"Some folks might. I'm not sure you could, Aunt Isel."

"Eh, lad, I'm as bad a sinner as other folks. I do pray to be forgiven many a time."

"Maybe that's a good help to forgiving," said Stephen.

"So you're back from your holiday?" said Haimet, coming in, and flinging his felt hat on one of the shelves. "Well, where did you go?"

"Oh, round-about," replied Stephen, taking his last mouthful of beans.

"Did you go Banbury way?"

"No, t'other way," answered Stephen, without indicating which other way.

"Weather sharp, wasn't it?"

"Ay, sharp enough. It's like to be a hard winter.--Well, Aunt, I'm much obliged to you. I reckon I'd best be turning home now."

"Weather rather sharp there too, perhaps?" suggested Haimet jocosely.

"Ay, there's been a bit of a storm since I got back. I came here to get out of it. I'm a fair-weather-lover, as you know."

Stephen went home by a round-about way, for he took Saint John's anchorhold in the route. He scarcely knew why he did it; he had an idea that the sight of Derette would be an agreeable diversion of his thoughts. Too deep down to be thoroughly realised, was a vague a.s.sociation of her with Ermine, whose chief friend in the family she had been.

Derette came to the cas.e.m.e.nt as soon as she heard from Leuesa who was there.

"Good evening, Stephen!" she said cordially. "Leuesa, my maid, while I chat a minute with my cousin, prithee tie on thine hood and run for a cheese. I forgot it with the other marketing this morrow. What are cheeses now? a halfpenny each?"

"Three a penny, Lady, they were yesterday."

"Very good; bring a pennyworth, and here is the money."

As soon as Leuesa was out of hearing, Derette turned to Stephen with a changed expression on her face.

"Stephen!" she said, in a low whisper, "you have been to see after _them_. Tell me what you found."

"I never said nought o' the sort," answered Stephen, rather staggered by his cousin's penetration and directness.

"Maybe your heart said it to mine. You may trust me, Stephen. I would rather let out my life-blood than any secret which would injure them."

"Well, you're not far wrong, Derette. Gerard and Agnes are gone; they lie under the snow. So does Adelheid; but Berthold was not buried; I reckon he was one of the last. I cannot find Rudolph."

"You have told me all but the one thing my heart yearns to know.

Ermine?"

Stephen made no reply.

"You have found her!" said Derette. "Don't tell me where. It is enough, if she lives. Keep silence."

"Some folks are hard that you'd have looked to find soft," answered Stephen, with apparent irrelevance; "and by times folk turn as soft as b.u.t.ter that you'd expect to be as hard as stones."

Derette laid up the remark in her mind for future consideration.

"Folks baint all bad that other folks call ill names," he observed further.

Derette gave a little nod. She was satisfied that Ermine had found a refuge, and with some unlikely person.

"Wind's chopped round since morning, seems to me," pursued Stephen, as if he had nothing particular to say. "Blew on my back as I came up to the gate."

Another nod from Derette. She understood that Ermine's refuge lay south of Oxford.

"Have you seen Flemild?" she asked. "She has sprained her wrist sadly, and cannot use her hand."

"Now just you tell her," answered Stephen, with a significant wink, "I've heard say the White Witch of Bensington makes wonderful cures with marsh-mallows poultice: maybe it would ease her."

"I'll let her know, be sure," said Derette: and Stephen took his leave as Leuesa returned with her purchase.

He had told her nothing about Ermine: he had told her every thing.

Derette thanked G.o.d for the--apparently causeless--impulse to mention her sister's accident, which had just given Stephen the opportunity to utter the last and most important item. Not the slightest doubt disturbed her mind that Ermine was in the keeping of the White Witch of Bensington, and that Stephen was satisfied of the Wise Woman's kind treatment and good faith. She was sorry for Gerhardt and Agnes; but she had loved Ermine best of all. As for Rudolph, if Ermine were safe, why should he not be likewise? Derette's was a hopeful nature, not given to look on the dark side of any thing which had a light one: a tone of mind which, as has been well said, is worth a thousand a year to its possessor.

Leuesa returned full of excitement. A wolf had been killed only three miles from the city, and the Earl had paid the sportsman fourpence for its head, which was to be sent up to the King--the highest price ever given for a wolf's head in that county. The popular idea that Edgar exterminated all the wolves in England is an error. Henry Second paid tenpence for three wolves' heads [Pipe Roll, 13 Henry Second], and Henry Third's State Papers speak of "hares, wolves, and cats," in the royal forests [Close Roll, 38 Henry Third].

The days went on, and Stephen received no summons to the Wise Woman's hut. He found it very hard to keep away. If he could only have known that all was going on right! But weeks and months pa.s.sed by, and all was silence. Stephen almost made up his mind to brave the witch's anger, and go without bidding. Yet there would be danger in that, for Anania, who had been piqued by his parrying of her queries, watched him as a cat watches a mouse.

He was coming home, one evening in early summer, having been on guard all day at the East Gate, when, as he pa.s.sed the end of Snydyard (now Oriel) Street, a small child of three or four years old toddled up to him, and said--

"There! Take it."

Stephen, who had a liking for little toddlers, held out his hand with a smile; and grew suddenly grave when there was deposited in it a ball of grey wool.

"Who gave thee this?"

"Old man--down there--said, 'Give it that man with the brown hat,'" was the answer.

Stephen thanked the child, threw it a sweetmeat, with which his pocket was generally provided, and ran after the old man, whom he overtook at the end of the street.

"What mean you by this?" he asked.

The old man looked up blankly.

"I know not," said he. "I was to take it to Stephen the Watchdog,-- that's all I know."

"Tell me who gave it you, then?"

"I can't tell you--a woman I didn't know."

"Where?"

"A bit this side o' Dorchester."