"Well, niece, what is it?" "Aunt Grena, give me leave for once to speak freely." "So do, my dear maid." "You and my father are talking of escape to Shardeford, but you scarce know whether to go or no. Let me tell you, and trust me, for my knowledge is costly matter. Let us go." Grena stood in amazed consternation. She had said and believed that God would show them what to do, but the very last person in her world through whose lips she expected Him to speak was Gertrude Roberts. "How--what--who told you? an angel?" she gasped incoherently. A laugh, short and unmirthful, was the answer. "Truly, no," said Gertrude. "It was a fallen angel if it were." "What mean you, niece? This is passing strange!" said Grena, in a troubled tone. "Aunt, I have a confession to make. Despise me if you will; you cannot so do more than I despise myself. 'Tis ill work despising one's self; but I must, and as penalty for mine evil deeds I am forcing myself to own them to you. You refuse to leave me, for my mother's sake, to go to an ill end; neither will I so leave you." "When heard you me so to speak, Gertrude?" "Not an hour since, Aunt Grena." "You were not present!" "I was, little as you guessed it. I was behind the arras." "Wicked, mean, dishonourable girl!" cried Mistress Grena, in a mixture of horror, confusion, and alarm. "I own it, Aunt Grena," said Gertrude, with a quiet humility which was not natural to her, and which touched Grena against her will. "But hear me out, I pray you, for 'tis of moment to us all that you should so do." A silent inclination of her aunt's head granted her permission to proceed.