“It is the old story, child. I am one of a proscribed set of men now, and I have had warning from Tom Croftly that there are those here who seek to make me a prisoner.”
“Yes, father, I have seen them.”
“Then I must take to hiding, child. When Gilbert Carr’s ship returns he will give me safe passage to France. Till then I shall make my home in the iron-pits—the disused ones in the old beechwood.”
“Where I’ll bring thee food and covers, father,” cried Mace, who found relief from her own troubles in helping others.
“Nay, child, thou wilt be watched by one at the Pool. Tom Croftly will bring me all I want, if thou givest it to him. He is trusty, and will bring any message or letter with faith and care. I shall be watching over thee still, though I am in the old hole of the rock. It is not the first time that I have had to hide for life and liberty. But hark here, my child, I have said come not. If matters occur that make it necessary for thee to flee thine home sooner than wed a man thou dost despise, come to me in the forest, and maybe together we may escape to where I can find thee a home with a holy sister, and rest and peace.”
“Thanks, father, oh, thanks!” cried Mace. “But listen: Master Peasegood has been taken away.”
“So soon? But I am not surprised. It is because he refused the same offer as I.”
“Were you asked, father?”
“Nay, child, I was ordered; and that is the real reason why I am hunted down. Hist! steps! Go on.”
Mace involuntarily walked on through the wood, bitterly lamenting that she should bring indirectly such misery upon those she esteemed, when a slight rustle in the bushes made her turn her head and utter a faint cry, as she was tightly clasped in Sir Mark Leslie’s arms.