"I know of none unless it be my old mistress, the Dowager Duchess of Suffolk," I answered, "as I told you before." "Alas, poor lady, she is like enow to be in evil ease herself. The Suffolk family are in bad odor. You were best make your way down to the west as soon as maybe. Have you money?" "Yes," I answered, "but I can not leave town so long as my husband's fate is in suspense. How can I?" "'Tis a piteous case, mistress. I would I knew how to help you, for you have been mortal kind to me. Ah, well. Bide you still where you are, and we will see what can be done." I don't think I realized mine own condition or danger at all. I thought only of one thing—to see my husband once more, and aid in his escape if possible. I lay awake all night, and in the very first gray of the dawn, I stole out and found my way to the prison. I would at any rate see the walls which held my love. When I arrived under those frowning wails, I found two or three other women on the same errand as myself. As I gazed at the barred windows, the desire to see my husband's face once more overmastered every other consideration, and I began to sing a Dutch psalm, which we had used in our church at Amsterdam. The other women looked at me with surprise and pity in their faces. "Poor thing, she is outlandish, too," said one, forgetting for the moment her trouble in mine. "Is it your husband you seek, dame?" It went to my heart to refuse her sympathy, but I only pressed her hand, and shook my head in token that I did not understand. I ventured another verse of the psalm. Oh, joy! Walter's face appeared for a moment at a grated casement—pale, but serene as ever. I could not suppress a cry. "Ah, poor thing, she sees her goodman," said the kind woman who had spoken before. "Wait," said Walter, and his face disappeared. Presently he came to the casement again, and threw something which fell at my feet. It was a paper wrapped round a stone, and I quickly picked it up and hid it in my bosom. I was not a minute too soon, for at that moment a wicket was opened and a surly voice bade us begone for a pack of idle jades. As the man spoke, a little maid of three or four summers, slipped under his arm and ran toddling into the middle of the street. I saw what was coming, and sprang after her. A troop of horsemen were galloping recklessly down the street. I snatched her out of the way just in time, and threw her, as I may say, to her father, falling myself so near the horses that one of them stepped on and tore my gown. I was stunned and shaken with the force of my fall and could not rise for the moment. As I did so the turnkey, for such he was, came to my assistance. "'Twas a brave deed, and you are a brave wench," said he. "Come in now and rest. You have saved my child from those brutes who would ride over a living babe as soon as a dead cat. Come in, come in, and my dame shall get you a cool draught."