“We have buried the past,” she said, turning to my lord. Stephen Gore did not move. “John and I are man and wife. We have put the past away from us. It is better for us—and for the dead.” My lord raised his eyes slowly till they rested on Barbara’s face. He saw nothing there but a mist of tenderness and tears. “Child, you say this to me?” She held out her hands generously. “Out of my heart I say it.” My lord bowed himself and took her hands, and when he had kissed them he put them reverently away from him, and stood up bravely, yet with a twitching face. John Gore had come to stand beside his wife. And the three looked at each other and were silent. Then my lord spoke. “Children, go—and God bless you.” They looked at him questioningly, but he did not falter. “John, my son, you understand. They will come for me soon; I am ready; I shall no longer be ashamed. Go. I would not have you near the fringe of the slough into which these good Protestants will throw me. You have your lives to live. It is my desire that no shadow of mine should ever darken them again.” Barbara looked at her husband, for she did not understand the meaning of what was said. My lord smiled at her and pointed toward the distance. The authority seemed his that day. “John will tell you the truth. It is for your sakes that I demand this.” Both husband and wife faltered, but Stephen Gore’s eyes were clear and unflinching. “John, if this should be the end of me, what I have is yours, unless the rogues sequestrate it. Now go, my son, and be happy. It is my last wish, and you will grant it me.” And so they left him, sadly, unwillingly, feeling like traitors leaving a friend to death. For the man had seemed lovable, even great, at that last moment, and yet they had felt that it would have been graceless to question his last desire. Stephen Gore watched them go, following them to the court-yard, and standing above the moat as they rode slowly away toward the woods. Under the beech-trees they turned and looked back at Thorn, and saw him standing there, and waved him a farewell. “What will it mean?” Barbara’s eyes asked her love that as he took her bridle and drew away into the woods. “They will take him to-day,” he said; “yesterday he was discovered. Other heads have fallen; so may his.” She was silent awhile, and then looked at John Gore wistfully. “And we are leaving him!” “Wife, it was his wish, his prayer, his penance. I—a man—would not grudge it him. Can you not understand?” “Yes, John, I can understand.” And they rode back to Furze Farm sadly, knowing that it would be wiser for them to leave the place and seek some other refuge till they saw how the times promised.