"And besides, dear mother," continued Winifred, in a low and reverent tone, "I have prayed to God to take care of me: and then I opened my Bible and read this verse: 'Yea, the darkness is no darkness to Thee, but the night is as clear as the day: the darkness and the light to Thee are both alike.' So then I thought God can take care of me as well when I am alone in the fields as when I am asleep in my bed; for all places are alike to Him: and why then should I fear, since I am abroad upon His work, and an errand of mercy?" "True," said her grandfather; "I see where thy courage comes from. She is right, Magdalen! Whatever is to be done, must be done this night, or not at all. The harvesters will be in the fields by daylight, and some of the lads will be daring each other to gather sloes at the standing stones. Even thinking of naught but our own safety, it is the wisest course, for it will bring destruction upon us all if the poor gentleman be found there, and it becomes known, as it will, that he has had food from us. I have a shrewd guess as to who he may be, but I say nothing." "Go then, my daughter, and may thy God and the God of thy fathers go with thee," said her mother. "Since it is His will that thou shouldst run into danger, I do trust He will bring thee safe out of it." Winifred was soon wrapped up in her warm gray cloak, and with her basket well filled a second time, and with certain other matters tied up in a bundle, she set out on her lonely walk. Magdalen watched her from the door till she could no longer see the little gray figure, and then with a heavy heart she went back to the kitchen, and sat down to await her daughter's return, and to pray that she might be kept from all the dangers of the way. The time passed slowly enough to the two people sitting by the fireside, and more than once did Magdalen bitterly repent having allowed her daughter to go upon such an errand. Again and again she thought of all the perils to which the child might be exposed, whether from pixies and goblins (for Magdalen was by no means above the superstitions of her time), or from the king's soldiers, or even the stranger himself. There were but few words spoken. Magdalen was never given to very much expression, and any strong emotion was apt to shut her up within herself; and Master Evans seemed wrapped up in his own meditations. At last, the patter of the little feet was heard upon the stones of the paved court outside the kitchen door. Magdalen could hardly give the child time to tell her story, so anxious was she to put her into a warm bed, and dose her with the hot spiced elder wine which she had kept simmering among the ashes.