"Yes," I replied.

"Long ago, young master? Oh, you need not fear to tell me. If you have suffered because of your disobedience to the king, you should be one of G.o.d's children."

"I was in the Chapel of Herne twelve months ago last June," I replied.

"Surely, surely you cannot be he who helped our friend out of----" He stopped and gazed eagerly at me as if afraid to say more.

"My name is Roland Rashcliffe," I said, whereupon he grasped my hand in joy.

"This is the Lord's doing, and it is marvellous in our eyes," he said.

"Know you aught of her?" I said, wellnigh overcome with the hope that was in my heart.

"Know aught of her!" he cried. "Why----"

"Husband, husband!" interrupted the woman.

The man ceased speaking for a moment. "Thank you, wife," he said, after a pause; "the road is full of pitfalls, and a promise should be faithfully kept."

"But I desire to be your friend," I cried eagerly. "Here, take this money, and if further help fails you, will you let me know, and I will give you more."

"Young master, I believe the Lord hath touched your heart," he cried, "and surely He hath brought you to us. May G.o.d bless you, and make you a blessing! But I am not a beggar, neither have I asked you for aught."

"But be pleased to take this," I cried. "You will give me joy by taking it. I have plenty, and I desire to help you."

I saw that pride and desire struggled in the man's heart, and I verily believe the former would have conquered had not one of the children cried bitterly:

"Father, I am so cold, and so hungry," she said; "let us go to the cottage, and light the fire."

"Thank you, young master," he said as he took the money; "perchance I shall be able to repay you some day."

"You have repaid me already," I replied. "You have made me happy by enabling me to give your children food and fire to-night. Will you tell me where your cottage is, and then, perchance, I can come and see you again."

Again he looked steadily at me, and it was some time before he spoke.

"You see that stile there?" he said. "If you follow the footpath into the wood for half a mile you will see my cottage."

"See that the children have good food and a fire to-night," I said with a laugh, for my heart had grown light and joyful with hope.

"Thanks to you, they shall," he cried; and I saw the tears trickling down his wan cheek. "Oh, may the Lord forgive me for ever doubting His word! Did not David say, 'I have been young, and now am old, yet have I never seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread.' No, I shall not be forsaken, and the Lord will provide. Ay, and the word of the Lord shall triumph too. The eyes of the wicked may stand out with fatness, yet will I not fret myself because of evildoers. I will trust in the Lord, and do good, and I will dwell in the land and follow after faithfulness. I will delight myself in the Lord, and He will give me the desires of my heart."

"And what may your name be?" I asked.

"Forgive me if I have seemed afraid to trust you," he said, "but it behoveth those who are surrounded by enemies to behave with caution. But I believe that the Lord hath sent you to me. My name, young master, is John Day, who for ten years ministered to his flock in the parish church at St. Martin's."

All my weariness and fatigue had gone as I rode into Bedford. I was afraid of nothing, for I believed that G.o.d had led me hither. Again and again I went over in my mind the conversation between Master John Day and myself, and the more I thought of it, the more I was convinced that the friend who had helped them was the woman I loved. It accorded with what my father had told me concerning her, and although Master Day had been afraid to tell me aught, he had said enough to confirm my hopes.

I did not think it best to go to _The Bull_ at Bedford, but seeing an inn called _General Fairfax_, I made my way thither. If an innkeeper was bold enough to keep an inn bearing such a name, I reflected, it might be that I should be safer there than elsewhere. Not that I feared recognition. As Caleb Bullen had said, my appearance had been so changed during my prison life that scarce any one would know me. When I was in Bedford last, I was brown and strong; now I was pale, and looked weak and ill. Moreover, my clothes were so different from what I wore then that they altered my appearance much. Besides, I had but little to fear.

No warrant was out against me, neither had I done anything to cause those in authority to take note of me.

The inn, moreover, was of a quieter order than the others, neither were any troublesome questions asked of me.

After supper I found my way into the room where several men sat with their mugs of ale before them, and I found that they were talking about the trial which was to take place on the following morning.

"How many are to be tried?" asked one. "Know you, James Bilsom?"

"Ay, I think there be a score or more."

"They will be all sent to prison, I'll wage."

"There can be no doubt about that. Parson Gilloch is most terrible and bitter against these Dissenters; as for Squire Graystone, he fair hates them. Not that I can see they have done aught wrong. They do but pray and preach as they did before the coming of the king. As for their piety--well, if I lay a-dying I'd rather have one of them to pray with me than I'd have the parson, for all his long white gown."

"But still, the king is king, and law is law."

"Ay, I suppose so. Still, although I was no lover of Old Nol, we were better off in his days. There was less thieving, less drinking, less loose living, and more piety. Of that I am free to confess."

"Say not so too loud, for if Parson Gilloch hears of it he will e'en make you smart. Why, think of what hath befallen the Dissenters."

"Ay, a man can hardly call his soul his own, that he cannot. Are you going to the trial to-morrow?"

"Nay, I cannot sleep after I have been to these trials. I cannot help thinking of the women and children. It is terrible hard for them."

"Ay, it is; how they manage to live I know not."

"Think you there is any truth in the stories about Sir John Leslie's daughter?"

"Nay, I think not. If there were she'd have been found before this."

"I don't know. She's a clever maid. Why, think how she guarded her sister, and got her out of the country. I do hear she's joined Sir Charles in Holland."

"Ay, but she can't be in these parts now. How can she be? Every house is watched; besides, how can she get meat to eat?"

"I don't know; but I tell you, she hath all her wits, and she's more than a match for Parson Gilloch. Peter Blewitt swears it was she that he saw before she tripped him up and blew out his candle."

After this they talked much in this fashion, but they said nought that gave me any clue to the secret of her hiding place, although they gave me much food for reflection.

The next morning I made my way to the Chapel of Herne, in the hopes that I might hear something which might help me in the work I had set myself to do.

CHAPTER XXIX

THE PURITAN'S COTTAGE

"The court house is not so full to-day."

"Nay. Do you mind when John Bunyan was tried? Ay, but he answered the justices boldly, and so cleverly that they could not gainsay him."