"If he had," said Ermine quietly, "the Lord would have known how to protect me. Was I to leave a troubled soul with the blessed truth untold, because harm to my earthly life might arise thereby?" "But, my dear, you don't think he'll be the better?" "If he be not, the guilt will not rest on my head." The dark deepened, and the visitors seemed to have done coming. Haldane cooked a rabbit for supper for herself and Ermine, not forgetting Gib. She had bolted the door for the night, and was fastening the wooden shutter which served for a window, when a single tap on the door announced a late applicant for her services. Haldane opened the tiny wicket, which enabled her to speak without further unbarring when she found it convenient. "Folks should come in the day," she said. "Didn't dare!" answered a low whisper, apparently in the voice of a young man. "Can you find lost things?" "That depends on the planets," replied Haldane mysteriously. "But can't you rule the planets?" "No; they rule me, and you too. However, come within, and I will see what I can do for you." Unbarring the door, she admitted a muffled man, whose face was almost covered by a woollen kerchief evidently arranged for that purpose. "What have you lost?" asked the Wise Woman. "The one I loved best," was the unexpected answer. "Man, woman, or child?" "A maiden, who went forth the morrow of Saint Lucian, by the East Gate of Oxford, on the Dorchester road. If you can, tell me if she be living, and where to seek her." Haldane made a pretence of scattering a powder on the dying embers of her wood-fire. [Note 1.] "The charm will work quicker," she said, "if I know the name of the maiden." "Ermine." Haldane professed to peer into the embers. "She is a foreigner," she remarked. "Ay, you have her." "A maiden with fair hair, a pale soft face, blue eyes, and a clear, gentle voice." "That's it!--where is she?" "She is still alive." "Thanks be to all the saints! Where must I go to find her?" "The answer is, Stay where you are." "Stay! I cannot stay. I must find and succour her." "Does she return your affection?" "That's more than I can say. I've never seen any reason to think so." "But you love her?" "I would have died for her!" said the young man, with an earnest ring in his voice. "I have perilled my life, and the priests say, my soul. All this day have I been searching along the Dorchester way, and have found every one of them but two--her, and one other. I did my best, too, to save her and hers before the blow fell." "What would you do, if you found her?" "Take her away to a safe place, if she would let me, and guard her there at the risk of my life--at the cost, if need be." "The maid whom you seek," said Haldane, after a further examination of the charred sticks on the hearth, "is a pious and devout maiden; has your life been hitherto fit to mate with such?"