“It is her judgment,” he said, “to remain and mingle her weeping with the ashes of this sacrifice, in the hospital of which her crimes have made her an inmate.” He had listened with his elbows, as I supposed. I recognised the hopelessness of my task. “Very well,” I said. “I daresay he has finished with the steward by now. I will go and tell him what you say”--and I made for the chimney. He was after me in a moment, at a gallop. “Stop!” he cried. “What do you mean? That your master was one of this rabble?” “One? The worst of them all,” I answered. “It was he knocked down the poor grey gentleman; and the last I heard of him was crying for you.” He released me, to throw up his hands. “The intolerance of these heretics!” he cried. “Stop! Don’t go. I withdraw my pronouncement. You shall name your own penance.” I breathed quickly, standing before him. “Father, that is soon done. I will go with you.” “With me--with me?” he complained, stamping distracted. “Where to?” “Anywhere from here,” I pleaded. “You can’t stop. The whole country’s up, and a second time, if they come, you’ll be caught.” Snorting with agitation, he took off his spectacles to wipe them. “It’s quite impossible,” he said. “I know of only one asylum beyond, and that”-- With a quick little snatch I ravished the glasses from his hand, and, running away with them, hid behind a chimney. For a minute or two he raved round, stumbling, and grabbing at the air, and finally tripped over his book and subsided, quite prostrate, upon the roof. “Little sweep!” he panted, in a trembling voice. “My daughter--child of Magdalen--where are you?” I held my breath; and he went on, in broken sentences-- “Come back--give me my glasses--where are you?--I believe all you say--What! will you give me up, and the Calendar unfinished?” Then, as I still did not answer, “Holy saints! The little devil has hobbled me, and I shall be caught and martyred.”--A longish pause--“_In manus tuas, Domine, com_-- I wonder if in Paradise--the scarce copper--h’m!” He began to gnaw his knuckles, with a sort of pleased abstraction over the thought. It would never do. I came out of my hiding. “Will you take me with you?” I repeated. “O, it’s you?” he cried, with a start. “Where are my glasses?” “In my hand.” “Will you return them to me?” “Will you let me go with you?” “Scandalous!” “I will carry the book.” “Pooh!” “I will walk behind.” “Pish!” “If anything happens to me, then”-- “Fah!” he interposed; and then added, “What could happen to you?” “Do you suppose I shall stay in these clothes?” I said. “I shall return to be a girl; and what am I to do then, without someone to protect and help me back to my parents?” “That’s nothing to me,” he said. “Good-bye,” said I. He scrambled to his feet with a roar: “Give me back my glasses!”