"No, t'other way," answered Stephen, without indicating which other way. "Weather sharp, wasn't it?" "Ay, sharp enough. It's like to be a hard winter.--Well, Aunt, I'm much obliged to you. I reckon I'd best be turning home now." "Weather rather sharp there too, perhaps?" suggested Haimet jocosely. "Ay, there's been a bit of a storm since I got back. I came here to get out of it. I'm a fair-weather-lover, as you know." Stephen went home by a round-about way, for he took Saint John's anchorhold in the route. He scarcely knew why he did it; he had an idea that the sight of Derette would be an agreeable diversion of his thoughts. Too deep down to be thoroughly realised, was a vague association of her with Ermine, whose chief friend in the family she had been. Derette came to the casement as soon as she heard from Leuesa who was there. "Good evening, Stephen!" she said cordially. "Leuesa, my maid, while I chat a minute with my cousin, prithee tie on thine hood and run for a cheese. I forgot it with the other marketing this morrow. What are cheeses now? a halfpenny each?" "Three a penny, Lady, they were yesterday." "Very good; bring a pennyworth, and here is the money." As soon as Leuesa was out of hearing, Derette turned to Stephen with a changed expression on her face. "Stephen!" she said, in a low whisper, "you have been to see after _them_. Tell me what you found." "I never said nought o' the sort," answered Stephen, rather staggered by his cousin's penetration and directness. "Maybe your heart said it to mine. You may trust me, Stephen. I would rather let out my life-blood than any secret which would injure them." "Well, you're not far wrong, Derette. Gerard and Agnes are gone; they lie under the snow. So does Adelheid; but Berthold was not buried; I reckon he was one of the last. I cannot find Rudolph." "You have told me all but the one thing my heart yearns to know. Ermine?" Stephen made no reply. "You have found her!" said Derette. "Don't tell me where. It is enough, if she lives. Keep silence." "Some folks are hard that you'd have looked to find soft," answered Stephen, with apparent irrelevance; "and by times folk turn as soft as butter that you'd expect to be as hard as stones." Derette laid up the remark in her mind for future consideration. "Folks baint all bad that other folks call ill names," he observed further. Derette gave a little nod. She was satisfied that Ermine had found a refuge, and with some unlikely person. "Wind's chopped round since morning, seems to me," pursued Stephen, as if he had nothing particular to say. "Blew on my back as I came up to the gate." Another nod from Derette. She understood that Ermine's refuge lay south of Oxford. "Have you seen Flemild?" she asked. "She has sprained her wrist sadly, and cannot use her hand."