In a moment more we were in the open air. It was a still night, with an odour of damp earth, and a hint of green buds in it. A pale half-moon hung in the sky, now and then hidden by the clouds that swept across it, for there was wind in the heavens, though upon earth all was still. I offered Judy my arm, but she took my hand, and we walked on without a word till we had got through the village and out upon the road. “Now, Judy,” I said at last, “tell me what they are doing to your aunt?” “I don’t know what they are doing. But I am sure she will die.” “Is she ill?” “She is as white as a sheet, and will not leave her room. Grannie must have frightened her dreadfully. Everybody is frightened at her but me, and I begin to be frightened too. And what will become of auntie then?” “But what can her mother do to her?” “I don’t know. I think it is her determination to have her own way that makes auntie afraid she will get it somehow; and she says now she will rather die than marry Captain Everard. Then there is no one allowed to wait on her but Sarah, and I know the very sight of her is enough to turn auntie sick almost. What has become of Jane I don’t know. I haven’t seen her all day, and the servants are whispering together more than usual. Auntie can’t eat what Sarah brings her, I am sure; else I should almost fancy she was starving herself to death to keep clear of that Captain Everard.” “Is he still at the Hall?” “Yes. But I don’t think it is altogether his fault. Grannie won’t let him go. I don’t believe he knows how determined auntie is not to marry him. Only, to be sure, though grannie never lets her have more than five shillings in her pocket at a time, she will be worth something when she is married.” “Nothing can make her worth more than she is, Judy,” I said, perhaps with some discontent in my tone. “That’s as you and I think, Mr Walton; not as grannie and the captain think at all. I daresay he would not care much more than grannie whether she was willing or not, so long as she married him.” “But, Judy, we must have some plan laid before we reach the Hall; else my coming will be of no use.” “Of course. I know how much I can do, and you must arrange the rest with her. I will take you to the little room up-stairs—we call it the octagon. That you know is just under auntie’s room. They will be at dinner—the captain and grannie. I will leave you there, and tell auntie that you want to see her.” “But, Judy,—-” “Don’t you want to see her, Mr Walton?” “Yes, I do; more than you can think.” “Then I will tell her so.” “But will she come to me?” “I don’t know. We have to find that out.” “Very well. I leave myself in your hands.”