for sympathy and secrecy: and He
might be spoken to without words. It was well; for the words refused to
come. Only one thing would present itself to Elizabeth's weary heart
and brain: and that was the speech of little Cissy, that, "it would be
all right if she asked God to see to it." A sob broke from her, as she
sent up to Heaven the one petition of which alone she felt capable just
then--"Lord, help me!" He would know how and when to help. Elizabeth
dropped her trouble into the Almighty hands, and left it there. Then
she rose, undressed, and lay down beside Amy, who was already in bed.

Amy Clere was not an ill-natured girl, and her anger never lasted long.
When she heard Elizabeth's sob, her heart smote her a little: but she
said to herself, that she was "not going to humble herself to that
crusty Bess," so she turned round and went to sleep.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

THE STORM BREAKS.

When the morning came, Amy's good temper was restored by her night's
rest, and she was inclined to look on her locking-in as a piece of
amusement.

"I vow, Bess, this is fun!" said she, "I've twenty minds to get out on
the roof, and see if I can reach the next window. It would be right
jolly to wake up Ellen Mallory--she's always lies abed while seven; and
I do think I could. Wilt aid me?"

Ellen Mallory was the next neighbour's daughter, a girl of about Amy's
age; and seven o'clock was considered a shocking late hour for rising in
1556.

"Mistress Amy, I do pray you never think of such a thing," cried
Elizabeth, in horror. "You'll be killed!"

"Well, I'm not wishful to be killed," answered Amy lightly: "I only want
some fun while we are shut up here. I marvel when Mother shall come to
let us out. She'll have to light the fire herself if she does not;
that's one good thing!"

Elizabeth thought it a very undutiful idea; but she was silent. If she
had but had wings like a dove, how gladly would she have flown to warn
her friends! She well knew that Mrs Clere was not likely to be in the
mood to grant a favour and let her go, after what had happened the night
before. To go without leave was a thing which Elizabeth never
contemplated. That would be putting herself in the wrong. But her poor
friends, would they escape? How if Robert Purcas had been stopped, as
she had? I was strange, but her imagination did not dwell nearly so
much upon her own friend, Rose, as on little Cissy. If Johnson were
taken, if he were