I thought I saw him start as I spoke, so being young and foolish, and wishing to get the better of an argument of which, as I thought, he had the best all the way, I went on-- "Men have it that Master John Leslie, the father of this woman, is a great man among the hot-gospellers and Independents, while Sir Charles Denman, her husband, is almost as much renowned for his preaching as Hugh Peters himself." For a moment he stopped still in the road, and he lifted his right hand above his head. Even in the dim light I noted his sturdy thick-set figure, his broad mouth, and his searching, yet kindly eyes. "Is that what men are saying?" he asked presently, dropping his hand. "It is common gossip," I replied. "Men have it that Constance, daughter of John Leslie, together with her husband and father, plotted the murder of Monk, have they? Is that the talk in London town?" "It is given out by General Monk himself," I replied. "It is told to the new king and his counsellors, and more it hath been proved by many witnesses. The wound in the arm of Monk's secretary is sufficient proof." He stood still for a minute without speaking, then he said quietly-- "And have you heard aught concerning the probable fate of this maiden?" "She is to be brought to London without delay after the king hath arrived thither, and then she is to be tried, condemned, and put to death. Men also have it that there is a warrant out against Sir Charles Denman and Master John Leslie." "Perhaps it is the will of God," he said, presently. "The blood of the martyr hath ever been the seed of the Church of the living God." "Martyr," I said, for something made me feel that this man knew much of these people. "Can the death of a woman who hath attempted murder be called martyrdom?" I could have almost bitten my tongue for having uttered these words, for although my reason told me they were true, my heart went against them, and accused me of being unjust to the woman to whom I had avowed that she could never do an unworthy deed. "There be many things known only to God," he replied solemnly, "and God's ways are not our ways, neither His thoughts our thoughts, yet will we trust Him though He slay us." "Know you aught of this woman?" I asked. "I know what all men know," he answered. "I know that she was on her way to Bedford to visit her father, who is a man of substance in Bedford, as well as in London, and that while coming hither she was taken by the minions of Monk, and dragged to gaol." "From whence did she come?" "From the south, somewhere." "But had she no protector?" "She had none. She was taken during the night." "But surely she could not travel from the south on foot." "Nay, she rode a good horse." I wanted to ask other questions, but I was afraid, for I knew not who the man was, and I dared not trust him so far as to lead him to think I knew anything concerning her. "Know you aught of her, young master?"