“Ah! sir, it is only too true;” but she let him fetch her uncle, who was sure to be at his devotions in a kind of oratory on the farther side of the hall. She had not gone to him first, from the old desire to keep him clear of the knowledge, but she longed for such support as he might give her, or at least to know whether he were very angry with her.
The two old men quickly came back together, and Dr. Woodford began, “How now, niece, are you telling us dreams?” but he broke off as he saw the sad earnest of her face.
“Sir, it is too true. He charged me to speak out if any one else were brought into danger.”
“Come,” said Sir Philip, testily; “don’t crouch grovelling on the floor there. Get up and let us know the meaning of this. Good heavens! the lad may be here any day.”
Anne had much rather have knelt where she was, but her uncle raised her, and placed her in a chair, saying, “Try to compose yourself, and tell us what you mean, and why it has been kept back so long.”
“Indeed he did not intend it,” pleaded Anne; “it was almost an accident—to protect me—Peregrine was—pursuing me.”
“Upon my word, young mistress,” burst out the father, “you seem to have been setting all the young fellows together by the ears.”
“I doubt if she could help it,” said the Doctor. “She tried to be discreet, but it was the reason her mother—”
“Well, go on,” interrupted poor Sir Philip, too unhappy to remember manners or listen to the defence; “what was it? when was it?”
Anne was allowed then to proceed. “It was the morning I went to London. I went out to gather some mouse-ear.”