ant! I've no patience with it."

And Mistress Clere banged the door behind her, locked it, and left
Elizabeth alone till dinner-time, when she carried up a slice of bread--
only one, and that the coarsest rye-bread--and a mug of water.

"There!" said she. "Thou shouldst be thankful, when I've every bit of
work on my hands in all this house, owing to thy perversity!"

"I do thank you, Mistress," said Elizabeth, meekly. "Would you suffer
me to ask you one favour? I have served you well hitherto, and I never
disobeyed you till now."

It was true, and Mrs Clere knew it.

"Well, the brazen-facedness of some hussies!" cried she. "Prithee,
what's your pleasure, mistress? Would you a new satin gown for your
trial, and a pearl-necklace? or do you desire an hundred pounds given to
the judges to set you free? or would you a petition to the Queen's
Majesty, headed by Mr Mayor and my Lord of Oxenford?"

Elizabeth let the taunts go by her like a summer breeze. She felt them
keenly enough. Nobody enjoys being laughed at; but he is hardly worth
calling a man who allows a laugh to turn him out of the path of duty.

"Mistress," she said, quietly, "should you hear of any being arrested
for heresy, would you do me so much grace as to let me know the name?
and the like if you hear of any that have escaped?"

Mrs Clere looked down into the eyes that were lifted to her, as
Elizabeth stood before her. Quiet, meek, tranquil eyes, without a look
of reproach in them, with no anxiety save that aroused for the fate of
her friends. She was touched in spite of herself.

"Thou foolish maid!" said she. "Why couldst thou not have done as other
folks, and run no risks? I vow I'm well-nigh sorry for thee, for all
thy perversity. Well, we'll see. Mayhap I will, if I think on't."

"Thank you, Mistress!" said Elizabeth gratefully, as Mistress Clere took
the mug from her, and left the little porch-chamber as before, locking
her prisoner in the prison.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

ROSE HEARS THE NEWS.

While Elizabeth Foulkes was passing through these experiences, the
Mounts, Rose Allen, and the children, had gone back to Much Bentley as
soon as morning broke. Rose took the little ones home to Thorpe, and
they met Johnson just at the door of his own cottage.

"Truly, friend, I am much beholden to you," said he to Rose, "for your
kindly care of my little ones. But, I pray you, is it true what I
heard, that Mistress Silverside is arre