“Well, he’ll scarce be that yet, I reckon. Howbeit, the first thing is to fetch ’em. Master, when think you Mistress shall be let go?”
“It is hard to say, Dorothy, for we’ve heard so little. But if she be in the Bishop of London’s keeping, as she was, I cast no doubt she shall be delivered early. Doubtless all the bishops that refuse to conform shall be deprived: and he will not conform, without he be a greater rogue than I think.”
There was something of the spirit of the earliest Christians when they had all things common, in the matter-of-course way in which it was understood on both sides that each was ready to take charge, at any sacrifice of time, money, or ease, of children who had been left fatherless by martyrdom.
Early the next morning, the miller’s cart drew up before the door of the King’s Head, and Dorothy, hooded and cloaked, with a round basket on her arm, was quite ready to get in. The drive to Hedingham was pleasant enough, cold as the weather was; and at last they reached the barred gate of the convent. Dorothy alighted from the cart.
“I’ll see you let in, Dorothy, ere I leave you,” said he, “if indeed I have to leave you at all. I should never marvel if they brought the children forth, and were earnest to be rid of them at once.”
It did not seem like it, however, for several knocks were necessary before the wicket unclosed. The portress looked relieved when she saw who was there.
“What would you?” asked she.
Mr Ewring had given Dorothy advice how to proceed.
“An’ it like you, might I see the children? Cicely Johnson and the little ones.”
“Come within,” said the portress, “and I will inquire.”