THAT evening Elspeth went down to the Arnsides. She was really very much concerned at the line that things were taking and, staunch Catholic as she was, she had no mind to have her little mistress ill used. She of course knew nothing about her neighbour’s faith and simply went to them because of their interest in Aline; and she told them the whole story from the time of the coming of Father Martin.

“We helped her with the linen,” she said, “but I fear this is a more difficult matter; but it makes my heart bleed for the poor innocent and she only twelve years old. We can manage to feed her, but the child will pine away shut up there. I cannot think what to do.”

“The thing would be to get Mistress Audry back,” said Janet. “That would be something.”

“Ay, that would it,” Elspeth assented.

They talked it over for some time and Elspeth decided that she would try and say something in an indirect way to Master Mowbray, which might result in his sending for his daughter.

When she was gone John turned to his mother,—“Mother, somehow I believe Walter Margrove is the man to help us, and he told us to let him hear how things283 went and they have gone a deal worse than any of us could have dreamed. He knows the world and he knows, too, what the real risk is. Even if Mistress Audry comes back, methinks that will not alter the true danger.”

“Ay,” said his mother, “but Master Walter was here but yesterday, how are we to get him?”

John thought for a time and then said,—“I have no regular work here and Silas, who sees to my hours, is one of our faith. I would even risk telling him something; although I need not say it is for Mistress Aline that I want to see Walter.”

“But how would you find Walter even if you did consult Silas?” said his mother.

“That should not be difficult,” said John. “He always calls at Carlisle on his rounds and I think I heard him say that he expected to be there this time within a sennight. In any case, however, he gets there long enough before he gets here. He generally stays with one, Timothy Fenwick, at the sign of the Golden Keys.”

“How will you go,” said his mother, “round by Middleton?”

“No, it is such a long way round; I shall keep this side the river.”

“What, with all this snow!”

“Yes, if I can get off to-day; the sky is clear and the weather set and the snow hard.”

“Well, good-bye, my boy. God bless you and I trust the Lord will grant you success.”

John Arnside obtained the permission with no trouble at all, made himself up a bundle, put it on a stick over his shoulder, kissed his mother and set off.

284

Fortune favoured him and on the third day he was in Carlisle without mishap.

He enquired for the Golden Keys and easily found the house, but Walter was not there. He found, however, a man seated by the fire; he was of medium height, lightly built and well proportioned. He looked very ill and was holding one knee with his hands as he leaned back, and was gazing into the fire with his deep set eyes.

“Come and sit by the fire, lad, the day is cold.”

John came as invited. “I heard you asking for Walter Margrove,” said the stranger, “he will not be here for some time. I hope your business is not of importance.”

“Well,” said the boy, “I must just wait, unless you could tell me where he is to be found.”

“That could not I,” replied the other. “I know he was going to Newcastle and then up Tyne and down Tees; after that I think he was going to Skipton and West to Clitheroe and then North. He should be somewhere on the Tees now, I reckon, perhaps down as far as Rokeby.”

“Do you know the Tees?” said John.

The man lifted his grey deep set eyes; they had a far away look in them, as though he did not see the boy before him. They were watching the Tees come over the High Force and the rainbow that hung in the quivering spray.

“Yes, I know the Tees,” he said at length. “I know the Tees.

“Do you know the Tees?” he went on; and it seemed to John that the hollow eyes in the sick man’s face285 looked at him hungrily. “Maybe you come from those parts yourself.”

“I do,” said John; “I was born and bred in Upper Teesdale.”

“What is your name?”

“John Arnside.”

The man looked at him and then the sad eyes seemed to brighten a little. “John Arnside, son of Janet Arnside?” he asked.

“Yes,” said John, wondering what was coming next.

The man got up and closed the door softly, he then came back and held out his hand to the boy. “I am so glad to see you, John; I know about you. I heard you asking for Walter Margrove, and oh,” he continued, apprehensively, “I do hope it is nothing about Mistress Aline that brings you here. Yes, I know quite well who you are and you may trust me.”

John’s was a simple nature and not easily suspicious; he just hesitated a moment and then reflected that if he merely said what was known to every one he could not do any harm. Walter Margrove’s part in the matter, he could keep for the present as a second string to his bow.

“They say that Mistress Aline is a heretic,” he said, “and they are going to burn her.”

The man clutched at the table to try and prevent himself from falling; the shock was so terrible in his weak condition; but he slipped back and was only saved by the boy catching him as he fell.

“O God,” he exclaimed, “not so, not so.”

He then made a tremendous effort and pulled himself together, but it was enough for John, there was no286 doubt that this stranger was in some way as interested in Aline’s welfare as himself.

“We must save her then,” said the stranger in a steady voice, while within him his thoughts and feelings tossed as in a storm.

“Marry though, what are we to do?”

“Let us sit down and think— Now look you here; it is not easy to think quickly, but we must act quickly. Can you get speech of Mistress Aline?”

“No,” answered John; “she is confined to her room, but old Elspeth sees her.”

“Can you write, John?”

“Gramercy no, Master, you would hardly expect the likes of me to be able to do that.”

“Well, you must get her my letter, somehow, and, furthermore, tell me what you yourself are willing to do for Mistress Aline.”

“I would give my life for her,” said John simply.

“Then,” said the other, looking him straight in the face, “you must hie you home at once and I will follow as soon as I can be ready. Keep a sharp look-out for the inquisitors and, if I do not come before them, you must get speech of her by hook or by crook and tell her that I, James Mitchell, told you that she must reveal to you our secret and that you must feed her. She will know what that means and you must do as she bids you. Indeed, if you get there before me, you had better do this in any case.”

“Surely I will; how could I other?”

“Marry then, hasten; for, even now we know not what an hour may bring forth. We must not wait for Walter, though he would have been our best aid. God speed thy287 feet, John; my heart goes with thee and I myself shall follow hard after thee.”

Without more ado John took his small bundle and started off at once.

Ian was nearly beside himself, the shock had brought on the pains in his head and he put his hands to his throbbing brows and strove to think. His money had all gone; how was he to act? Certainly the first thing was to get the child away somewhere, but how even was that to be done without horses? If only Margrove and his horses had been to hand! But that was a vain wish. Of course she could be concealed in the secret room, but he felt this was too perilous. There was risk enough in feeding him when Aline and Audry had been in the house. Suspicion would be roused tenfold if Aline were simply to disappear. John would certainly be seen, sooner or later, carrying food to the gully. Mortifying as the discovery of old Moll had been, it was a mercy to be forewarned. No, it might do as a very temporary expedient, but no more.

Of course it might be just within the bounds of possibility to get horses from Holwick Hall itself; but failure would mean absolute and irretrievable disaster. No again, nothing must be left to chance. Suddenly a thought struck him, there were horses on the estate where Andrew Woolridge worked. Possibly Andrew might help him and, if not, the risk was comparatively small.

This then decided him. He would set out immediately; but there was one more thing to consider. Should he say anything to the boy, Wilfred? It was true, he argued, that the more people that knew, the greater the chance of discovery. But on the other hand, if anything288 should happen to him, how was Aline to be saved? After all there was still Walter Margrove, who would surely attempt to do something. Finally he went and found Wilfred.

“Wilfred,” he said, “I want to ask a favour of thee.”

“That mayest thou well ask, Master Mitchell.”

“Well, I shall not tell thee more than that it concerns a matter of life and death, so that if any enquire of thee, there will be little that thou canst say, however they question thee. But when Walter Margrove cometh, tell him that Mistress Aline is in great jeopardy and let him do that which seemeth him best and may the Lord quicken his steps.”

“What, the little lady of whom they were talking one night not long syne?”

“Yes, that same; now be faithful to us, Wilfred.”

“But, Master Mitchell, thou art not going to leave us,” said the boy piteously. “After all that thou hast done for us that cannot be. See, prithee let me come with thee an thou must go.”

Ian considered for a moment as to whether the boy might be a help or a hindrance and decided that it would rather complicate matters than otherwise to take him.

“No, Wilfred, it cannot be,” he said; “but thou mightest, so far as thou art able, go out on the road to Brampton when thou art not at work and keep a look-out for me coming from Alston or Kirkoswald between the third and the seventh day from now.

“Indeed thou mightest do better. I will show thee more. Keep thine eyes and ears open for all the gossip of the city. I know thee well enough to know that thou289 wouldst not see any one burned alive and I go to save one from the burning. If thou hearest aught of inquisitors come as far south along the road as thou mayest.”

Wilfred bade good-bye and promised by all that was holy that he would do everything that he could.

Ian had decided to take nothing but one small wallet, as less likely to rouse suspicion, and started off. What was his horror, before he had gone ten paces from the door, to see a group of black robed figures on horseback approaching the hostelry, and his horror increased to terror when he recognised one of the figures as Father Austin, who had superintended, when he himself had been tortured in York.

The keen shrewd face shewed instant recognition in spite of Ian’s altered appearance. “Whither away, Ian Menstrie? Come return to the hostelry with us and have a talk with an old friend.” An evil smile of triumph spread over his face and he added quietly but firmly to his attendants,—“That is the man we have sought these many months, our Lady hath delivered him into our hands.”

Ian said nothing, but Wilfred, who was still standing at the door, said,—“That is not Ian Menstrie, that is Master James Mitchell.”

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Master Mitchell,” said Father Austin sarcastically, bowing from his horse.

“My name is Ian Menstrie,” said Ian.

“You have varying names then, like a gaol-bird,” replied the inquisitor with a sneer.

“We shall have two for our burning, perdy!” he290 continued to his companion. “It will make a right merrie blaze. What think you, Father Martin?”

“Burning’s too good for them; I would give them a taste of something first. As for that young witch up in Holwick, the Devil will be sorry to see her in Hell before her time. If she had lived to grow up, she would have charmed men’s souls to Satan more surely than any siren ever charmed a mariner.”

“If we burn the body shall we not save the soul?” said Father Austin.

“That doctrine liketh me not; no, Father, methinks in these cases we do but hasten the final judgment.”

“Have a care, friend, lest these be heresies also.”

“I a heretic! That is a mirthful jest.” Then looking toward Ian he went on,—“As for this fellow, he seems a sickly creature; I reckon by the looks of him that he has not long to live. But it is good for the souls of the faithful that he should blaze to the glory of God rather than die in his bed. Marry, methinks he is like enough to faint even now.”

Nothing but Ian Menstrie’s iron will indeed prevented it. The pains shot through his head like knives and his back and joints ached as though red hot with fire, but it was nothing to the anguish of his heart; yet he felt that his only chance was to keep up somehow.

He would have died on the rack some five months ago had it not been for his sheer strength of will. He had done it before, he would do it again; he would defy them yet.

Great cold beads of perspiration stood on his forehead, but he held himself erect. “Is it Timothy Fenwick’s hostelry you seek, gentlemen?”

291

There was a touch of defiance, even of scorn, in the lordly ring of his voice. Father Austin knew only too well that, clever as he was himself, he was no match for this man, who had beaten him once; “But he shall not escape me this time,” he said to himself, and having already alighted, he followed into the hostelry. “The day is past its prime,” he remarked, “and we have caught our main game. We have come far and there is no haste. We will bide here and rest till Wednesday; the little bird at Holwick will not flutter far, I warrant ye.”

It amused Father Austin to have Ian with them at meals to taunt him and to gloat over his own triumph. Ian realised that he would have little chance unless he were well nourished, so he fell in with their scheme and humoured them. At first he would talk brightly to the others and then, as he was an excellent raconteur and had a pretty wit, he made himself such good company that they could ill spare him. He played with Father Austin, assuming an attitude of deference and fear with an anxious desire to please; but if he wanted to retire to rest, he would lead him into an argument and when the father was worsted he would order the guards to take Ian to his room.

Again, by extraordinary will power, he would achieve the almost impossible feat of forcing himself to sleep. It was Aline’s only chance, he argued; and in that way he almost miraculously overcame the raging torments of his mind.

By the Wednesday he had even recovered slightly and felt rather like one going into battle than like a beaten man. He had thought out several plans; but the292 best one was to try and contrive to cross the ford of the Eden when it was getting dark. For this some delay was necessary, and he even managed to whisper to Wilfred unobserved, while he set the company off into boisterous and uncontrollabl............