"I heard the outlaws' retreating steps, and then all was still, save for the singing of the birds and the other woodland noises. I waited patiently till I heard a distant clock strike five. Then I unbound my eyes and looked about me." "I found myself in a thick wood like a neglected park. There was a narrow vista through the trees, at the end of which I saw an old building from one chimney of which smoke was rising, showing that it was inhabited, and thither I bent my way. I found nobody but one old woman—poor Martha—and as she was not so deaf as she is now, I made her understand so much as I thought fit to tell her: namely, that I had been traveling, had lost my way, and been out all night, and I prayed her to give me hospitality." "'Ay, ay!' said she. 'Meat and drink you shall have, and as to lodging, we will see what my master says. He is here now, my good dame?'" "'Who is your master?' I ventured to ask." "'Why, his Grace of Suffolk, no less,' was the answer. 'This tumble down old house belongs to him, and it pleases him to come hither now and then for a day's sport.'" "I had gathered my wits together by the time I had rested and eaten my breakfast, and I made up my mind what to do. I knew my husband had been a far-away kinsman of the Brandons, and I determined to tell his Grace the whole story, and to throw myself on his mercy. I did so. He heard me with many expressions of pity and kindness." "'Your husband was a gallant young man,' said he. 'I knew him well, but knew not what had become of him. I will consider your case and see what shall be best for you.'" "The next day as he was going away, he called me." "'I can think of no better counsel than for you to remain here and keep close,' said he. 'Nobody ever comes hither but myself or some trusted servant. This old hall hath sheltered the wanderer before now. Bide you here, then, and go not forth—not even to church at present. Your own family doubtless think you dead, and the convent authorities are too full of their own troubles just now to make much search for you, but yet it is best to be on the safe side. How it comes that you are alive, I cannot guess.'" "'They were not unkind to me beyond keeping me confined,' said I. 'I pray, your Grace, what year is this?'" "He told me." "'Then I have been in prison nine years,' I said, 'and in that time I have not seen a human face more than three times, save when I was ill.'" "'Poor thing, no wonder you are so sadly aged,' he said, 'but there will be an end of all that soon, and full time it was so.'" "How long is it since you came here?" I asked, as she paused. "Two years come next spring." "Then you must have been sent away just before the convent was broken up."