martyred, what would become of little Cissy? The
child had crept into Elizabeth's heart, before she was aware. Suddenly
Amy's voice broke in upon her thoughts.

"Come, Bess, art in a better mood this morrow? I'll forgive thee thy
miss-words last night, if thou'lt tell me now."

All the cross words there had been the night before had come from Amy
herself; but Elizabeth let that pass.

"Mistress Amy," said she, "this matter is not one whereof I may speak to
you or any other. I was charged with a secret, and bidden not to
disclose the same. Think you I can break my word?"

"Dear heart! I break mine many a time in the week," cried Amy, with a
laugh. "I'm not _nigh_ so peevish as thou."

"But, Mistress Amy, it is not right," returned Elizabeth earnestly.

Before Amy could answer, Mrs Clere's heavy step was heard approaching
the door, and the key turned in the lock. Amy, who sat on the side of
the bed swinging her feet to and fro for amusement, jumped down.

"Mother, you'll get nought from her. I've essayed both last night and
this morrow, and I might as well have held my tongue."

"Go and light the fire," said Mrs Clere sternly to Elizabeth. "I'll
have some talk with thee at after."

Elizabeth obeyed in silence. She lighted the fire and buttered the
eggs, and swept the house, and baked the bread, and washed the clothes,
and churned the butter--all with a passionate longing to be free, hidden
in her heart, and constant ejaculatory prayers--silent ones, of course--
for the safely of her poor friends. Mrs Clere seemed to expect
Elizabeth to run away if she could, and she did not let her go out of
her sight the whole day. The promised scolding, however, did not come.

Supper was over, and the short winter day was drawing to its close, when
Nicholas Clere came into the kitchen.

"Here's brave news, Wife!" said he, "What thinkest? Here be an
half-dozen in the town arrest of heresy--and some without, too."

"Mercy on us! Who?" demanded Mrs Clere.

"Why, Master Benold, chandler, and Master Bongeor, glazier, and old
Mistress Silverside, and Mistress Ewring at the mill--these did I hear.
I know not who else." And suddenly turning to Elizabeth, he said,
"Hussy, was this thine errand, or had it ought to do therewith?"

All the passionate pain and the earnest longing died out of the heart of
Elizabeth Foulkes. She stood looking as calm as a marble statue, and
almost as white.

"Master," she said, quietl