"An evil spirit would scarcely have given such holy counsel," gravely responded Haldane.

"Never expected to hear angels speak in a witch's hut!" said the astonished sumner. "Pray you, my Lord Angel--or my Lady Angela, if so be--for your holy intercession for a poor sinner."

"Better shalt thou have," replied the voice, "if thou wilt humbly rest thy trust on Christ our Lord, and seek His intercession."

"You see well," added Haldane, "that I am no evil thing, else would good spirits not visit me."

The humbled sumner laid two silver pennies in her hand, and left the hut with some new ideas in his head.

"Well, my dear, you've a brave heart!" said Haldane, when the sound of his footsteps had died away. "I marvel you dared speak. It is well he took you for an angel; but suppose he had not, and had come round the screen to see? When I told you the worst outlaw in the forest would not dare to look in on you, I was not speaking of _them_. They stick at nothing, commonly."

"If he had," said Ermine quietly, "the Lord would have known how to protect me. Was I to leave a troubled soul with the blessed truth untold, because harm to my earthly life might arise thereby?"

"But, my dear, you don't think he'll be the better?"

"If he be not, the guilt will not rest on my head."

The dark deepened, and the visitors seemed to have done coming. Haldane cooked a rabbit for supper for herself and Ermine, not forgetting Gib.

She had bolted the door for the night, and was fastening the wooden shutter which served for a window, when a single tap on the door announced a late applicant for her services. Haldane opened the tiny wicket, which enabled her to speak without further unbarring when she found it convenient.

"Folks should come in the day," she said.

"Didn't dare!" answered a low whisper, apparently in the voice of a young man. "Can you find lost things?"

"That depends on the planets," replied Haldane mysteriously.

"But can't you rule the planets?"

"No; they rule me, and you too. However, come within, and I will see what I can do for you."

Unbarring the door, she admitted a m.u.f.fled man, whose face was almost covered by a woollen kerchief evidently arranged for that purpose.

"What have you lost?" asked the Wise Woman.

"The one I loved best," was the unexpected answer.

"Man, woman, or child?"

"A maiden, who went forth the morrow of Saint Lucian, by the East Gate of Oxford, on the Dorchester road. If you can, tell me if she be living, and where to seek her."

Haldane made a pretence of scattering a powder on the dying embers of her wood-fire. [Note 1.]

"The charm will work quicker," she said, "if I know the name of the maiden."

"Ermine."

Haldane professed to peer into the embers.

"She is a foreigner," she remarked.

"Ay, you have her."

"A maiden with fair hair, a pale soft face, blue eyes, and a clear, gentle voice."

"That's it!--where is she?"

"She is still alive."

"Thanks be to all the saints! Where must I go to find her?"

"The answer is, Stay where you are."

"Stay! I cannot stay. I must find and succour her."

"Does she return your affection?"

"That's more than I can say. I've never seen any reason to think so."

"But you love her?"

"I would have died for her!" said the young man, with an earnest ring in his voice. "I have perilled my life, and the priests say, my soul. All this day have I been searching along the Dorchester way, and have found every one of them but two--her, and one other. I did my best, too, to save her and hers before the blow fell."

"What would you do, if you found her?"

"Take her away to a safe place, if she would let me, and guard her there at the risk of my life--at the cost, if need be."

"The maid whom you seek," said Haldane, after a further examination of the charred sticks on the hearth, "is a pious and devout maiden; has your life been hitherto fit to mate with such?"

"Whatever I have been," was the reply, "I would give her no cause for regret hereafter. A man who has suffered as I have has no mind left for trifling. She should do what she would with me."

Haldane seemed to hesitate whether she should give further information or not.

"Can't you trust me?" asked the young man sorrowfully. "I have done ill deeds in my life, but one thing I can say boldly,--I never yet told a lie. Oh, tell me where to go, if my love yet lives? Can't you trust me?"

"I can," said a voice which was not Haldane's. "I can, Stephen."

Stephen stared round the hut as if the evidence of his ears were totally untrustworthy. Haldane touched him on the shoulder with a smile.

"Come!" she said.

The next minute Stephen was kneeling beside Ermine, covering her hand with kisses, and pouring upon her all the sweetest and softest epithets which could be uttered.

"They are all gone, sweet heart," he said, in answer to her earnest queries. "And the priests may say what they will, but I believe they are in Heaven."

"But that other, Stephen? You said, me and one other. One of the men, I suppose?"

"That other," said Stephen gently, "that other, dear, is Rudolph."

"What can have become of him?"