“’Tis true. If we could hide you till we be rid of these men. But where?” and he made a despairing gesture.
Grisell stood stunned and dazed as the horrible prospect rose before her of being seized by these lawless men, tortured by the savage hands of the witch-finder, subjected to a cruel death, by fire, or at best by water. She pressed her hands together, feeling utterly desolate, and prayed her prayer to the God of the fatherless to save her or brace her to endure.
Presently Cuthbert exclaimed, “Would Master Groats, the Poticary, shelter you till this is over-past? His wife is deaf and must perforce keep counsel.”
“He would! I verily believe he would,” exclaimed Grisell; “and no suspicion would light on him. How soon can I go to him, and how?”
“If it may be, this very night,” said Ridley. “I missed two of the rogues, and who knows whither they may have gone?”
“Will there be time?” said the poor girl, looking round in terror.
“Certes. The nearest witch-finder is at Shields, and they cannot get there and back under two days. Have you jewels, lady? And hark you, trust not to Thora. She is the worst traitor of all. Ask me no more, but be ready to come down when you hear a whistle.”
That Thora could be a traitress and turn against her—the girl whom she had taught, trained, and civilised—was too much to believe. She would almost, in spite of cautions, have asked her if it were possible, and tried to explain the true character of the services that were so cruelly misinterpreted; but as she descended the dark winding stair to supper, she heard the following colloquy:
“You will not deal hardly with her, good Ralph, dear Ralph?”
“That thou shalt see, maid! On thy life, not a word to her.”