"My father—my brothers—and in this room?—My own room?——"
"The more sure sanctuary. Be not too nice, when too much niceness may be murder. Jane, there is no time to talk. Let them through the door."
"I will call mother," she said; "let them in until I bring her here." Then she opened the door, and Matilda brought the two wayworn, blood-stained, fainting fugitives within the sanctuary.
Mrs. Swaffham was not long in answering Matilda's petition. That divine compassion that oversteps every obstacle, and never asks who or what art thou, saw the visible necessity and hastened to meet it.
"Surely, surely, my poor lads," she said pitifully, "I will find hiding for you."
"God Himself thank you, madame," sobbed Matilda. "Father said you would. He told me to bring the boys to you, and I brought them through the fields and under the hedges. No one has seen them; it was nearly dark," she said hysterically.
"Yes, dearie, and Will shall saddle a horse and take you home."
"No, no, no! It would then be known I had come here in the dark; and the servants would ask what for, and suspect the truth. No one must know. I can find my way—and I must now go."
"Tell your father that they who would hurt the young men must hurt me first."
"It will be the greatest, the last, comfort he can have in this world." Then she kissed her brother, and with a glance of farewell pity at his companion, went quickly and quietly away.