"Oh, a godly farmer gave them a home, until the squire, Master Graystone, a man who had often eaten bread at my table, came and told the farmer that if he did not drive them from his house he should e'en take his farm from him. Nevertheless, the Lord mercifully provided for them. Since I came out of prison I have been able to provide bread for them by selling my books, and by writing a few letters for those who knew not the craft of writing."
"And have you no special friend now?" I asked, for, as may be imagined, Constance was in my mind all the time.
"Ay, but that friend hath to help in secret," he cried.
I wanted to ask more concerning this, but I saw he turned away his head as he spoke, and seemed desirous of being silent.
"Perchance the hearts of the squire and the vicar may grow softer," I said.
"Ay, young master, there seems but little chance of that. Why, only last night a few pious souls were met together for prayer, and as they prayed the constable entered, and they were dragged away to gaol. The trial is to be held to-morrow, but they will get no mercy."
"To-morrow?" I said. "At what time?"
"At such time as it may suit the magistrates, but it is given out for ten o'clock."
"And what will you do to-night?"
"I know not what to do—ah! praise God, here are my wife and children coming!"