But Walter, who spent his life studying human nature, saw the glance and began to puzzle it out. “So Ian Menstrie does know both the children then and it was not a mere matter of courtesy to send the chatelaine for Audry. But this is very curious,” he reasoned. “Janet Arnside has not mentioned him nor have any others of the reformed faith. Strange how he could be in Holwick and not see them. And I mind too, that he said he had never seen Richard Mowbray. Truly it is mystifying.”
Another thing that perplexed him was Janet and John’s desire that Mistress Aline should hear of the faith. Obviously, she knew of it and yet they were unaware of the fact. He began to see daylight;—somehow the children must have found Menstrie in some hiding place. Walter was too cautious a man to mention anything that he discovered in his journeys that might conceivably bring mischief, and too honourable a man to try and discover a secret that clearly did not concern him.
The children seemed to cling to Walter as though loth to let him go and even after he had mounted his horse they accompanied him a long way down the road; then, fearing, if they went too far, it might give rise to questionings they bade good-bye and after waiting to wave a last farewell as he reached the next bend they turned reluctantly back.
“You should not have said that just now,” observed Aline.
“Said what, dear?”
“Said that you wanted to see Ian. Of course Margrove may really know Ian and his affairs but he may be doing this as a kindness to a stranger and probably he did not know that Ian had ever been here, he might simply have met my family in Scotland.”
“Well, all this suspicion and concealment is not like you, Aline,” said Audry.
“Oh, dear,” Aline answered, “yes, I do not like it; life is really too hard.”
The children had reached the Hall and went up to their own room to undo the package. Aline opened it and within were the smaller packets marked respectively,—“For Audry” and “For Aline.”