MEANWHILE Aline had been having a very unhappy time. She was practically confined to her room the whole day long, but she did come down for the mid-day meal. Master Mowbray, strong as his Catholic sympathies were, not only resented the interference of the priests in his house, but was concerned at seeing the child look so starved and ill, and therefore he had insisted on this much.

It did enable Aline to get some nourishment, although she only had bread and water for the rest of the time, and it did make a slight break in the day, for she dared not use the secret stair except when every one was in bed, for fear of any one coming to her room and finding that she was not there.

But the meals were anything but a pleasure. Master Mowbray would look at her sorrowfully, but he scarcely ever said anything, and Mistress Mowbray would make cruel biting remarks and watch the child wince under them.

Her poor little soul grew very sad and night after night she would cry herself to sleep; “If only Ian would come—If only Ian would come.”

She was some time before she actually grasped that the inquisitors would take away her life; but one day306 when Father Ambrose was at dinner he had tauntingly asked her whether she had repented of her folly; and then, with a leer, had rubbed his hands and said:—“You obstinate minx, they are coming for you right soon and ah, how glad I shall be to see your long hair shrivel up and your pretty face swell and burst in the fire.”

Aline suddenly realised that he was in earnest and for the moment was petrified with terror. Then she remembered that many children younger than she had been martyrs in the old Roman days, and for the moment there was a revulsion of feeling and she smiled to think that she was worthy to suffer death in the Master’s cause.

Richard Mowbray had not realised it before either, and was shocked beyond measure. He said nothing to his wife, but decided to set off at once for York to see the Archbishop, whom he knew personally, and discover what could be done.

He was on the point of forbidding Father Ambrose entry to the house; but he restrained himself, as that would excite suspicion. He was accustomed to going away suddenly for a few days at a time, so that his departure that very afternoon surprised no one. He reckoned that it would take him at least a week and told his wife not to expect him before that time.

When Aline reached her room, her feelings swung the other way again. “Why should she die; what had she done? She was sure that God would not wish her to die.” She waited till night and crept down to the secret room. She did not often do this even at night, as although there was a good store of candles she saw307 no prospect whatever of replenishing it and was afraid of using it up.

She sat down on the oak settle and tried to face the situation. If the inquisitors came she must try somehow to escape and the incident of the blue hose had suggested that she should do so in the garb of a boy. She rummaged over the clothes that she found and set to work to put them in order and adapt them for her own use. She chose the strongest things that she could find and during the next few nights she managed with a little alteration to fit herself out with a boy’s doublet, cote-hardie, surcoat and a pair of trunks. She found an admirable mantle of russet cloth that only required shortening and she herself possessed a pair of strong sad coloured hose.

She reckoned that it would not be possible to cut her hair before her escape; so she prepared three hats, one that was very large into which her hair could be put in a hurry, a medium one into which it could be put if very tightly twisted, and a smaller one, that she could wear with her hair cut short to the ears.

She also began to lay in a store of provisions, saving all that she could from her slender allowance, as she judged that it would be safest to spend a week if possible, in the secret room until the first hue and cry had subsided, if she should have to make the desperate attempt to escape alone; but, poor child, her plan was frustrated.

It was very cold in her little chamber, so she had been wearing some extra clothing; she decided therefore that the wisest course would be to dress exactly like a boy and wear what was necessary of her own clothes308 on the top. So she put on a boy’s shirt and trunks and stitched points to her hose and tied them to those on the trunks. Over this she put a cote-hardie and then a belt with a dagger. Above this again she wore a girl’s longer cote-hardie and above that again a short surcoat. The medium sized hat was made of silk and the finest kersey and was therefore easily concealed under her clothes. It had a full silk crown and a brim turned up all round nearly to the crown itself, with slits every three inches, giving it a sort of battlemented appearance with the crown just appearing above the top. Old fashions still lingered in the North and Ian had had one like it, which he said resembled one worn by Prince Arthur of Wales. She was helped by a little drawing which Ian had made for her when they were talking about the well known portrait. When she had done she felt very proud of her handiwork and the long mirror was a welcome joy at the end of the doleful days. She looked out a sword for herself and practised making passes.

All was ready four days after Richard Mowbray’s departure and, three days later, when he had not yet returned, there was a sudden stir and noise in the outer courtyard while they were having the mid-day meal.

“That will be Walter Margrove, I’m thinking,” said Mistress Mowbray. “They always seem to make that man’s arrival an excuse for neglecting their work, idle hussies and varlets all of them!” She rose as she spoke and went out into the screens. Aline followed her.

A tall priest had already crossed the threshold. “May I speak with Master Mowbray?” he said.

“Master Mowbray is away, you must ask what you309 want of me. Come this way,” she said, and stepped out of the door at the other end of the screens, so as to be away from the servants and Aline.

“We have come,” said Father Austin, for it was he, “with a warrant for the arrest of a heretic, a certain Aline Gillespie; see, here are the seals thereon of Queen Mary and Bishop Bonner himself. It is well that one be careful in these matters,” he said smiling grimly. “Some would be content with lesser signatures and seals, but then their work might be overset.”

They had been strolling toward the further end of the quadrangle and were nearing the entrance to the stair that led to Aline’s room. It had only taken an instant for it to flash through Aline’s mind that the hour had come and it was now or never. She followed quietly behind them and hoped to be able to slip up the stair before they could catch her, and was ready to make a dash as they turned.

They turned just before reaching the door and Aline made a rush.

“Not so fast, my child,” said the priest, stretching out a long interposing arm. “Whither away? I may want speech of thee shortly.” He turned with a look of sanctimonious triumph to Mistress Mowbray. “Mother Church will clean your house of its vermin for you, madam,” he said.

Aline gave one little gasp of mortal terror and then stood dumb for a second like a small bird caught by a beast of prey. She gave one appealing look toward Mistress Mowbray and then swung round facing the dining hall and paused a moment, with Father Austin’s hand still on her shoulder.

310

“I prefer to clear my own house,” Mistress Mowbray said icily. She disliked the man, she disliked his interference. He could not have said anything more foolish. Aline’s interference had been outrageous, but it was nothing to this; at least the child was one of themselves. Mistress Mowbray’s wrath raged at the insolence of this outsider. She looked again at Aline, delicate, fragile, ethereal, and the thought of the appealing look of the beautiful child at last thawed her hard heart. “What if ever Audry should be in a like plight?” she mused.

All this was in a flash, as she turned to Aline and looking her full in the face, said,—“Audry, dear, run and tell Silas that there’s a ratcatcher or something, who thinks that we have vermin in the house and would like a job. You can also find Aline and tell her that he seems to like catching little girls.”

Father Austin dropped his arm at the name of Audry; and Aline, though puzzled, ran off swiftly. As Mistress Mowbray finished her sentence, he bit his lip; he saw that he had made a mistake.

“Who is Audry, madam?”

“Audry is my daughter,” answered Mistress Mowbray with her chin very much in the air.

“I thought that child there was Aline Gillespie,” said the priest.

“So it was,” said the lady, calmly.

“But you called her Audry, madam,” he replied, &ldquo............