So Mistress Mary lay in hiding, whilst her towns-folk talked of her as dead; and so the days slipped by. I heard also good news of my lord at Ilminster, when I rode Blackbird across to ask for him. I had but a short while to stay; but I saw him for a few minutes, and told him that Mistress Mary was safe, albeit I gave him not the whole history of her peril, fearing that he would incontinently come forth from his hiding-place to defend her, and perhaps put both their lives in peril thereby.
For the pardon, although talked of, had not yet reached us; and it was scarce safe for one of my lord's rank to show himself openly, though others might venture to do so, as Master Simpson had done.
I think it was two days after this visit that Mistress Mary Bridges sent for me on some excuse about her pony—for I had chosen one for her not long since, and had helped to break it in. When I arrived she took me into the paddock, dismissing all others; and whilst we stood there seeming to be talking of the pony, who came and stood beside us, she began, in her quick, eager fashion,—
"Dicon, what are we to do next?"
I knew what she meant, and I had asked myself the question many a time before, but I had never found the answer. Mistress Mary continued, in her quick, imperious fashion,—
"Mary cannot stay where she is much longer. It is no fit place for her when the winter days come. Only those born in the marshes can live there, and they ofttimes suffer from ague and marsh fever. Mary cannot stand it much longer. But where can she go? Mary Mead is dead. I know not whether she would suffer some penalty—or her friends—if she came to life again; and Lord Lonsdale hath her money, for he is her heir. And how can we get it back for her without telling all? And I fear Lord Lonsdale. He is not like my father; and he is a King's man every inch. What are we to do for her next, Dicon? Methinks that thou and I have this secret to ourselves. Sometimes I half fear at what we have done, and then again I say that were it to do over again I would do just the same. But Mary cannot always lie hidden; and how is she to appear again? That is what is perplexing me. Dicon, what shall we do?"
"Marry her to my lord!" I cried suddenly, struck by an unexpected inspiration. "So she will be my Lady Vere, and Mistress Mary Mead no longer. If she has lost one name, let her have another bestowed upon her. Let her be married to my lord!"
Mistress Mary's eyes brightened like stars.
"Ah, Dicon, a good thought!" she cried, clasping her hands over the pony's neck; "but how may that be accomplished?"
I was not quite so ready with an answer; but after a pause I said,—