Audrey's led her horse. They could not talk freely till he left
them at the place where the stony road turned to a soft track, and it
was safe going once more. Then Alice told her own side of it.
"Yes, my dear; I heard him call out. I was walking in the hall with
Janet to keep ourselves warm. But when I ran in he was sitting down, and
you were standing. What was the matter?"
"Alice," said the girl earnestly, "I wish you had not come in. He is
very heart-broken, I think. He would have told me more, I think. It is
about his son."
"His son! Why, he--"
"Yes; I know that. And he would not see him if he came back. He has had
his magistrate's commission; and he will be true to it. But he is
heart-broken for all that. He has not really lost the Faith, I think."
"Why, my dear; that is foolish. He is very hot in Derby, I hear, against
the Papists. There was a poor woman who could not pay her fines; and--"
Marjorie waved it aside.
"Yes; he would be very hot; but for all that, there is his son Robin you
know--and his memories. And Robin has not written to him for six months.
That would be about the time when he told him he was to be a
magistrate."
Then Marjorie told her of the whole that had passed, and of his mention
of the FitzHerberts.
"And what he meant by that," she said, "I do not know; but I will tell
them."
* * * * *
She was pondering deeply all the way as she rode home.
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