d then there'll be no more
they can do. That's about where it is, Master Ewring."

"Why, Dorothy, I never saw you thus stirred aforetime."

"Maybe not. It takes a bit to stir me, but I've got it this even, I can
tell you."

"I could well-nigh mistake you for Mistress Wade," said Mr Ewring with
a smile.

"Eh, poor Mistress! but if she could see that poor little dear, it would
grieve her to her heart. Master Ewring, how long will the Lord bear
with these sons of Satan!"

"Ah, Dorothy, that's more than you or I can tell. `Many shall be
purified, and made white, and tried': that is all we know."

"How much is many?" asked Dorothy almost bitterly.

"Not one too many," said the miller gravely: "and not one too few. We
are called to wait until our brethren be accomplished that shall suffer.
It may be shorter than we think. But, Dorothy, who set you among the
prophets? I rather thought you had not over much care for such things."

"Master Ewring, I've heard say that when a soldier's killed in battle,
another steppeth up behind without delay to fill his place. There's
some places wants filling at Colchester, where the firing's been fierce
of late: and when most of the old warriors be killed, they'll be like to
fill the ranks up with new recruits. And if they be a bit awkward, and
don't step just up to pace, maybe they'll learn by and by, and meantime
the others must have patience."

"The Lord perfect that which concerneth thee!" said the miller, with
much feeling. "Dorothy, was your mistress not desirous to have brought
up these little ones herself?"

"She was so, Master Ewring, and I would with all my heart she could.
Poor little dears!"

"I would have taken the lad, if it might have been compassed, when he
was a bit older, and have bred him up to my own trade. The maids should
have done better with good Mistress Wade."

"Eh, Master, little Cicely's like to dwell in other keeping than either,
and that's with her good father and mother above."

"The Lord's will be done!" responded Mr Ewring. "If so be, she at
least will have little sorrow."

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

INTO THE LION'S MOUTH.

"Give you good den, Master Hiltoft! May a man have speech of your
prisoner, Mistress Bongeor?"

"You're a bold man, Master Ewring."

"Wherefore?"

"Wherefore! Sotting your head in the lion's mouth! I should have
thought you'd keep as far from Moot Hall as you could compass. Yourself
not unsuspected, an