CHAPTER II.

THE MIDNIGHT WALK.

"YOU are late, my daughter," said her mother, who stood at the door watching for her. "The sun has set and the dew is beginning to fall heavily. What has kept you so long?"

"I could not help it, mother," replied Winifred.

"I suppose you stayed to order the dame's house and cook her supper for her," continued her mother. "I like to have you do all you can for the poor body, for she is a good woman, and old and helpless withal, but it is not well to be out after sunset, now that the dews are so heavy, and besides it is not safe in these troublous times. But you were late in setting out, and it is something of a walk to the cottage. Come now and have your supper. Priscy has kept a bit of apple pie for you, and you shall have some clotted cream, for a treat. So put away your basket, and sit down by the fire, for you look pale and chilly."

Winifred ate her supper in silence, and then sat still by the fire, thinking how she should contrive to tell her mother of her adventure. She knew it was time for her to go to bed, but still she lingered, watching Dame Magdalen and the maids as they bustled about, finishing up the work and making things tidy for the night.

At last, her mother noticed her as she sat in the corner of the wide chimney.

"Come, child, why do you sit here?" said she, hastily. "You should have been in bed an hour ago."

"I should like to sit up as long as you do, to-night, mother."

"Why, what has come over the child!" said her mother. "I should think you would be ready for your bed, after such a walk: and you are looking pale still!" she added. "Did anything frighten you, Winifred?"

"No, mother, but I should like to sit up to-night."

"Well, have thy way for once!" said her mother. "It is not often you take a fancy, I will say that for you. See now, I have finished all, and the maids are gone to bed. I will take my knitting and sit down by the fire, and you shall tell me a tale from your favorite book."

Winifred had another sort of tale to tell, but she delayed it till her mother was seated at her knitting. It was nothing unusual for Dame Magdalen to sit down by the fire with her wheel or her stocking after all the rest were gone to bed. It was thus she gained time for quiet thought over the events of the day, for disentangling domestic perplexities, and for those devotional musings which were meat and drink to her thirsty soul. Winifred saw that all the doors were shut, and then drew close to her mother's side.

"Mother," said she, "I have found out what frightened Jack."

"Aye!" said her mother. "Then there really was something the matter?"

"Matter enough, though there was no ghost in the case," said Winifred, and she proceeded to relate, in the lowest tones, the history of her adventure. "I know it was dangerous, mother," she concluded, "but what else could I do? I am certain he would have died if I had gone away and left him. Was I wrong?" she asked, anxiously, as she received no answer from Dame Magdalen, who had dropped her knitting and sat looking at the fire. "Should I have gone on my way and left the poor gentleman to perish?"

"No, child! God forbid!" exclaimed the mother, hastily. "You acted like a Christian, but it is a sad shame, and I cannot tell what to do. I must waken your grandfather and tell him the story, for the barley will be carted to-morrow, and then all may be discovered."

"You do not think any of the men or maids would betray the stranger, do you, mother?" asked Winifred.

"I cannot tell, child. I trust not, but the times are evil, and terror makes people mean and treacherous. God forgive the rulers who put such temptations in the way of simple folk like us."

"I should like to go to the American colonies, where my father was last year," said Winifred. "There is no king there, they say, and the people are all of one mind."

"They have their own troubles—what with the savages and the wild beasts, the sickness, and the hard, cold winter," said her mother. "Aye, and they have their own dissensions and quarrels too, and will doubtless have more as their numbers increase. You would not like to leave my lady at the Hall, and the parish church, and all the places you have known since you were born, for those wild hills and waters. There are trials and temptations in all lands and in all stations; and since it is God who sends them or permits them, He will doubtless give us grace to bear them. But I must awaken your grandfather, and then we will take counsel together upon this poor gentleman's case."

"He is not asleep," said Winifred; "I hear him stirring."

"What is all this talking?" asked Master Evans, putting his head out of the room next the kitchen, in which he slept. "Cannot Winifred find time to tell her fairy tales by daylight? It is time for simple folks like us to be abed and asleep, and you know to-morrow will be a busy day."

"It is no fairy tale that the poor maid has to tell this time," replied Dame Magdalen. "Will you come to the fire, grandfather, that we may take counsel together?"

Master Evans closed his door, and presently came out, wrapped in the Indian gown which his son had brought him from the East. He sat down and listened with earnest attention, while Winifred again related her story.

"The child is uneasy, lest she should have done wrong in bringing this danger upon us," said Magdalen, when the tale was finished, "but, in truth, I see not what else she could have done."

"Nor I," said Master Evans. "She did no more than her duty; I must say I wish it had chanced otherwise, but it is God's will, and doubtless for the best. Where has this gallant been ever since the battle?"

"As far as I made out, he has been hiding among the poor people—fishers and gypsies and such like—till he should find himself fit to travel, but he was too weak to talk a great deal, and I thought best not to question him."

"Right! You are sure no one saw you, Winifred?"

"Quite sure, grandfather. You know one can see far around from the standing stones, and not a creature was in sight. But Dame Sprat guessed at once that something was the matter. She gave me one of her blankets, which she said would keep some poor creature warm. She told me she should be glad to shelter such an one if it were thought safe for him: and I have been thinking, grandfather—"

"Well, say on, child," said Master Evans, as Winifred hesitated; "thy thoughts are mostly to the purpose."

"I think, grandfather, that since she is willing, Dame Sprat's cottage is the best place for the stranger. You know she has no visitors but ourselves, and it is a lonely place, where there are no passers-by. The dame has a small out-house where she keeps her turf. The gentleman might hide there during the day, and if pursuit came, he could flee into the waste, where he would have a much better chance of escape than where he is now. When I go to carry the dame's meal and milk, I would carry enough for both, and no one need be the wiser."

"The plan seems a good one," said Master Evans, after some consideration. "No place could be found more solitary, and the dame is as true as steel, and a wise woman besides. But who will be his guide to the cottage, and when? The barley must be carried to-morrow, if the day be at all fair, and I have bid the men be in the field by daylight. There seems to be no time."

"I will guide him," said Winifred, "and to-night. The moon is almost full, and there are no clouds. I will wrap myself in my gray cloak, and steal along by the hedge. No one will be abroad, and if any one should chance to see me, he will take me for a fairy," she added, smiling. "Then, to-morrow I can go up to the Hall as usual, to take my lesson of Mrs. Alwright. My lady always walks in the maze before dinner, and I can wait and speak to her there. I know the way. I have been there before to gather the rose-leaves and violets for Mrs. Alwright. And if any of the servants see me, they will think me about some such business."

"The child is too wise for her years!" said Magdalen. "But, my dear one, I cannot have thee abroad in the lonesome fields at night, and with a stranger whom no one knows."

"I think there is no danger, mother; at least not so much as in leaving the matter till to-morrow. Nobody would harm a child like me, especially when she came to do him a service."

"Alas, poor child! You know little of the wickedness of this world. I could find it in my heart to wish you should never know more than now!"

"And besides, dear mother," continued Winifred, in a low and reverent tone, "I have prayed to God to take care of me: and then I opened my Bible and read this verse: 'Yea, the darkness is no darkness to Thee, but the night is as clear as the day: the darkness and the light to Thee are both alike.' So then I thought God can take care of me as well when I am alone in the fields as when I am asleep in my bed; for all places are alike to Him: and why then should I fear, since I am abroad upon His work, and an errand of mercy?"

"True," said her grandfather; "I see where thy courage comes from. She is right, Magdalen! Whatever is to be done, must be done this night, or not at all. The harvesters will be in the fields by daylight, and some of the lads will be daring each other to gather sloes at the standing stones. Even thinking of naught but our own safety, it is the wisest course, for it will bring destruction upon us all if the poor gentleman be found there, and it becomes known, as it will, that he has had food from us. I have a shrewd guess as to who he may be, but I say nothing."

"Go then, my daughter, and may thy God and the God of thy fathers go with thee," said her mother. "Since it is His will that thou shouldst run into danger, I do trust He will bring thee safe out of it."

Winifred was soon wrapped up in her warm gray cloak, and with her basket well filled a second time, and with certain other matters tied up in a bundle, she set out on her lonely walk. Magdalen watched her from the door till she could no longer see the little gray figure, and then with a heavy heart she went back to the kitchen, and sat down to await her daughter's return, and to pray that she might be kept from all the dangers of the way.

The time passed slowly enough to the two people sitting by the fireside, and more than once did Magdalen bitterly repent having allowed her daughter to go upon such an errand. Again and again she thought of all the perils to which the child might be exposed, whether from pixies and goblins (for Magdalen was by no means above the superstitions of her time), or from the king's soldiers, or even the stranger himself. There were but few words spoken. Magdalen was never given to very much expression, and any strong emotion was apt to shut her up within herself; and Master Evans seemed wrapped up in his own meditations.

At last, the patter of the little feet was heard upon the stones of the paved court outside the kitchen door. Magdalen could hardly give the child time to tell her story, so anxious was she to put her into a warm bed, and dose her with the hot spiced elder wine which she had kept simmering among the ashes.

Winifred had succeeded perfectly. She found the gentleman asleep, and had with some difficulty aroused him, and made him understand her errand. He had objected at first, she said, for fear of bringing trouble upon them all, but when she had made him comprehend the true state of the case, he had gone with her, slowly and with a good deal of difficulty (for he was stiff and very lame), to the widow's cottage. Dame Sprat was easily aroused, and opened her door at once. She knew the stranger directly, and called him Master Arthur.

"Aye, aye, I thought as much!" said the farmer, nodding. "But least said soonest mended. Go on, my child."

"That is all," said Winifred, simply. "Dame Sprat welcomed him like a lady in her own hall. She would fain have had him take her bed, but he would not hear of that. He wrapped himself up in the dame's old duffel cloak and was asleep in a moment in her great chair. Then I left the basket and came home as fast as I could. I heard the church clock strike twelve as I came over the stile by our orchard, and oh, it was so cold!" said Winifred, shivering.

"Yes, I fear you are chilled through and through! I trust you have not caught your death!" said her mother. "Come now, and let me put you to bed at once."

The warmed bed and the hot spiced drink soon threw off the chill, and in half an hour Winifred was sleeping as sweetly as though she had gone to bed with the chickens, as usual.