"He may have strayed, or run into some cottage. That I cannot find him may mean that he is alive."

"Or that he died early enough to be buried," she said sadly.

"The good Lord would look to the child," said Haldane unexpectedly. "He is either safe with Him, or He will tell you some day what has become of Him."

"You're a queer witch!" said Stephen, looking at her with some surprise.

"I'm not a witch at all. I'm only a harmless old woman who deals in herbs and such like, but folks make me out worse than I am. And when every body looks on you as black, it's not so easy to keep white. If others shrink from naming G.o.d to you, you get to be shy of it too. Men and women have more influence over each other than they think. For years and years I've felt as if my soul was locked up in the dark, and could not get out: but this girl, that I took in because she needed bodily help, has given me better help than ever I gave her--she has unlocked the door, and let the light in on my poor smothered soul. Now, young man, if you'll take an old woman's counsel--old women are mostly despised, but they know a thing or two, for all that--you'll just let the maid alone a while. She couldn't be safer than she is here; and she'd best not venture forth of the doors till her hurts are healed, and the noise and talk has died away. Do you love her well enough to deny yourself for her good? That's the test of real love, and there are not many who will stand it."

"Tell me what you would have me do, and I'll see," answered Stephen with a smile.

"Can you stay away for a month or two?"

"Well, that's ill hearing. But I reckon I can, if it is to do any good to Ermine."

"If you keep coming here," resumed the shrewd old woman, "folks will begin to ask why. And if they find out why, it won't be good for you or Ermine either. Go home and look after your usual business, and be as like your usual self as you can. The talk will soon be silenced if no fuel be put to it. And don't tell your own mother what you have found."

"I've no temptation to do that," answered Stephen gravely. "My mother has been under the mould this many a year."

"Well, beware of any friend who tries to ferret it out of you--ay, and of the friends who don't try. Sometimes they are the more treacherous of the two. Let me know where you live, and if you are wanted I will send for you. Do you see this ball of grey wool? If any person puts that into your hand, whenever and however, come here as quick as you can. Till then, keep away."

"Good lack! But you won't keep me long away?"

"I shall think of her, not of you," replied Haldane shortly. "And the more you resent that, the less you love."

After a moment's struggle with his own thoughts, Stephen said, "You're right, Mother. I'll stay away till you send for me."

"Those are the words of a true man," said Haldane, "if you have strength to abide by them. Remember, the test of love is not sweet words, but self-sacrifice; and the test of truth is not bold words, but patient endurance."

"I'm not like to forget it. You bade me tell you where I live? I am one of the watchmen in the Castle of Oxford; but I am to be found most days from eleven to four on duty at the Osney Gate of the Castle. Only, I pray you to say to whomsoever you make your messenger, that my brother's wife--he is porter at the chief portal--is not to be trusted.

She has a tongue as long as the way from here to Oxford, and curiosity equal to our mother Eve's or greater. Put yon ball of wool in _her_ hand, and she'd never take a wink of sleep till she knew all about it."

"I trust no man till I have seen him, and no woman till I have seen through her," said Haldane.

"Well, she's as easy to see through as a church window. Ermine knows her. If you must needs trust any one, my cousin Derette is safe; she is in Saint John's anchorhold. But I'd rather not say too much of other folks."

"O Stephen, Mother Isel!"

"Aunt Isel would never mean you a bit of harm, dear heart, I know that.

But she might let something out that she did not mean; and if a pair of sharp ears were in the way, it would be quite as well she had not the chance. She has carried a sore heart for you all these four months, Ermine; and she cried like a baby over your casting forth. But Uncle Manning and Haimet were as hard as stones. Flemild cried a little too, but not like Aunt Isel. As to Anania, nothing comes amiss to her that can be sown to come up talk. If an earthquake were to swallow one of her children, I do believe she'd only think what a fine thing it was for a gossip."

"I hope she's not quite so bad as that, Stephen."

"Hope on, sweet heart, and farewell. Here's Mother Haldane on thorns to get rid of me--that I can see. Now, Mother, what shall I pay you for your help, for right good it has been?"

Haldane laid her hand on Stephen's, which was beginning to unfasten his purse--a bag carried on the left side, under the girdle.

"Pay me," she said, "in care for Ermine."

"There's plenty of that coin," answered Stephen, smiling, as he withdrew his hand. "You'll look to your half of the bargain, Mother, and trust me to remember mine."

Note 1. The ordinary fire at this time was of wood. Charcoal, the superior cla.s.s of fuel, cost from 5 shillings to 10 shillings per ton (modern value from six to twelve guineas).

CHAPTER NINE.

THE SECRET THAT WAS NOT TOLD.

"Thine eye is on Thy wandering sheep; Thou knowest where they are, and Thou wilt keep And bring them home."

Hetty Bowman.

"So you've really come back at last! Well, I did wonder what you'd gone after! Such lots of folks have asked me--old Turguia, and Franna, and Aunt Isel, and Derette--leastwise Leuesa--and ever such a lot: and I couldn't tell ne'er a one of them a single word about it."

Anania spoke in the tone of an injured woman, defrauded of her rights by the malice prepense of Stephen.

"Well," said Stephen calmly, "you may tell them all that I went after my own business; and if any of them thinks that's what a man shouldn't do, she can come and tell me so."

"Well, to be sure! But what business could you have to carry you out of the town for such a time, and n.o.body to know a word about it? Tell me that, if you please."

"Don't you tell her nought!" said Osbert in the chimney-corner. "If you went to buy a new coat, she'll want to know where the money was minted, and who sheared the sheep."

"I'll finish my pie first, I think," answered Stephen, "for I am rather too hungry for talk; and I dare say she'll take no harm by that."

He added, in mental reservation,--"And meantime I can be thinking what to say."

"Oh, _you_ never want to know nought!" exclaimed Anania derisively.

"Turguia, she said you were gone after rabbits--as if any man in his senses would do that in the snow: and Aunt Isel thought you were off on a holiday; and Franna was certain sure you were gone a-courting."

Stephen laughed to himself, but made no other reply.

"Baint you a-going to tell me, now?" demanded Anania.

"Aunt Isel wasn't so far out," said Stephen, helping himself to a second wedge of pie.

"And Franna?"

Anania was really concerned on that point. She found Stephen very useful, and his wages, most of which he gave her, more than paid for his board. If he were to marry and set up house for himself, it would deprive her of the means to obtain sundry fashionable frivolities wherein her soul delighted. Stephen was quite aware of these facts, which put an amusing edge on his determination to keep the truth from the inquisitive gossip.

"Franna?" he repeated. "Did you say she thought I'd gone after squirrels? because I've brought ne'er a one."

"No, stupid! She said you'd gone a-courting, and I want to know who."

"You must ask Franna that, not me. I did not say so."