"Nay, that the good woman hath done already, and the place is by no means so wretched as you think," said mine uncle. "I am not the first who hath found shelter in these walls. See here."
The ruin, like other places of that kind, was made up of a little chapel where the hermit said his daily office, and a room adjoining where he had lived. Mine uncle drew me into this cell, for it was little more, and showed me a decent truckle bed with blankets and a pillow, and a table whereon was set out a lamp, tumblers, and other requisites for a meal. On the hearth was a pile of firewood, and in a little cabinet were drinking cups, a small bottle of strong waters and a jug of oil for the lamp. In short, this ghost-haunted ruin was as comfortable a little lodging as one need ask for.
"But how came you here?" I asked.
"On my feet, sweetheart—and I came because I heard my child was here, and I could not rest without seeing her."
"But why must you hide, dear uncle?" I asked.
"For no cause, my child, unless it be that, 'after the way they call heresy, so worship I the God of my fathers.' I have been in my old home in London and must return thither in order to make my way back to Holland; but, as I said, I must needs see my child once more, and so I came down to this place which hath sheltered many a one fleeing from the snare of the fowler before now. But, Loveday, is it safe for you to tarry here? Will they not be looking for you?"
"It is true—I must go!" said I, awaking all at once to a sense of my situation. "But how shall I see you again?"
"Yates will come hither at midnight to bring me provisions, and you can come with him."
"Then he knows you are here!"
"He will know!" said mine uncle, smiling. "The very thing which will keep others away will bring him to succor the wanderer—See!"