But what was the good of that? The thing was to do--not to stand there thinking. But as thought goes before action--at least with wise men--I gave two minutes to it. And this is what I thought: First, it was plain that my rascally kinsman, Anthony Dacre, whom I there and then prayed God to utterly confound, meditated some serious injury to Mistress Alison French, and was minded to stop at naught, not even the seizure of Sir Nicholas himself by force, in order to compass his evil intentions. Second: There was nobody but myself who, knowing his plans, could warn my uncle and cousin of their danger. Third: I had a packet from Cromwell to Fairfax in my breast, which I was in honour bound to deliver as quickly as I might. Fourth: It seemed but a Christian-like thing to stay at my uncle’s house and tell him and Alison of that villain Anthony’s notions concerning them. Fifth: What was I going to do?--go straight on to Fairfax’s camp, or proceed to the Manor House? Sixth: Why the dickens should I interfere on behalf of Sir Nicholas (who had misunderstood me) or of my cousin Alison (who had--to my face, too!--called me a poltroon). Seventh: I hated Anthony Dacre, and would give much to circumvent him. Eighth: Blood is a deal thicker than water. Ninth: If I made haste I could inform Sir Nicholas, speak a word of warning in my cousin’s ear, and go forward to Pomfret before nine o’clock. And tenth: Soldier of the Parliamentary army as I was, and faithful to the cause of the people, and to the special trust that their leaders had reposed in me, I would see Parliament, people, Cromwell, Fairfax, and everything, damned before Anthony Dacre should have his will of an old man and an innocent girl! “But God send,” says I to myself, “that there be no need of it!” And I set off along the road at a round pace. The night seemed to grow darker, and there is something in me--and there was a deal more of it in those days--that cannot abear darkness, but I trotted along, being pretty sound in wind and limb, keeping my ears open for any noise, until I came to the cross roads, having Thorpe on one side o’ me and Wentbridge on t’other. And here a notion struck me, for which I thanked God many a time in the days to come. There were two brothers, John and Humphrey Stirk, yeomen, exceeding true and honest fellows, that lived in their farmhouse at Thorpe, and farmed their own bit of land--egad! they were the very men to do a good deed! I had played with ’em many a time when we were lads together, and so had little Alison, and I knew that they would put themselves out of the way to serve either her or me. The thought of them came into my mind as I trotted up to the cross roads, and so I never stopped in my run but turned the corner to the left and went forward to their house. There was a light in the kitchen window--and so I was within, half-breathless, holding a hand of each, and looking from one honest pair of eyes to another.