“Lord, have mercy on us! I’ll go warn them—they are with Mistress Ewring at the mill; and then I’ll go on to Mistress Silverside. Make haste, Robin, for mercy’s sake!”
And, without waiting for anything more, Elizabeth turned and ran up the street as fast as she dared in the comparative darkness. Streets were very rough in those days, and lanterns would not light far.
Old Mistress Silverside lived in Tenant’s Lane, which was further off than the mill. Elizabeth ran across from the North Hill to Boucher’s Street, and up that, towards the gate, beyond which the mill stood on the bank of the Colne. Mr Ewring, the miller, was a man who kept early hours; and, as Elizabeth ran up to the gate, she saw that the lights were already out in the windows of the mill. The gate was closed. Elizabeth rapped sharply on the window, and the shutter was opened, but, all being dark inside, she could not see by whom.
“Prithee, let me through the gate. I’ve a message of import for Master Ewring, at the mill.”
“Gate’s shut,” said the gruff voice of the gatekeeper. “Can’t let any through while morning.”
“Darnell, you’ll let me through!” pleaded Elizabeth. “I’m servant to Master Clere, clothier, of Balcon Lane, and I’m sent with a message of grave import to the mill.”
“Tell Master Clere, if he wants his corn ground, he must send by daylight.”
And the wooden shutter was flung to. Elizabeth stood for an instant as if dazed.
“I can’t get to them,” she said to herself. “There’s no chance that way. I must go to Tenant’s Lane.”
She turned away from the gate, and went round by the wall to the top of Tenant’s Lane.