The landlady bustled forward, but Mr. Rogers hardly noticed her.
"Pray, pray, good sir, tell me, have you seen aught?" she urged, in a loud whisper, catching his sleeve as he passed through the hall.
He turned his eyes vaguely upon her. "Have I seen aught?" he repeated. "Surely, surely, I have seen the glory of the Lord for many a year, and the vision is not for me alone, but for all! All flesh shall see Him, and shall walk in the light of His light."
"But, dear sir," she cried in great perturbation, her voice rising from a whisper in her urgency, "have you seen aught of our young lady—of Mistress Audrey Perrient?"
"Oh, ay, I crave your pardon, good hostess. My mind was set on certain words of promise that have been borne in on me while I read the Scriptures. Your young lady? She is in safety; she will speedily be with her friends."
"But the noises, good sir?" urged Mrs. Joyce; and the maids, encouraged by her open curiosity, ventured near to listen.
"The noises? They matter not—they are nothing; you will not be further troubled, you need have no fear! Nevertheless," he said, stopping suddenly, and turning with his hands raised to face the household, "ye do well to fear, seeing that the day cometh when all shall fear, both great and small. Therefore I warn you to seek a sure refuge while it be time, and turn unto the Lord to-day; for those that be his saints dwell in safety, neither fear they any terror by night, and the pestilence that walketh in darkness shall not come nigh them."
So saying, he walked out of the door.
Half an hour later, the bright moon that lit up the open moorlands that bordered the sea showed two figures riding along the bridle-path that led from Hunstanton to Lynn. Audrey led the way, and guided her companion down lonely little bye-paths and sandy lanes that were seldom used, save by the few fishermen or broom-binders, who lived on the borders of the moorlands.
It was one of those rare nights that sometimes come in an English February and carry with them the promise of May. The soft air brought wafts of fragrance from the balmy fir-woods and yellow gorse-blossoms, and the full moon shed a golden haze over the lonely heath. They rode in silence, the horses' hoofs scarcely making a sound on the sandy way. Mr. Rogers was still wrapt in dreams. Eager as he was to assist any one whom he considered was the victim of tyranny or cruelty, as soon as the immediate need of action ceased to press on him, he relapsed naturally into his habitual train of thought and returned to that visionary world that was far more real to him than the material one that lay around him.