"Give me that key, Van Noost. I should like to have it; and now, mark what I am about to say. _You_ only know how far you have committed yourself with the government. I am going on to Ale--but not, in all probability, to the Manor House. I shall take up my abode in one of the cottages, if I can find a room. I shall have a boat kept ready to convey me to France in case of need; and, if you think it better for yourself to quit this country, you can come and join me at Ale before daylight to-morrow, resting here in the meanwhile. Some time will probably elapse before we are pursued, for the soldiers will doubtless go on to Exeter in the first place." "I'll not fail, my dear Lord--I'll not fail," replied Van Noost; "and yet how can I go to France? It will almost break my heart.--My statues! How can I leave all my statues? And yet, as I may say, the parting has already taken place.--But let me get the key. It is in the saddle-bags by the little door.--Would that I had never meddled with politics!" As he spoke, he turned back towards the church, accompanied by the young nobleman, who endeavoured to learn from him, without much success, by whose orders the men from Ale had joined the rescue party. They had all been "monstrous silent," Van Noost said; but, when the Earl added some farther questions as to whether they had ever mentioned Sir John Newark's name, the worthy sculptor exclaimed, somewhat vehemently. "Ay, that they did, my Lord--at least, one of them; and I think you had a great deal better not go near Ale Manor again. From what one of them said, as two talked together, I made out that none of all this bad business would have happened if it had not been for Sir John. They say he has played the same trick to others before you, and always _peaches_ and _plays booty_, except in the matter of smuggling." "Then he did not order the rescue?" asked Smeaton. "Oh, dear, no," answered Van Noost. "He sent messengers to Exeter in the middle of last night, with letters to the high-sheriff. So you may judge of the rest." "Give me the key, my good friend," said Smeaton, through whose brain were passing many rapid considerations regarding his future conduct. "Did you make acquaintance with the parson of this place when you were here?" "Ay, that I did, and rose high in his favour too," replied the sculptor. "He is a good, fat, jolly priest as ever waddled." "And thinks of the things of this life, more than of the things of another, perhaps?" asked Smeaton. "Ay, truly," responded the statuary. "He has more gods than one. A pipe of wine, a purse of guineas, a sucking-pig, or a haunch of venison, are better than any rubric for him, I wot."