"Never!" said Winifred, firmly. "They should sooner cut off my head. But I must tell my mother and grandfather. You need have no fear," she added, seeing his countenance change at her words. "They are good Christian people, and would never betray a poor wanderer. I must tell them, that we may know what to do for your relief and escape. I will leave you the cheese and part of the loaf, but I must go now, or my mother will be frightened at my stay." As Winifred walked away, her head was fuller than ever of serious thoughts. She knew that the deed she had just done was one which might bring destruction not only upon herself but her whole family, if ever it were known that she had helped one of Monmouth's men. She had heard, like every one else, of Lady Alice Lisle, who had been put to death for no other offence than that of giving food and shelter to the two fugitives Hickes and Nelthorpe. She had heard from Mrs. Alwright of little Miss Linwood, only ten years old, who was a member of the girls' school which had presented the Duke of Monmouth with a standard at Tawton. The poor child knew nothing of what she was about, and only did as she was bid. Nevertheless she was thrown into jail, and only released to die of jail fever, after her father and uncle had paid for her a fine of twelve hundred pounds, a great part of which sum, it was said, went to fill the purses of the queen's maids of honor. All these and many other things made Winifred shudder at the thought of what she had done, and yet she did not see how she could possibly have acted in any other way. She felt that she could no more have gone away and left the poor gentleman to die, than she could have killed him with her own hands. Nay, it would have been murder in the sight of God—Winifred was sure of it. No, she could not have done otherwise! There was no use in speculating about that. The only course which now remained was to tell her mother and grandfather, with all secrecy, what she had done, and leave them to act as they saw best. Another thing troubled her. She had given away at least half Dame Sprat's bread and milk. True, there still remained enough for the old woman's supper and breakfast, but she would at once see that the loaf had been broken, and what would Winifred say? She had passed the dreaded Black Copse, and reached the widow's door before she had quite made up her mind.