e
you a Justice of Peace, like your brother, it might be so: but what such
have you? But one thing do I see--and you must count the cost, Tom. It
may be your estate shall be sequestered, and all your goods taken to the
Queen's use. 'Tis perchance a choice betwixt life and liberty on the
one hand, and land and movables on the other."

Mr Roberts walked up and down the room, lost in deep thought. It was a
hard choice to make: yet "all that a man hath will he give for his
life."

"Oh for the days of King Edward the First," he sighed. "Verily, we
valued not our blessings whilst we had them."

Grena's look was sympathising; but she left him to think out the
question.

"If I lose Primrose Croft," he said meditatively, "the maids will have
nought."

"They will have Shardeford when my mother dieth."

"You," he corrected. "You were the elder sister, Grena."

"What is mine is theirs and yours," she said quietly.

"You may wed, Grena."

She gave a little amused laugh. "Methinks, Tom, you may leave that
danger out of the question. Shardeford Hall will some day be Gertrude's
and Pandora's."

"We had alway thought of it as Pandora's, if it came to the maids, and
that Gertrude should have Primrose Croft. But if that go--and 'tis not
unlike; in especial if we leave Kent-- Grena, I know not what to do for
the best."

"Were it not best to ask the Lord, Tom?"

"But how shall I read the answer? Here be no Urim and Thummim to work
by."

"I cannot say how. But of one thing am I sure; the Lord never
disappointeth nor confoundeth the soul that trusts in Him."

"Well, Grena, let us pray over it, and sleep on it. Perchance we may
see what to do for the best by morning light. But one thing I pray you,
be ready to go, that there may be no time lost if we decide ay and not
nay."

"That will I see to for us all."

Mr Roberts and Grena left the dining-room, where this conversation had
been held, shutting the door behind them. She could be heard going
upstairs, he into the garden by the back way. For a few seconds there
was dead silence in the room; then the arras parted, and a concealed
listener came out. In those days rooms were neither papered nor
painted. They were either wainscoted high up the wall with panelled
wood, or simply white-washed, and large pieces of tapestry hung round on
heavy iron hooks. This tapestry was commonly known as arras, from the
name of the French town where it was chiefly woven; an