"To-morrow night at Daft Jack's cottage, I will tell you all I know. You must not lose more time. And take my purse, for you must be penniless." "In an hour I shall be at the vicarage," said I, declining. "Then you can give it back to me to-morrow night." She thrust it into my hand, and we went our different ways. CHAPTER XVI I kept to the road, often glancing backward for any sign of pursuit, but reached Crowle without adventure, and made straight for the vicarage. The front door stood open, and I strode in, right glad to be in security, shouting, "Aunt, where are you?" forgetting, for the moment, the shock I was like to give her. A maid whom I did not know came from the kitchen, but stopped short at sight of me, and screamed. That brought me to recollection. "Don't be alarmed, my wench," said I, "but go quick to Mistress Graves, and tell her there is one here who has news for her." But the maid continued to scream "Master! Thieves! Murder!" And her cries brought a strange clergyman into the hall, who appeared not to like the look of me. "What is this? Who are you? What is your business?" he asked, all in a breath. "I would see Mistress Graves," I answered. "Mistress Graves is with her husband in Lincoln, as every one in the parish knows," said the parson, eyeing me more mistrustfully. "In Lincoln!" I echoed in amazement. Then I remembered that the vicar held some appointment at the minster--a prælectorship, or sub-prælectorship, I believe it was called--which took him to the city at stated times. "In Lincoln," repeated the parson. "Therefore you can have no further business here." "And have they taken their servants?" I asked. "They would not need the gardener: is he not here?" "There are men on the premises," he answered, "but you will find the vicar's gardener at his cottage, I dare say." And he motioned with his hand toward the door. "Oh, I am not to be so dismissed," I blurted out. "I am Mistress Graves' nephew, Vavasour." "What effrontery!" cried the parson. "The young gentleman is dead and buried." "But I am he, I tell you. I have been immured in Melwood Priory, and only escaped this morning." "If that be so," answered the parson, who evidently did not believe a word of it, "you should appeal to the magistrates." "Such is my intention. But all my belongings are here. I sent them to my aunt's care seventeen days ago. I beg you to let me have the means of cleanliness, and a change of clothing." "You must be as much fool as knave, to imagine I shall give my friend's property to the first beggar who chooses to ask for it." "But I will describe my baggage and its contents," I pleaded. "Doubtless, doubtless. Perhaps you have an inventory in your pocket," he replied, with contempt for the tricks of beggars in his tone. His own words seemed to set him thinking, for he drew out a paper from his pocket, and read it, looking up at me two or three times in the course of reading.