The Lanes were an early household, and when Cicely rose in the morning, having slept late after her journey of the previous day, she found they had long been about their duties of the day. Nor had her affairs been forgotten. Master Lane had been early to the prison to ascertain of Mistress Barbara’s comfort, but discovered, to his chagrin, that admission was strictly forbidden. He had next sought out the governor, hoping an exception might be made in favour of so staunch a Tory as himself, but the governor informed him, courteously enough, that such a favour was impossible. Hitherto a visit to the prisoners had been an easy matter to compass, but in consequence of the escape of some of the prisoners who accompanied the train of the chief justice on the road to Exeter, an order had been issued that no access should be allowed to the prisoners on any pretext whatever. The governor expressed his regret at being obliged to refuse the request, but he could make no exceptions. He consented, however, to convey a hamper of fruits and other dainties to Mistress Winslow, and promised to do all in his power to promote her comfort. So Master Lane was obliged to content himself by despatching a consignment of delicacies to relieve the ordinary prison fare, which, however, owing to the occupation of the governor, busy with a thousand prisoners on his hands, and the venality of gaolers, never reached its destination. It had been with a twinge of remorse that he had ascertained, amongst other details, that Barbara was confined in the very shed which he had himself lent to the government; still he had done his utmost to prove his interest in her cause and having brought Cicely news of his mission with a further promise to do what he could to influence the authorities in Barbara’s behalf, he went to his work leaving her to pass the day as best she could. Long and wearisome were the hours to the tender heart of Cicely as she sat over Mistress Lane’s tambour frame, seeking by such occupation to drive from her mind the ever rising fear of what the morrow might bring. Mistress Lane was busy about her household duties, Deborah helping her, but Prudence brought her work to the window-seat where Cicely had seated herself and soon her busy tongue broke through the thin veneer of shyness which she felt towards this lady, so beautiful, so unhappy, and in her eyes, so eminently interesting, and she was presently chattering busily, her work neglected on her lap. Her eagerness and admiration banished Cicely’s reserve, poor Cicely, so anxious for sympathy, and Prudence had soon learned the whole story of the betrothal to Sir Rupert, of their last meeting, and of Barbara’s daring escapade.