"They're ill brought up, then," said Stephen. "I'll take good care my lads don't."

"O Stephen! have you some children?--how many?"

"Ay, two lads and three la.s.ses. How many have you?"

"We're not so well off as you; we have only two maids. Why, Stephen, I'd forgot you were married. I must come and see your wife. But I never heard whom you did marry: was she a stranger?"

Poor Stephen was sorely puzzled what to say. On the one hand, he thought Leuesa might safely be trusted; and as Ermine had already suffered the sentence pa.s.sed upon her, and the entire circ.u.mstances were forgotten by most people, it seemed as if the confession of facts might be attended by no danger. Yet he could not know with certainty that either of his old acquaintances was incorruptibly trustworthy; and if the priests came to know that one of their victims had survived the ordeal, what might they not do, in hatred and revenge? A moment's reflection, and an ejaculatory prayer, decided him to trust Leuesa. She must find out the truth if she came to see Ermine.

"No," he said slowly; "she was not a stranger."

"Why, who could it be?" responded Leuesa. "n.o.body went away when you did."

"But somebody went away before I did. Leuesa, I think you are not the woman who would do an old friend an ill turn?"

"Indeed, I would not, Stephen," said she warmly. "If there be any secret, you may trust me, and my husband too; we would not harm you or yours for the world."

"I believe I may," returned Stephen. "My cousin Derette knows, but don't name it to any one else. My wife is--Ermine."

"Stephen! You don't mean it? Well, I am glad to know she got safe away! But how did you get hold of her?"

Stephen told his story.

"You may be very certain we shall not speak a word to injure Ermine,"

said Leuesa. "Ay, I'll come and see her, and glad I shall be. Why, Stephen, I thought more of Ermine than you knew; I called one of my little maids after her. Ermine and Derette they are. I can never forget a conversation I once had with Gerard, when he took me back to the Castle from Isel's house; I did not think so much of it at the time, but it came to me with power afterwards, when he had sealed his faith with his blood."

"Ah! there's nothing like dying, to make folks believe you," commented Roscius.

"Can't agree with you there, friend," answered Stephen with a smile.

"There is one other thing, and that is living. A man may give his life in a sudden spurt of courage and enthusiasm. It is something more to see him spend his life in patient well-doing through many years. That is the harder of the two to most."

"Maybe it is," a.s.sented Roscius. "I see now why you were so anxious about old Haldane."

"Ay, we owed her no little. And I cannot but think she had some notion, poor soul! of what was coming: she was in such haste to get us off by dawn. If I had known--"

"Eh, what could you have done if you had?" responded Roscius. "Wigan told me there were hundreds in the crowd."

"Nothing, perchance," answered Stephen sadly. "Well! the good Lord knew best, and He ordered matters both for us and her."

"Wigan said he thought she had been forewarned--I know not why."

"Ay, I think some one must have given her a hint. That was why she sent us off so early."

"I say, Stephen," asked Roscius rather uneasily, "what think you did become of that cat of hers? The thing was never seen after she died-- not once. It looks queer, you know."

"Does it?" said Stephen, with a little laugh.

"Why, yes! I don't want to think any ill of the poor old soul--not I, indeed: but never to be seen once afterwards--it _does_ look queer. Do you think Sathanas took the creature?"

"Not without I am Sathanas. That terrible cat that so troubles you, Roscius, sits purring on my hearth at this very moment."

"You! Why, did you take the thing with you?"

"We did. It came away in Ermine's arms."

"Eh, Saint Frideswide be our aid! I wouldn't have touched it for a king's ransom."

"I've touched it a good few times," said Stephen, laughing, "and it never did aught worse to me than rub itself against me and mew. Why, surely, man! you're not feared of a cat?"

"No, not of a real cat; but that--"

"It is just as real a cat as any other. My children play with it every day; and if you'll bring your little maids, I'll lay you a good venison pasty that they are petting it before they've been in the house a Paternoster. Trust a girl for that! Ah, yes! that was one reason why I thought she had some fancy of what was coming--the poor soul begged us to take old Gib. He'd been her only companion for years, and she did not want him ill-used. Poor, gentle, kindly soul! Ermine will be grieved to hear of her end."

"Tell Ermine I'll come to see her," said Leuesa, "and bring the children too."

"We have a Derette as well as you," replied Stephen with a smile. "She is the baby. Our boys are Gerard and Osbert, and our elder girls Agnes and Edild--my mother's name, you know."

As Stephen opened the door of his house that evening, Gib came to meet him with erect tail.

"Well, old fellow!" said Stephen, rubbing his ears--a process to which Gib responded with loud purrs. "I have seen a man to-day who is afraid to touch you. I don't think you would do much to him--would you, now?"

"That's nice--go on!" replied Gib, purring away.

Leuesa lost no time in coming to see Ermine. She brought her two little girls, of whom the elder, aged five years, immediately fell in love with the baby, while the younger, aged three, being herself too much of a baby to regard infants with any sentiment but disdain, bestowed all her delicate attentions upon Gib. Stephen declared laughingly that he saw he should keep the pasty.

"Well, really, it does look very like a cat!" said the mercer, eyeing Gib still a little doubtfully.

"Very like, indeed," replied Stephen, laughing again. "I never saw anything that looked more like one."

"There's more than one at Oxford would like to see you, Ermine, and Stephen too," said Leuesa.

"Mother Isel would, and Derette," was Ermine's answer. "I am not so sure of any one else."

"I am sure of one else," interpolated Stephen. "It would be a perfect windfall to Anania, for she'd get talk out of it for nine times nine days. But would it be safe, think you?"

"Why not?" answered Roscius. "The Earl has nought against you, has he?"

"Oh no, he has nought against me; I settled every thing with him--went back on purpose to do so. I was thinking of Ermine. The Bishop is not the same [Note 2], but for aught I know, the sumners are."

"Only one of them: Malger went to Lincoln some two years back."

"Well, I should be glad not to meet that villain," said Stephen.

"You'll not meet him. Then as to the other matter, what could they do to her? The sentence was carried out. You can't execute a man twice."

"That's a point that does not generally rise for decision. But you see she got taken in, and that was forbidden. They were never meant to survive it, and she did."

"I don't believe any penalty could fall on her," said Roscius. "But if you like, I'll ask my cousin, who is a lawyer, what the law has to say on that matter."