted to see Ian. Of course Margrove may really know Ian and his affairs but he may be doing this as a kindness to a stranger and probably he did not know that Ian had ever been here, he might simply have met my family in Scotland.”

“Well, all this suspicion and concealment is not like you, Aline,” said Audry.

“Oh, dear,” Aline answered, “yes, I do not like it; life is really too hard.”

235

The children had reached the Hall and went up to their own room to undo the package. Aline opened it and within were the smaller packets marked respectively,—“For Audry” and “For Aline.”

Both uttered a cry of delight as they beheld their treasure.

“I am afraid you will hardly be able to wear the chatelaine,” said Aline, as she bent affectionately over her cousin. “I am so sorry.”

“Not just now perhaps, and you will not be able to wear the buckle, but isn’t it beautiful and was it not good of him to remember that that was what I asked for; and after New Year’s Day, when I have had other presents, I do not think it would be noticed. I have always wanted a chatelaine so badly.”

Aline’s long hair had fallen forward as she stooped; she tossed it over her shoulder with the back of her hand and rose and held out the buckle to catch the light. It was far the finest thing she had ever possessed. Fortune was not so unkind after all. Here was a treasure indeed!

“Now we must see how the chatelaine looks,” she said, dropping to her knees and sitting back on her heels, while she attached the chatelaine to Audry’s belt. Then a thought struck her. “Let us also see the effect of the buckle,” she went on with a laugh, and the sensitive fingers deftly adjusted the buckle to seem as if it were fastened to the belt.

“Oh, they do go well together! Audry, they look charming!” Would Ian mind, she wondered to herself; no, he would like her to be generous. So, stifling a touch of regret, she said aloud, “They look so nice that you236 must keep the buckle”; and she pulled Audry down to the floor and smothered her objections with kisses.

Then she sat up somewhat dishevelled and reached over for the Testament. “You wanted a chatelaine and I wanted a Greek Testament. Isn’t it a lovely book?” and she fastened and unfastened the chastely designed clasps. “With the help of the Latin I shall soon be able to read it. I am so glad I can read Latin easily. I must keep it in the secret room, I suppose. It would have been safe in the library; but Ian has written my name in it.”

“Master Menstrie is not as cautious as he might be,” observed Audry, “but I must not stay here, Mother and Elspeth want me, to go over my clothes. Then there are those people coming to-morrow about that Newbiggin matter and she may want me to have some special gown. Good-bye.”