In spite of her slimness there was a muscular development, very refined and beautiful in line, that was distinctly boyish. Her slender hips and exceptionally well modelled forearms, which were bare, completed the illusion.
“Yes, I look like the pages I used to see in Edinburgh”; and then a bright thought struck her;—“If ever I have to try and escape I shall dress up as a boy.” She pinned the nightdress with the broad belt as it was, with the lower hem reaching to the thigh. It fell down at the back somewhat, but that did not show in the mirror. She then hurried down the secret stair and came back with a man’s bonnet that she had there noticed among the things. She had such an immense quantity of hair that it was only by twisting it very tightly indeed that she was able to get it into the bonnet; but she succeeded at last. She was rather tall for her age, although her form was still absolutely that of a child, and an admirable boy she made.
Aline laughed aloud; it was the first time that she had laughed for a weary while.
“Now let me read the letter,” she said. She took off the stockings and folded them neatly up, put them away and opened the letter.
“To my dear little Aline,
“Walter Margrove hath kindly promised to bear this letter. It is with deep regret that I will tell thee how that my plans have not prospered. As thou knowest, I have been working with one, Matthew Musgrave, a carpenter, hoping to lay by money that eventually I might betake me to the road like our friend Walter. But Matthew hath been sick of an ague these many weeks past and I find that he hath little or nothing saved. I have done what I might but my small means are exhausted, and we are even in debt for the purchase of wood. The boy, Will Ackroyd, hath also been somewhat of an anxiety to me, so that I am much cast down in spirit and indeed as Matthew will tell thee am somewhat ailing in body. This I regret the more as thy face liveth ever before me and I have thought that it might at any moment be needful for me to come unto thine assistance, whereas I even fear that I am not in any wise able. I trust that Mistress Mowbray is not treating thee ill and that thou and that dear child, thy cousin, are enjoying all happiness.
“My hard times will doubtless pass and better will come. I think of thee day and night and pray for thee without ceasing; and sweet child, remember that whatever the difficulties, I would fight through everything to come to thine aid if need should arise.
“To-morrow I hope to be able to send thee some small token from Walter’s pack. Meanwhile I say,—May the peace of the Lord Jesus be with thee and all the love of this poor mortal heart is thine; as Homer saith; ‘for that thou, lady, hast given me my life.’
“My blessing and love be also to thy cousin Audry, for right kindly did she minister to me.
“Farewell, bright angel of my dreams.
“Ian Menstrie.
“An so be that thou writest, it is better to put upon the cover the name of James Mitchell whereby I am known here.”
Ian had been very seriously ill himself from trying to undertake more than was possible. His unceasing care and tender watchfulness had saved Musgrave’s life, but it was nearly at the cost of his own and he was but a shadow of his former self.
Aline’s sympathetic little heart read more between the lines than Ian had intended her to see and the letter seemed the last drop in her cup of sorrow.
It was too much and this time she fainted right away. When she came to, she found that she was lying on the floor and old Elspeth was bending over her and sprinkling water on her face. The old woman was nearly beside herself with grief. “O my bonnie bonnie child, what shall poor Elspeth do? They will kill you, heart of mine, if they go on in this way. See you are cold as a stone and nothing on you but this thin rag and that unfastened too.” She lifted the child back into bed and rushed down-stairs to the kitchen, where she found some hot broth ready for the table and came back with a bowl of it.
On the way she met Mistress Mowbray.