point belike. I had to consider my ways, whether I would or no, when I came to this trackless moor, and wist not which way to go, with a precipice nigh at hand. So now, Aunt Grena, I come to speak truth unto you, and to confess that I have been a wicked maid and a fool; and if you count me no more worth the serving or the saving I have demerited that you should thus account me. Only if so be, I beseech you, save yourself!" Gertrude's eyes were wet as she turned away. Grena followed her and drew the girl into her arms. "My child," she said, "I never held thee so well worth love and care as now. So be it; we will go to Shardeford." CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. WHEREOF THE HERO IS JACK. "Ay, we must go, then," said Mr Roberts, with a long-drawn sigh. "This discovery leaves us no choice. For howso God and we may pardon the child, Father Bastian will not so. We must go ere he find it out, and leave Primrose Croft to his fate." "Father!" exclaimed Gertrude suddenly, "I beseech you, hear me. Uncle Anthony conforms, and he is kindly-hearted as man could wish. If he would come hither, and have a care of Primrose Croft, as though he held it by gift or under lease from you, they should never think to disturb him." "The maid's wit hath hit the nail on the head!" returned her father, in high satisfaction. "But how shall I give him to know, without letting forth our secret?--and once get it on paper, and it might as well be given to the town crier. `Walls have ears,' saith the old saw, but paper hath a tongue. And I cannot tell him by word of mouth, sith he is now at Sandwich, and turneth not home afore Thursday. Elsewise that were good counsel." "Ask True," suggested Mistress Grena with a smile. "The young wit is the readiest amongst us, as methinks." "Under your correction, Father, could you not write a letter, and entrust it to Margery, to be sent to Uncle as Thursday even--giving it into her hand the last minute afore we depart? Is she not trustworthy, think you?" "She is trustworthy enough, if she be let be. But I misdoubt if her wits should carry her safe through a discourse with Father Bastian, if he were bent on winning the truth from her. I could trust Osmund better for that; but I looked to take him withal." "Give me leave then, Father, to walk down to Uncle's, as if I wist not of his absence, and slip the letter into one of his pockets. He alway leaveth one of his gowns a-hanging in the hall." "And if his Martha were seized with a cleaning fever whilst he is thence, and turned out the pocket, where should we then be? Nay, True, that shall not serve. I can think of no means but that you twain set forth alone--to wit, without me--under guidance of Osmund, and that I follow, going round by Sandwich, having there seen and advertised my brother." "Were there no danger that way, Tom?"