"'Twas a brave deed, and you are a brave wench," said he. "Come in now and rest. You have saved my child from those brutes who would ride over a living babe as soon as a dead cat. Come in, come in, and my dame shall get you a cool draught."
So there was a heart at any rate under that bulldog face. I was only too glad to obey, for I trembled so I could hardly stand. The man set me a stool, and the wife, finding her child was not hurt, bestirred herself to get me some refreshment. Meantime I implored the turnkey to let me see my husband, were it but for one moment.
"Who is your husband?" he asked.
I told him.
"I dare not," said he gruffly. "'Twere as much as my life is worth."
I fell a-weeping with that, for almost the first time since I parted from Walter.
The turnkey's wife pitied and poor-deared me, and then whispered eagerly in her husband's ear. He shook his head at first, but seemed at last to relent.
"I would I were not a fool," said he, gruffly. "After all, you risked your life in the midst of your own trouble to save the little wench who was naught to you—well, come along—I will give you five minutes, but I must be within hearing—come along."
I did not say a word for fear he might change his mind, but followed him through grim passages till he came to a door which he unlocked with a clash of keys which seemed to hurt my ears.
"Here, Master Parson, here is some one to speak to you; but be short. Come, you here."