“Well, I shall not tell thee more than that it concerns a matter of life and death, so that if any enquire of thee, there will be little that thou canst say, however they question thee. But when Walter Margrove cometh, tell him that Mistress Aline is in great jeopardy and let him do that which seemeth him best and may the Lord quicken his steps.” “What, the little lady of whom they were talking one night not long syne?” “Yes, that same; now be faithful to us, Wilfred.” “But, Master Mitchell, thou art not going to leave us,” said the boy piteously. “After all that thou hast done for us that cannot be. See, prithee let me come with thee an thou must go.” Ian considered for a moment as to whether the boy might be a help or a hindrance and decided that it would rather complicate matters than otherwise to take him. “No, Wilfred, it cannot be,” he said; “but thou mightest, so far as thou art able, go out on the road to Brampton when thou art not at work and keep a look-out for me coming from Alston or Kirkoswald between the third and the seventh day from now. “Indeed thou mightest do better. I will show thee more. Keep thine eyes and ears open for all the gossip of the city. I know thee well enough to know that thou wouldst not see any one burned alive and I go to save one from the burning. If thou hearest aught of inquisitors come as far south along the road as thou mayest.” Wilfred bade good-bye and promised by all that was holy that he would do everything that he could. Ian had decided to take nothing but one small wallet, as less likely to rouse suspicion, and started off. What was his horror, before he had gone ten paces from the door, to see a group of black robed figures on horseback approaching the hostelry, and his horror increased to terror when he recognised one of the figures as Father Austin, who had superintended, when he himself had been tortured in York. The keen shrewd face shewed instant recognition in spite of Ian’s altered appearance. “Whither away, Ian Menstrie? Come return to the hostelry with us and have a talk with an old friend.” An evil smile of triumph spread over his face and he added quietly but firmly to his attendants,--“That is the man we have sought these many months, our Lady hath delivered him into our hands.” Ian said nothing, but Wilfred, who was still standing at the door, said,--“That is not Ian Menstrie, that is Master James Mitchell.” “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Master Mitchell,” said Father Austin sarcastically, bowing from his horse. “My name is Ian Menstrie,” said Ian. “You have varying names then, like a gaol-bird,” replied the inquisitor with a sneer. “We shall have two for our burning, perdy!” he continued to his companion. “It will make a right merrie blaze. What think you, Father Martin?”