"Oh deary, deary me!" wailed poor Isel. "That ever such a day should come to my house! Dame Mary, and all the blessed Saints in Heaven, have mercy on us! Haven't I always said there was nought but trouble in this world?" "It's no good vexing, Mother; it has to be," said Flemild, but there were tears in her eyes. "I'm glad Derette's not here." Derette had gone to see her cousins at the Castle,--a sort of farewell visit before entering the anchorhold. "Then I'm sorry," said Isel. "She might have given those rascals a lick with the rough side of her tongue--much if she wouldn't, too. I'd like to have heard it, I would!" The prisoners were marched out, with much show of righteous indignation against them from Manning, and stolid assistance to the sumners on the part of Haimet. When the door was shut and all quiet again, Manning came up to Isel. "Come, Wife, don't take on!" he said, in a much more gentle tone than before. "We must not let ourselves be suspected, you know. Perhaps they'll be acquitted--they seem decent, peaceable folk, and it may be found to be a false accusation. So long as holy Church does not condemn them, we need not: but you know we must not set ourselves against her officers, nor get ourselves suspected and into trouble. Hush, children! the fewer words the better. They may turn out to be all wrong, and then it would be sin to pity them. We can but wait and see." "Saints alive! but I'm in a whole sea of trouble already!" cried Isel. "We've lost six hands for work; and good workers too; and here had I reckoned on Ermine tarrying with me, and being like a daughter to me, when my own were gone: and what am I to do now, never speak of them?" "There are plenty more girls in the city," said Manning. "Maybe: but not another Ermine." "Perhaps not; but it's no good crying over spilt milk, Isel. Do the best you can with what you have; and keep your mouth shut about what you have not." Haimet was seen no more till nearly bedtime, when he came in with the information that all the Germans had been committed to the Castle dungeon, to await the arrival of King Henry, who had summoned a Council of Bishops to sit on the question, the Sunday after Christmas. That untried prisoners should be kept nearly four months in a dark, damp, unhealthy cellar, termed a dungeon, was much too common an occurrence to excite surprise. Isel, as usual, lamented over it, and Derette, who had seen the prisoners marched into the Castle yard, was as warm in her sympathy as even her mother could have wished. Manning tried, not unkindly, to silence them both, and succeeded only when they had worn themselves out.