“Life and liberty?”
“There is some foul plot to detain you all here, on pretence your safety requires it. I have been this morning to Redwald, and he refuses permission for any one to leave the place, asserting that thus only can he assure your safety. Now, it is plain that if the place comes to be besieged you would be far safer in the priory or the old priests’ house. Our own countrymen would not injure us.”
“He will not detain us by force?”
“I would not trust to that; but we must meet guile by guile. I have pretended to be content on your behalf and he is just going to leave the hall, with the greater part of his followers, to collect provisions and cattle. I have told him that the Grange farm is well stocked; he has caught the bait, and is going to superintend the work of spoliation in person: far better, in the present need, that he should rob the estate than that a hair of your head or of those of your children should perish.”
“But why do you suspect him of evil?”
“I cannot tell you now. I have overheard dark, dark speeches. So soon as he has gone, Alfred and I must summon all your own people who are in the hall. We will then bring the body forth, and follow it ourselves; as we shall outnumber those left behind I do not imagine they will dare, in his absence, to interfere with our progress.”
“I will go at once,” said Alfred, “and summon the household.”
“No; you would be observed. I am older and perhaps a little more discreet. Stay with your mother till all is ready.”
Alfred reluctantly obeyed, and Father Cuthbert went forth. So great was their anxiety that it almost banished the power of prayer, save such mental shafts as could be sent heavenward in each interval of thought.
At last Alfred, who was at the window, saw Redwald and his followers—nearly a hundred in number—leave the castle and ride across towards the forest in the direction of the farm in question. Another moment and Father Cuthbert entered.