“Methinks not. ‘When they persecute you in one city, flee ye into another,’ said our Lord. I see no duty that you have to leave. Were you a Justice of Peace, like your brother, it might be so: but what such have you? But one thing do I see—and you must count the cost, Tom. It may be your estate shall be sequestered, and all your goods taken to the Queen’s use. ’Tis perchance a choice betwixt life and liberty on the one hand, and land and movables on the other.”
Mr Roberts walked up and down the room, lost in deep thought. It was a hard choice to make: yet “all that a man hath will he give for his life.”
“Oh for the days of King Edward the First,” he sighed. “Verily, we valued not our blessings whilst we had them.”
Grena’s look was sympathising; but she left him to think out the question.
“If I lose Primrose Croft,” he said meditatively, “the maids will have nought.”
“They will have Shardeford when my mother dieth.”
“You,” he corrected. “You were the elder sister, Grena.”
“What is mine is theirs and yours,” she said quietly.
“You may wed, Grena.”
She gave a little amused laugh. “Methinks, Tom, you may leave that danger out of the question. Shardeford Hall will some day be Gertrude’s and Pandora’s.”