"Good faith, Master Lucas, that is a presumption easily pardoned by a hungry man as I am," returned the stranger good-humoredly; "but I fear I shall put you to inconvenience. I trust your daughter is not dangerously ill. She must be a brave maiden. I hear she confounded the priest finely the other day." "She hath never spoken or known any of us since that time," said the baker mournfully. "I fear she will never speak again." "You are indeed greatly afflicted," said the stranger, in a sympathizing tone; "but I hope all may yet be well, and that you may once more have your son in your arms, though perhaps not very soon. My father thinks that there are very great changes impending, both in Church and State. But these are dangerous matters to talk upon." When they were by themselves and safe from eavesdroppers, Mr. Harland gave his host an account of Jack's escape. After the encounter in the woods, he had been taken under cover of night to the house of Lord Harland, where he had been concealed for two days. Here he was joined by Arthur Brydges, who brought him news that Davy Brent's vessel would be in waiting at Porlock quay at a certain time. The two young men were furnished with horses by Lord Harland, and riding by unfrequented roads, they reached Porlock without any accident or detention, and got on board the vessel in safety. Davy Brent was going round to Plymouth, where he expected to find vessels bound for France and Germany. Arthur was well supplied with money by his father, and Sir John had also provided Jack with a well-filled purse. They proposed to travel in the guise of students, and to make for Wittenburg where they would be in safety. Mr. Harland had scarcely taken his leave, when Cicely summoned Master Lucas to the sick-chamber. "Anne hath opened her eyes and spoken," said she, weeping. "She is quite herself, but I fear—" Master Lucas hastily obeyed the summons, and the moment he entered the room he saw the state of the case. Anne's eyes were open and rational, but that awful shadow rested upon her face which once seen cannot be mistaken. "My dearest daughter," was all her father could say, as he bent over her and took her hand. "Jack?" whispered Anne, with a look of eager inquiry. "I trust truly that he hath escaped and is in safety," whispered her father in return. "I have had a letter from him written on shipboard, and there is every reason to hope that both he and Arthur will make their way safely to Germany. He sent his love specially to you." Anne smiled sweetly, and lay silent for a few minutes. Then she said faintly but clearly— "Dear father, you have forgiven me?" "As fully and truly as I hope myself to be forgiven, dear child."