When Prudence was gone, I raised my head, and said, dreamily enough, I believe, for I was still bewildered: "Did Will bring news from Walter—from London. Was he not killed, after all?" "Killed!" said Madam. "No, dear love! What put that fancy in your head? Walter is safe and well, and sends you a packet by Will. Come now, and be a brave maid, and we will see what he says." I gathered together my scattered senses at this, perceiving that Madam had not yet heard the story. After saying how glad he was to see Will, and to have his company to London, Walter went on to add: "But I am sorry he should have been so misled by that miserable coward, Tom Andrews, as to come on such a bootless errand; and sorry, above all, that my dearest Margaret should have had to bear such a burden of anxiety." "What means that?" said Madam, pausing, and looking perplexed. "Perhaps we shall see, if we read on," I answered. So she read on: "It was true, indeed, as Andrews told Will, that I was set upon near Salisbury by a party of villains, but as Andrews ran away at the very beginning of the fray, he had no chance to see how it ended. We were the better armed and mounted, and though they outnumbered us, we soon beat them off, with the gift to one of them, at least, of a broken arm. I would not say it publicly, but I verily believe the man I shot was the Italian who was lately in attendance on one who shall be nameless, at Stanton Court. However, I have spoiled his sport for one while, I fancy. Pray convey news to Margaret at once, my dear mother. Poor maid, how she hath been suffering all this time, though I doubt not her stout heart hath kept her up through all." "And so you have been going about all this time, bearing this heavy burden all alone!" said Madam: "And all to save me from bootless anxiety! Dear heart, how could you do so?" "It seemed my duty," I answered. "Your anxiety would not have relieved mine, and I feared the news reaching my Lady's ears. She is far from well, and a little matter might make a difference with her." "But all alone!" said Madam, again. "And a young maid like you!" "Not quite alone," I answered, smiling. "Alone, I could never have endured it." She clasped me in her arms, kissing and weeping over me, and calling me her dear, brave maid, her dear stout-hearted, good daughter, with many other kind words, more than I deserved, but which made me very happy, nevertheless. Then we finished reading the letter, which was long and very interesting, containing much public news, and that not of a pleasant kind, but I could not let it make me unhappy. Madam would have me eat and drink before I left her, and I was glad to do so, for I had not broken my fast that day. I could not forbear opening my letter and glancing at it as I walked home, through the wood; and so doing, I ran against Mr. Penrose, who was coming down the path.