hrow yourself on that settle, my good fellow; but give me the letter
first. When I have read it, you shall tell me all you know.'

The letter was written on thin parchment, and was scarcely legible,
blotted, as it was, with tears, and the penmanship irregular and feeble.

* * * * *

'To Master Humphrey Ratcliffe--My Good Friend,--This comes from one nearly
distraught with grief of mind and sickness of body. My boy, my boy! They
have stolen him from me. Can you find him for me? He is in the hands of
Jesuits--it may be at Douay--I dare say no more. I cannot say more. Good
Ned, Heaven bless him, will find you out, and give you this. Pray to God
for me. He alone can bind the broken heart of one who is yours, in sore
need.

'M. G.

'I lost him this day se'nnight; it is as a hundred years to me. Tears are
my meat. God's hand is heavy upon me.'

* * * * *

Humphrey read and re-read the letter, and again and again pressed it
passionately to his lips.

'Find him! Find her boy; yes, God helping me, I will track him out, alive
or dead.'

Then he turned to Ned,--

'Now, tell me all you know of this calamity.'

Ned told the story in a few simple words. The black man had been skulking
about Penshurst for some time. He had scared Mistress Lucy, and the boy had
seen him near the house. Mistress Gifford had gone out early to look after
the shepherd, who was seeking a lost lamb, and the black man had come out
of a hollow. Then Mistress Gifford had run with all her might, and, worse
luck, she stumbled and fell in a swoon, and when Jenkyns found her she had
come out of it, but was moaning with pain, and grieving for the boy.

'And no wonder,' Ned said; 'there's not a soul at the farm that didn't
think a mighty deal of that child. He was a plague sometimes, I'll warrant,
but--' and Ned drew his sleeve across his eyes, and his low guttural voice
faltered, as he said,--'Folks must be made of stone if they don't feel fit
to thrash that popish devil for kidnapping him, and going near to break
Madam Gifford's heart, who is a saint on earth.'

'You are a good fellow,' Humphrey said fervently. 'Now, take off those
heavy boots and rest, while I tax my brains, till I decide what is best to
do.'

With a mighty kick Ned sent his rough boots flying, one after the other,
across the room, and then, without more ado, curled up his ungainly figure
on the settle, and before Hum