t at first with all
their might, and no wonder; then, their anxiety about Andrew making them
yield a little, Matthew took his stand on this, that we must have some
protector.

'A man-servant you have at least, or you do not stir,' quoth he.

'But you cannot be spared from this place,' we urged; 'and who else is
there faithful and bold enough for such a service?'

'Leave me alone for that,' said he.

And the evening before our departure he brought to us a strange
attendant indeed, but one who proved most trusty. It was a poor fellow
of the village, who had once been in service at Lacy Manor; but the
young Squire hated him, and got him turned away in disgrace, after which
no man would employ him, and he fell into great wretchedness. But Andrew
came across him, and not only relieved his distress, for he was almost
dead for hunger, but put him in a way of living on his own land. So,
partly for love of Andrew, and partly from true conviction, poor Will
Simpson, so he was called, turned to the Quaker way of thinking. I do
not know if he was acknowledged as a proved Friend, he had some odd
notions of his own. But he showed himself a peaceable, industrious
fellow, and he loved Andrew as a dog might love a kind master that had
saved it from drowning. Indeed there was something very dog-like about
honest Will. Without having any piercing wit, he had a strange sagacity
at the service of those he loved; and his dull heavy face sometimes
showed a great warmth of affection, making it seem almost noble. When
Matthew told him wherefore he was wanted, he was all on fire to go. He
left his hut, and work, and woodman's garb, Matthew having got him a
plain serving-man's suit, in which he looked still a little uncouth; and
thus he came eagerly to us and begged to be taken with us. Then with no
escort but this poor fellow, who, however, knew the road well, and was
strong and sturdy, we set forth on our way up to London, bidding adieu
to none in West Fazeby, as the Standfasts had advised. I believe it was
supposed in the village that we were gone to Mr. Truelocke.

CHAPTER IX.

HOW WE WENT UP TO LONDON, AND FOUND NO FRIENDS THERE.

I hoped little from the first plan on which Althea relied for obtaining
Andrew's release. Her trust was in Mr. Dacre, since he was a great
courtier, and she thought his influence might avail to get one poor
Quaker set free.

'I shall not get his help for nothing,' said she; 'that were an idle
hope