The following morning Annys sought out Richard Meryl to learn more of the refugee. As he was conducted to the hiding-place, young Meryl related something of the women who were risking so much for a stranger.
"I am bringing you to old Dame Westel and her granddaughter Matilda," he said. "When Matilda was but a babe in arms, her father, tempted by the bait of large wages in Suffolk, was returned by the sheriffs, branded. But his wife being big with child, and he watching her cheeks grow hollow day by day, he grew desperate and made a second attempt. For this he was thrown into gaol and suffered to lie there and rot. He died of gangrene of both feet while his wife slowly starved to death, and her babe within her."
"Horrible, horrible!" exclaimed Annys; "there is more justice done to kine than to man made in the image of God. O my God! how long can this be endured?"
"Ay! thy cry of patience burns on thy tongue, doth it not?"
"Ay, so. But tell me some more."
"You will see for yourself. The poor old woman lives only for two things—to hide others who should pass through, and to pore over a torn and dog-eared copy of the Bible which a poor priest did leave with her."
Annys was much interested. "Ah, she will get much comfort and peace from the Holy Book."
The young man laughed. "As to that, I wot not; rather she does suck the vengeance and wrath from its pages e'en as a babe sucks its mother's milk."
"Say you so? 'Tis ill, indeed. I shall change all that, and bring speedy comfort to her."