“Sir, Captain Harford hath treacherously spared a Popish idol, and he hath baulked me, although it was through my zeal and love for the truth that the Parliament soldiers were marched out from Ledbury for the pious work of destruction.” “’Tis not pleasant to be baulked, I grant you,” said Norton, his eyes still twinkling. “But avenge yourself, and you’ll avenge me. How soon can you be in Ledbury?” “As soon as this job is done, sir, and that will not be long.” “Good! Let me know how you prosper, and see--you may be put to some charge in the town; so take this crown piece, and the devil send you luck!” In high good humour at the prospect of getting Gabriel Harford into his power, the Colonel left the room, and Waghorn, having completed his work, packed up his tools and returned to Bosbury. On the road he encountered the Vicar and his niece, for Hilary, ill at ease after her talk with Gabriel, had determined to seek advice from the motherly Dame Elizabeth, while the Vicar was anxious to see Sir Richard Hopton, and to congratulate him on his recent release from prison. Fortune favoured the girl, for they encountered not only Sir Richard in the courtyard, but Mr. Geers, who had ridden over from Garnons to bring tidings of Frances and her sister, and to learn how Sir Richard fared. The gentlemen remained without, chatting together, and Hilary was ushered into the house, where, in the ante-room which Waghorn had just quitted, she found Dame Elizabeth, a stately, white-haired old lady, with kind far-seeing eyes. Greeting her visitor warmly, she made her sit on a stool beside her, lamenting that Frances was still absent. “In truth, dear madam, though it sounds unfriendly, I am glad she is not here,” said Hilary; “for I greatly want your help and counsel.” “Now that is always a pleasant thing to hear,” said Dame Elizabeth, smiling. “There are many drawbacks to growing old, but the best part is that the maidens and the young matrons come to us with their joys and their sorrows.” “They do well to come to you, dear madam, for you always understand so well. How the Queen can lay bare her heart to a priest is to me passing strange. But in sore need one might come to a mother-confessor.” “What is your trouble, dear child?” said Dame Elizabeth, kindly. “How can I help you?” “It all comes from this sad war,” said Hilary, with a sigh. “In truth it hath brought sorrow to every home,” said Dame Elizabeth. “Think what it means for us to have one son fighting for the King and two for the Parliament! I love them alike, and there is never a moment’s ease or relief.” “But you can rightly love all your sons, madam. My case is different. I--I am half ashamed to tell you how it is with me,” faltered Hilary, drooping her head. “Perchance I can guess,” said Dame Elizabeth, caressing her. “Methinks, child, you do not know your own heart.”