“There are no strangers here, woman,” he said. “The child is a Mowbray which is more than you are yourself; her great grandmother was my grandfather’s only sister. Old James Mowbray who built this house loved her more than his son and if the old man had had his way, it is likely enough that the lassie would be the Mistress of Holwick. Woman, you are too jealous. The child shall always have a roof to her head as long as I am Master of Holwick.”
Master Mowbray was not particularly fond of Aline, although he was beginning to fall under her spell, but he had a sort of rough sense of justice, which was quite inexplicable to his wife; a trait of his character that had descended in a marked degree to his little daughter.
“Anyway it is time for the children to go to bed,” said Mistress Mowbray. “Run along, both of you, and, mind you, not a word of what you heard just now.”
The children went upstairs and naturally could not help discussing between themselves what Richard Mowbray had been saying. “I should like to help Master Mowbray,” said Aline. “It seemed to upset him very much.”
“We wanted some excitement, Aline,” said Audry, “and now we seem to have more than enough, what with a heretic and a thief. I wonder what Father would do for us if we could find the thief for him.”
Consequently for the next few days the children were on the alert to see if they could discover anything. When they went down to visit Ian they told him the story and the three discussed it together.
“Anyway it does not matter telling you,” said Aline to Ian, “because you are not a real person.”
“And why am I not a real person, pray?” said Ian.
“Oh, you do not belong to the world at all; you never see anybody and live down here; you are only a sort of figure in our dream,” said Aline playfully.