WILFRED stood and rubbed his hands. “I would give a week’s pay to see them in Carlisle,” he chuckled.

Meanwhile Ian and Aline gently made their way along the road to Longtown without mishap. They saw a small body of troopers once; but the troopers took no notice of them. In the desultory border warfare people went about their business practically unconcerned. Life had to go on and, if they waited till there was no fighting, to all intents and purposes they might, in those districts, wait for ever.

“What are we going to do when we reach Scotland?” Aline asked, when at the last it appeared that immediate danger was passing. “Old Moll does not seem to have been right this time,” she added.

“We cannot say yet, birdeen, there are many perils and difficulties ahead, perhaps greater than we have yet passed. I wish I could shake off the feeling of that woman. It is not that I believe any of her prophecies. Of course they are all nonsense, but she is the very incarnation of the spirit of evil, a continual oppressive reminder of its presence in the world. There is no doubt, too, that she has a snakelike inexplicable influence over people and puts evil suggestion into their330 minds, just as some other people have exactly the opposite power. To talk with Moll rouses one’s worst nature; to talk with some rouses one’s best.” He looked at Aline and thought how wonderful her power was. What was this power, mysteriously possessed by some natures, that almost by their very presence they could change men’s lives;—Aline and Moll might themselves be the warring spirits of good and evil.

“My only object for the moment,” he said aloud, “was to rescue you from your desperate danger. I thought that then we might have time to think out something. There are difficulties indeed; the country is in a very unsettled condition, partly the troubles with England, partly the religious troubles and the difficulty with the regent, Mary of Guise, and France. But our first trouble is,—that I have no money and people with no money always find it hard to live,” and he smiled a rueful smile.

“Neither have I,” said Aline, “at least not to live on. I have two gold pieces with me.”

“Well, you are richer than I am,” he said playfully. “It will help us somewhat, while I find something to set us going. I left a note, too, with Wilfred for Walter Margrove, in case he should come within the next few days, asking him to send Wilfred to Canonbie with a little money at once for our present needs.”

“Wilfred,” said Aline, “is that Will Ackroyd?”

“Yes,” said Ian, “I have a story to tell you about how I met him, but we must leave it for the present. I am very perplexed about this matter of making a livelihood.” He paused a moment and then continued;—

“I might find work as a carpenter, or perhaps there331 will be more call for a smith in these turbulent times. But I cannot think what to do with you. Even if I found some people with whom you could live and worked to keep you, there would be all kinds of questions as to where you came from and all about you?”

“Then why not let me work with you as carpenter’s boy, like Will does for Matthew Musgrave?”

“What! and spoil your beautiful hands. By the way, though,” he added, “what have you been doing to get them in such a shocking condition? I have noticed it all along but my mind has been so full of schemes and plans for our escape, that I have not been able to talk about it.”

Aline told him the story and continued;—“Anyway, carpentry could not be as bad as that.”

Ian was shocked and looked at her thankfully. “I trust we have broken the evil spell,” he said. “But, princess, you are a lady and such very hard work is beyond that to which you have been used.”

“Yes, I hope I am a lady and just because I am a lady it does not matter what I am used to do. I can turn my hand to anything; I do not mind. It is only common people who are afraid of demeaning themselves. I have often noticed”—and then she suddenly stopped:—was not Ian himself one of these “common people,” and was it not unmannerly anyway for a real lady to talk like that?

“Noticed what?” asked Ian.

“Oh, just noticed that it is so,” and by way of changing the subject she went on,—“but there is one thing I should mind;—I should mind having to cut my hair short.”

332

Ian sighed: “Yes, you must not do that, little one, we must think of some other plan.”

“But I have quite made up my mind and I am going to cut it,” she said in her most queenly manner. She said it so firmly and cheerfully that even Ian did not realise the struggle that was going on in the little heart.

“Well, princess, if it must be so, it must; but you need not cut it above the shoulders. Many pages wear it down to the shoulders.”

“Pages, yes, but not carpenters’ boys.” At the same time Ian’s words gave her a gleam of comfort. That was not quite so terrible. It would have a good start as soon as she could let it grow again. “Do you think a carpenter’s boy could wear it down to his shoulders?” she asked wistfully.

“Certainly,” said Ian; “it might be a little peculiar, but if we could afford to dress you a little more like a page though you were a carpenter’s boy, I doubt even if any one would notice.”

They had reached Longtown by this time, but Ian decided not to stop if they could get safely over the border. They rode on, therefore, until they met a small patrol near Canonbie but were allowed after a few explanations to pass.

At the little inn they made enquiry as to the news of the day. This was surprising, but to Ian by no means altogether unexpected. The Protestant feeling had been growing and some of the Protestant leaders had met at the house of James Sym in Edinburgh and signed the first covenant, called the “Godlie Band.” They were the Earl of Ergyl; Glencarn,—the good Earl;333 Mortoun; Archibald, Lord of Lorne and John Erskyne of Doun.[26]

26 The spelling of the names is taken from a surviving copy of the covenant.

But what was of immediate interest and importance to Ian was that the Earl of Hawick[27] was at that moment raising forces in the border shires, nominally to fight on the border, but in reality to be ready to support the Protestant cause against Mary of Guise.

27 This is a fictitious title and likewise the border incident, although there were several such affrays in this year.

His headquarters were but a few miles away and Ian wondered whether it was not his duty to throw in his lot with them. His own feelings on the whole were friendly to England and he hated the policy that the regent was pursuing of making Scotland an appendage of France, but if English marauders invaded the border he was quite ready as a true Scot to fight against them, although it was the religious cause that he had more deeply at heart.

“Methinks I ought to join them,” he said. “I have seen a good deal of fighting in my day and I might be useful to the cause.”

“I will go with you,” said Aline.

“Nonsense, child, girls do not fight.”

“Joan of Arc fought and why should not I?” she replied.

“Joan of Arc was older than you and could stand a strain that would be quite beyond you, little one, hardy as you are.”

“But I should go as your page or attendant. Would334 you fight as a trooper or on foot, because that, of course, would make some difference?”

“That would remain to be seen, but in any case it would be absurd for you to be there. But it has given me a new idea, sweet child. They would be glad of my services; and, as they are protestants, they would be only too pleased to look after you in return.”

“But I want to come with you.”

He looked at her sadly; “It is out of the question,” he said.

“Oh, but please let me.”

“No, birdeen, you might be killed.”

“Well, that would not matter. I have no friends or relatives in the world to care for me; it might be the simplest solution of our difficulties, if I died trying to help a good cause.”

“You must not talk like that, Aline; I cannot bear to think of it.”

“But I have made up my mind. I am coming. You might be wounded and I might be just the one to help you and prevent your dying.” She drew herself up as she spoke and Ian knew that further argument was useless.

“In that case we can wait and rest here, in any wise for to-day, the which we both need. I can then go and see the Earl to-morrow and probably we can continue to rest for some days while he is recruiting his forces.”

They retired early. Aline had a little room with a glorious outlook. Oh, how beautiful everything was and how good God had been to her. When she was half undressed she sat down and gazed out of the window.335 So this was dear Scotland again, the land of her birth. For the moment the recollection of “Moll o’ the graves” clouded the prospect, but it passed away. The sombre hills looked kindly in the gloaming. She felt hardly able to contain herself for joy.

It was true that she was about to face new dangers; but that did not trouble her in the least. She would be definitely doing her duty, as she conceived it, fighting for a good cause along with many others; she would no longer be a hunted fugitive merely trying to preserve her own life.

She knelt down and prayed and felt happier than she had done since her father died, happier even than during the best days in the secret room.

So happy was she that she proceeded to cut off her wonderful hair, just below the level of the shoulders, without the slightest twinge of regret. “I wish I had Audry’s long mirror here,” was the only thought that troubled her.

Even this was unexpectedly gratified, for in the morning she was down first and discovered a long mirror in a black oak frame, one of the treasures of the hostel.

As she was looking at herself Ian appeared. The sight cost him a pang. “Oh, child,” he exclaimed, “what have you done?”

“I’ve only made myself into a real boy,” she answered.

Ian bit his lips; he would not have thought that he could have minded so much.

As they were standing there the door suddenly opened and a boy came in.

“Hullo, Wilfred! is that you?”

336

“Yes, master, I have brought a letter from Walter Margrove.”

Ian took the letter and went over to the window seat on the far side of the room to read it.

“Wilfred,” thought Aline; “Wilfred”; it had a familiar sound before, when Ian used the name on the road:—and he came from Kirkoswald,—there was too a tale to be told as Ian had said,—and Ian himself had been using an assumed............