"I zim to think of nought elze," he muttered disconsolately. "There be many weays o’ ezcaäpe, Miztress Barbara herzell a told me, could I but bring un to maind. There have been zome as pazzed vor prizoners to let un ezcaäpe, but I could zcarce paz vor Mistress Barbara, and you, ’twere zmall good to vree her if your ladyship were left behaind. Then there be a taäl o’ a mon let down i’ a bazket, but I zee not raightly how to do that. And there be birds wi’ paäpers under wings, and loaves o’ bread wi’ a rope inzaide. My waife could baäke one, if your ladyship thinks well on’t. Tho’ fai," he added doubtfully, "’twould need be a maighty big one." But Cicely could not allow the loyal fellow further to tax his inventive powers, she knew it was indeed kinder at once to crush his hopes. "No, Peter, it will not do. ’Tis true such plans have succeeded once, but they could little avail us now. We must wait. Wait till to-morrow, I doubt not she will then be freed. If she be not," she added with a sudden shudder, as the fear of the alternative rose in her breast, "why, Peter, if she be not, I will send for thee, and together we will free her somehow, tho’ it cost us our lives." Peter begged to be allowed to stay in Taunton till the morrow, but Cicely dared not risk it. She was firm in her resolution that he must return, and return at once, and at length he reluctantly departed, still mourning over his shattered dream of rescuing his beloved lady from her prison, and bearing her back to Durford in triumph, even as did the heroes of old whose deeds she so admired, and with stories of whom she had so often dazzled his bewildered brain. The day passed, and as evening drew near, Cicely was seized with an irresistible fit of restlessness. This patient waiting was straining her nerves past endurance; she longed to be doing something, anything so it be definite action towards the release of her cousin. She could tolerate the quiet house no longer, she must out. Hearing that the lord chief justice and his suite were to enter the town that evening, she expressed her intention of going into the streets to see them pass. She longed to see this man of whom she had heard so much, the man upon whose lips hung the fate of her cousin, the fate of the thousand prisoners who lay that evening in the city awaiting their trial. Mistress Lane opposed the wish, but Cicely was resolved; she was obstinate, even irritable, in combating the good lady’s arguments against such a course. She scarce understood herself this eagerness to see the judge’s entry, she only knew that she must go out, must be interested, distracted, or she should go mad with the thoughts she could not banish from her brain. So Mistress Lane left her to go her way, and allowed Prudence to accompany her, tho’ ’twas with many misgivings that she watched them set out. The two girls went their way and took up their position in the East street.