“Why, Master Benold, chandler, and Master Bongeor, glazier, and old Mistress Silverside, and Mistress Ewring at the mill—these did I hear. I know not who else.” And suddenly turning to Elizabeth, he said, “Hussy, was this thine errand, or had it ought to do therewith?”
All the passionate pain and the earnest longing died out of the heart of Elizabeth Foulkes. She stood looking as calm as a marble statue, and almost as white.
“Master,” she said, quietly enough, “mine errand was to warn these my friends. God may yet save them, if it be His will. And may He not lay to your charge the blood that will otherwise be shed!”
“Mercy on us!” cried Mrs Clere again, dropping her duster. “Why, the jade’s never a bit better than these precious friends of hers!”
“I’m sore afeared we have been nourishing a serpent in our bosoms,” said Nicholas, in his sternest manner. “I had best see to this.”
“Well, I wouldn’t hurt the maid,” said his wife, in an uneasy tone; “but, dear heart! we must see to ourselves a bit. We shall get into trouble if such things be tracked to our house.”
“So we shall,” answered her husband. “I shall go, speak with the priest, and see what he saith. Without”—and he turned to Elizabeth—“thou wilt be penitent, and go to mass, and do penance for thy fault.”
“I am willing enough to do penance for my faults, Master,” said Elizabeth, “but not for the warning that I would have given; for no fault is in it.”
“Then must we need save ourselves,” replied Nicholas: “for the innocent must not suffer for the guilty. Wife, thou wert best lock up this hussy in some safe place; and, daughter, go thou not nigh her. This manner of heresy is infectious, and I would not have thee defiled therewith.”
“Nay, I’ll have nought to do with what might get me into trouble,” said Amy, flippantly. “Bessy may swallow the Bible if she likes; I shan’t.”