"No, sir," urged Richard, "but there is no fighting towards now; it is only that Justice Tomkins desires to hinder Mistress Perrient's journey."
The minister was too entirely absorbed in his own dreams to attend to the words of Harrison, except when they fell in with his own train of thought.
"Tomkins," he repeated, "Tomkins, ay, he doubtless hindereth. He that letteth will let, till he be taken out of the way. Nevertheless, his time is short, and the day of repentance is well-nigh at its end. I will back and warn him."
Audrey looked at him in dismay. "Dear sir," she ventured to say, "you had set to take me to Rotterdam by this ship."
"Cast not a stumbling-block in my way!" cried Mr. Rogers, more wildly. "Shall I have the blood of this man Tomkins on my head? Shall he go down into the pit suddenly without warning? The great beast Oliver is cast down, and the remembrance of him is a scoffing; so shall it be also to all them that have followed him. The Lord's muster-day is at hand; his magazines and artillery, yea, his most excellent mortar pieces and batteries are ready. We wait only for the Most High to fall on——" His voice died away in murmurs like those of a man talking in his sleep.
Audrey's heart died within her. What had befallen her half-angelic guardian? Was her confidence once more given amiss? If he had failed her, who indeed could she trust? Astonished and alarmed, she looked from one to the other. Where could she go? She was once more as helpless and unfriended as she had been before Mr. Rogers had found her. Nay, she was even in some ways in a worst plight; her self-reliance and self-confidence were shaken, for her calmer reason told her that Mr. Marshman's comments on her adventurous journey were perfectly just, that her grandfather would have said the same, though in more polished terms, and that no words at all would have been equal to expressing Madam Isham's horror at such an unconventional proceeding.
That silent night-ride had calmed her spirits, and she could judge her life with a curious sense of detachment, as though she had risen for a while to look down on it from some starry height. She read her own heart with a new clear-sightedness, and she knew now that it was not the dictatorial manner or the cruel candour of Mr. Marshman that was the true cause of the wild revolt that had filled her soul. She had discovered why the thought of such a usual thing as an arranged marriage with Richard Harrison had stung her so bitterly, why the bare thought that he might have overheard the brutal plainness of Mr. Marshman's words brought back the wild desire to fly anywhere, so that she might hide herself.
If it had not been for the strange quiet that had descended on her soul from Mr. Rogers's half-inspired words at Hunstanton, she would not have had courage to face this new discovery, for she knew now that this ache in her heart would never leave her and what its true name was. Well, this pain must be endured with the other troubles of life, and endured in silence.
Harrison turned to her, and she met his eyes without flinching. She was relieved to find there was no intimacy, no claim to familiarity, only courtesy and the cool readiness of a leader.
"Mr. Rogers is overwearied," he said, under his breath. "We must rouse him."