The man readily obeyed, the gate was brought, and the semi-unconscious apparitor was placed thereon.
Then the Vicar and three of the men conveyed their burden to the "Six Bells" Inn, the man was carried to his room, and before he left him the Vicar saw him safely placed in bed.
"Take care of him, Giles," he said to the landlord. "Let me know how he is to-night; I will call and see him in the morning."
That evening the Vicar had a long and very serious conversation with his old friend William Jefferay.
All the family had supped together in the dining-hall, and now the two men were conferring on the event of the day in the library.
"It is no light matter in these evil days to have a Queen's apparitor to spy and report, as this man intended to do," said Jefferay. "This man may return to his masters before twenty-four hours have passed, and no man can say what will then happen; to-day's uproar will make matters all the worse for us. Take my advice, Vicar, you have neither wife nor child to detain you in England: spend the next six months in Holland! Do you need money? I shall be proud to be your almoner. Oh, take my advice and go, ere the storm bursts!"
"And leave my flock at the very first intimation of danger—perhaps to suffer in my place," replied the Vicar warmly. "Oh no, it cannot be done; and while I thank you, friend Jefferay, with all my heart, I beg you to abandon the thought of so base desertion—it would be a lack of faith in God; I cannot do it."
William Jefferay sighed, and the matter dropped.
That night the landlord of the inn came to the vicarage with bad news: the apparitor was moaning in pain, and seemed to be light-headed.