on her arm, the two started off once more
with quickened steps through the wood. Neither the older woman nor the
girl was much of a talker, and the winding woodland pathways were too
narrow for two people to walk abreast. But when they came out on the
broad grassy way that wandered across the meadows by the side of the
smooth Avon towards the city walls, they did seem to have a few
things to say to one another. They spoke of the farm they had visited,
of the milk, eggs, and cheese they carried in their baskets. But most
often they mentioned 'the prison.' Little Mary still seemed to be in a
great hurry to get back to be with 'dear grandfather,' while her
companion was apparently anxious to detain her long enough to learn
something more of her life in the gaol.

'I could envy thee, Mary, were it not a sin,' she said once. 'Thou art
a real comfort to my dear father. Since my mother died, gladly would I
have been his companion, and have sought to ease his captivity, but
the Governor of the gaol would not allow it.'

'Ay, I know,' replied Mary, in her clear, high-pitched voice. 'My
mother told me that day at my home in Bedfordshire, that no one but a
child like me could be allowed to serve him, and to live in the prison
as his little maid.'

'Didst thou want to come, Mary?' her aunt enquired.

Mary's face clouded for a moment. Then she looked full at her aunt.
The candid eyes that had nothing to hide, reflected shadows as well as
light at that moment.

'No, Aunt,' she said, firmly and clearly, 'at the first I did not want
to come. There was my home, thou seest; I love Hutton Conquest, and my
mother, and the maids, my sisters. Also I had many friends in our
village with whom I was wont to have rare frolics and games. When
first my mother told me of the Governor's permission, I did not want
to leave the pleasant Bedfordshire meadows that lie around our dear
farm, and go to live cooped up behind bolts and bars. Besides, I had
heard that Warwick Gaol was a fearsome place. I was affrighted at the
thought of being shut up among the thieves and murderers. And--' She
hesitated.

'Poor maid,' said her aunt, 'still thou didst come in the end?'

'In the end it was made clear to me that my place was with dear
grandfather,' said the child in her crisp, old-fashioned way. 'My
mother said she could not force me; for she feared the gaol fever for
me. I feared it too. And it is worse even than I feared. At nights I
hear the prisone