"We will advise together yonder at St. Gabriel's. Neville is ever rich in suggestions, and this young Virginian behind us has a ready wit of his own. We must bring the matter before the Council; but they will be sure to see it in the same light as we." "They may, and they may not," answered Neale. "The chief business of councils from the beginning of the world has been to find a scapegoat and then to send him out, as the Hebrews did theirs, loaded with the sins of the nation." "Nay, take it not so to heart! You did but as I should have done in your place, and if the Council resent the escape of Ingle and fear to involve themselves in the King's displeasure they must deal with me as well as you. We are both in the same boat. Faith," Brent added as they came to a swampy place, "it would be well to have an actual boat if we come to many spots like this. It should be one of the first pieces of work done in the province to lay a road where a Christian may travel without losing his way or wading to his chin. Climb up behind my saddle, and my horse shall save your heels." Neale did as he was bid, and they waited to see how the rest would manage. Anne was transferred to a seat behind Mistress Neville, and Huntoon and Cornwaleys mounted the maid's donkey. Their legs were so long and the donkey's so short that they were forced to hold their knees half-way to their chins, and cut so sorry a figure that the others who were safely across stood shaking their sides with laughter. Cornwaleys, being over thirty and a man of sense, joined in the laughter; but Romney Huntoon, being twenty and in love, turned sulky, and walked along in would-be dignified silence in his old place at Peggy's bridle. As he grew solemn she grew lively, and entertained him with rambling tales of her wild doings before ever she came out of England, how she had ridden a horse after all the grooms had given him up, how she had stolen away from home and gone down the lane at midnight to get her future told by an old gypsy woman. In spite of himself Huntoon's interest kindled. "These gypsy horoscopes have something uncannily like truth in them," he said. "Tell me, did the old crone predict aught about--about your marriage?" "Oh, ay, to be sure. What gypsy would ever get her palm crossed with silver twice by a maiden, if she failed to promise her a husband?" "So she described him--" "To the length of his shoe-string and the color of his doublet." "Hm! What said she of his looks?" Peggy cast a malicious look at the dark curls and the clean lip and chin beside her. "Oh, she set him off to the top of my satisfaction! He was to be like a Viking of old, with fair hair and mustachios like that--" and Peggy twirled her fingers off at either side of her dimples.