So, at last, we came to Stene, Lord Crewe’s place in Northamptonshire.

Now, while we drew near to the park-gates, and were thinking how best to convey a message to her ladyship, there passed out a gentleman of grave and reverend appearance, in cassock and full wig, whom I judged might be in the Bishop’s service. So I stopped him, and asked him civilly if he was perchance his lordship’s chaplain.

‘I am,’ he replied, in some surprise at the question. ‘Why, my good girl?’

‘Tell him, Mr. Hilyard,’ I said. ‘Tell him all.’

‘Sir,’ said Mr. Hilyard, ‘this young lady is not what she seems. She is Miss Dorothy Forster, sister of Mr. Thomas Forster the younger, who lately commanded the rebel army, and niece of Lady Crewe. We are on our way to London; but first she would have speech, if, it may be, with her ladyship.’

‘What!’ cried the clergyman. ‘Have you not heard? Good Heaven! Her ladyship hath been dead these six weeks and more!’

Dead! Lady Crewe was dead! Then was I friendless indeed.

‘She died,’ he went on, ‘of a fit or convulsion, caused, we are assured, by her anxiety on learning that a warrant was out for the apprehension of her nephew. She never learned the news of his rising, which was kept from her by order of my lord, for fear of greater anxiety. She died on the 16th day of October.’

‘The stars in their courses fight against us,’ said Mr. Hilyard, in consternation. ‘Terror ubique tremor, timor undique et undique terror.’

‘Who are you, sir, pray?’ asked the chaplain, astonished to hear Latin from the mouth of a blacksmith.

‘I was formerly Mr. Forster’s tutor, and have since been his steward. I am in disguise, partly because I also was with the insurgents, and am not desirous of being taken. But, sir, could we speak with his lordship?’

‘My lord is much broken by the death of her ladyship. Yet, I doubt not that he will receive her niece.’

He took us into the park, and so into the hall of the house (a great and stately house it was, though not so fine as that of Bishop’s Auckland or the Castle of Durham), and begged me to wait a few moments while he sought his lordship.

Lord Crewe was sitting in his library in a high-backed armchair, a book on the table beside him, and a great coal-fire burning.

‘Come, child!’ he said, holding out both hands; ‘come, kiss me for thy dear aunt’s sake! Thou hast heard my irreparable loss.’

‘I have just learned it, my lord, to my infinite sorrow. For, oh! I have lost her to whom I looked for help at this moment, and she is gone; and I may now lose my brother, who is a prisoner, and on his way to London to be tried.’ And so, weeping and sobbing, I fell at his lordship’s knees.

‘Ay,’ he said, laying his hand upon my head, ‘weep and cry, child! Youth hath tears; age hath none. Life hath nothing left for me: I have lost all, my dear. Thou art strangely like her when she was young. Stay with me a while, and let me comfort myself by merely looking upon thy face. Nay, I have heard of thy misfortunes. Tom is a prisoner. Fools all! fools all! Yet I warned him; I admonished him. This it is not to listen to the counsel of an old man. What would you do for him?’

‘With permission, my lord, we would go to London and try to save him,’ Mr. Hilyard replied.

‘Who are you, sir?’ he asked. ‘Oh, I remember now. It is the Terr? Filius. And how, sir, doth so great and powerful a man as you propose to tear these rebels from the grasp of Justice?’

‘As yet, my lord, we know not; but we hope that a way will be opened. There are, first, the chances in our favour. The Court may take a lenient view, seeing that so many are involved; or there is the clemency of the King.’

‘Pass on to the next chance,’ said the Bishop. ‘Build not on the clemency of Kings.’

‘Why, my lord, if he is to be tried, there is not much more to be said. But, perhaps he may not be tried at all. A pardon might be procured by friends in high place.’

‘In this matter, sir, look not to me for help. I am now old. All my friends, if I have any left, are on the other side.’

‘Then, my lord, saving your presence, there are juries to be influenced ——’

‘They will not be so foolish as to try them by a jury.’

‘Next, there are, my lord, asking your pardon, guards to be corrupted, as has been done in many famous examples.’

‘Tush —— tush! tell me not of these secrets. You will want money, sir, and much money. Man, let me look at you full in the face. Your eyes seem honest. In these times, and in such a service, the scarcity of honest men is lamentably felt. Yet you seem honest, and you have proved faithful. Suppose, Dorothy, child, I were to find you the money —— doth Tom trust this man? To be sure, he would trust any man who offered. It is their easy temper, not their ill-fate, which hath ruined the Forsters.’

‘We have trusted him, my lord, for fifteen years.’

‘Look ye, sirrah!’ his lordship shook his long and lean forefinger in the face of Mr. Hilyard. ‘Look ye, if you now betray the trust, the malediction of the Church itself shall follow you to your death —— and after,’ he added solemnly. Then he paused. ‘To do these things,’ he presently went on, ‘may require much money. He must be defended if he be brought to trial: if he never come to trial —— How much money have you?’

We had twenty-four guineas when we left Blanchland. We have spent six on the road. There are eighteen guineas left. It is all our stock.’

‘Eighteen guineas!’ my lord laughed. ‘It is a goodly stock. Now, sir, I will give you a letter to my agent and factor in London. He will provide you with all you want —— understand, all! Do not be afraid to ask. My wife, the most beautiful and the most faithful woman in the world, is dead: alas! I, too, shall follow soon; my days will be few and full of sorrow. I am old —— I am eighty-two years of age —— my work is done —— I have now nothing left but meditation and prayer.’ He went on in this way so that I thought his mind was wandering with age and trouble; but he did not forget what he designed to say. ‘Therefore, because she would have wished it, her nephew, who hath proved a fool and a companion of fools, shall not suffer, if I can help it, the just consequence of his folly. Go then, to this man of business, and let him know who thou art; give him my letter, and, when the time comes, ask boldly for as much as will be wanted —— nay, if it cost ten or twenty thousand pounds he will give it thee.’

‘Oh, my lord!’ Mr. Hilyard fairly burst into tears. ‘This is princely generosity. I hoped for nothing more than a help to maintain my mistress in London. Why, with such help as this, his honour is as good as free already.’ He knelt and kissed his lordship’s hand.

‘Go, fellow,’ said the Bishop, not unmoved. ‘But remember lest they say, as was said to Peter, &ld............