"It was but a guess; but a guess I am right thankful to have made, and that no one knows of but myself. Why, madam, you would have perished of cold and hunger had you stayed long in that hiding-place."
"Oh no," she answered, with a wan smile. "I have a great cloak, and an old man will bring me provisions as soon as 'tis dark to-night."
Mr. Rogers remembered the description Harrison had given him of Audrey Perrient's fertility of devices; but he was too wise to make any comment, and contented himself with establishing her in the great chair, and pressing all Mrs. Joyce's dainties upon her.
"But, sir," said Audrey, a faint colour creeping back into her white face; "I know not why I should let you so trouble yourself in serving me. You have doubtless travelled far and are weary enough."
"Yes, by your leave I will willingly share your dinner, Mistress Perrient. They say 'tis ill talking between a full man and a fasting, and when we have dined I hope you will let me unfold the proposals I have for your escape."
"I thank you, sir," said Audrey, drawing herself up, "I have made my own plans for my journey. I care not to join company again with strangers."
"Nay, madam, I do entreat you not to count me as a stranger, for not only am I a minister of the gospel, so that it is mine office to seek out any of Christ's flock whom I may serve and tend. And further, it is now many years that I have known your name and even exchanged letters with your learned father. And so much as five years agone, when I was snatched from my congregation and thrown into prison by the late tyrant, who did rage and devour in England, in the same chains did lie my precious friend Major-General Harrison. And as we lay in bondage and comforted our souls with savoury discourse concerning holy things, so did we also speak of worldly concerns as casting our care concerning them on Him who careth for us. And then did General Harrison tell me of his excellent friend, Sir Gyles Perrient of Hunstanton, and also of his granddaughter Mistress Audrey——"
"Oh!" interrupted Audrey, a flash of angry comprehension coming across her face. "Then it was you who told that uncivil old gentleman at Lynn of the talk of my marriage?"
"To my sorrow I did. And for that indiscretion of my tongue I do heartily ask your pardon. But, indeed, I spoke of the matter in the simplicity of my heart with Dick Harrison, nor did either of us know that brother Marshman noted what we said. But I am all the more bound to amend that evil I did ignorantly. And, therefore, have I sought you, madam, to pray you to honour me with your company on my journey to Rotterdam, for I go there, God willing, by the next ship that sails from Lynn, to meet my wife, who waits for me there with our little lads."
Audrey cast an eager look at him. "Oh!" she cried, with a wild burst of weeping, "have I one friend in the world, can I trust any one?"