“Tell me what you have done, woman,” he cried.
She put out her hand as if to hold him still, and her voice rang hard and thin.
“I will say my say,” she said. “It is not for that that I have done it. But you are a Gospel-minister, and must be faithful. The Justice is here. I sent for him.”
“The Justice?” he said blankly; but his heart was beating heavily in his throat.
“Mr. Frankland from East Grinsted, with a couple of pursuivants and a company of servants. There is a popish agent at the Hall, and they are come to take him.”
The Rector swallowed with difficulty once or twice, and then tried to speak, but she went on. “And I have promised that you shall take them in by the side door.”
“I will not!” he cried.
She held up her hand again for silence, and glanced round at the door.
“I have given him the key,” she said.
This was the private key, possessed by the incumbent for generations past, and Sir Nicholas had not withdrawn it from the Protestant Rector.