* *

He talked on a moment or two, beginning to say that Mr. Melville himself
had come out to the inn, that he, as Melville's own servant, had been
lodging there, and had been bidden to hold himself in readiness, since
he knew Derbyshire.... But she was not listening. She only knew that
that had fallen which she feared.

"Give me the letter," she said again.

He sat down, excusing himself, and fumbled with his boot; and by the
time that he held it out to her, she was in the thick of the conflict.
She knew well enough what it meant--that there was no peril in all
England like that to which this letter called her friend, there, waiting
for him in Fotheringay where every strange face was suspected, where a
Popish priest was as a sheep in a den of wolves, where there would be no
mercy at all if he were discovered; and where, if he were to be of use
at all, he must adventure himself in the very spot where he would be
most suspected, on a task that would be thought the last word in treason
and disobedience. And, worst of all, this priest had lodged in the
tavern where the conspirators had lodged; he had talked with them the
night before their flight, and now, here he was, striving to get access
to her for whom all had been designed. Was there a soul in England that
could doubt his complicity?... And it was to her own house here in
Derbyshire that he had come for shelter; it was here that he had said
mass yesterday; and it must be from this house that he must ride, on one
of her horses; and it must be her hand that gave him the summons. Last
of all, it was she, Marjorie Manners, that had sent him to this life,
six years ago.

Then, as she took the letter, the shrewd woman in her spoke. It was
irresistible, and she seemed to listen to voice that was not hers.

"Does any here know that you are come?"

"No, mistress."

"If I bade you, and said that I had reasons for it, you would ride away
again alone, without a word to any?"

"Why, yes, mistress!"

(Oh! the plan was irresistible and complete. She would send this
messenger away again on one of her own horses as far as Derby; he could
leave the horse there, and she would send a man for it to-morrow. He
would go back to Fotheringay and would wait, he and those that had sent
him. And the priest they expected would not come. He, too, himself, had
ceased to expect any word from Mr. Bourgoign; he had said a month ago
that surely none would come now. He had been aw