even for a man now Prince Rupert's wild troopers were about. But
she felt thankful for the permission to do this, though at the same time
she hoped that she should not need it.

Harvest-time was drawing near again now, and Mistress Mabel was more
busy than ever among the maids, and Maud spent all her time between the
two children and the village. Sometimes Bessie and Bertram went with her
on her visits of charity, and one or other occasionally read to Dame
Coppins from Harry's old Bible, or listened while the old woman told
them some story of his kindness to her. One day as they were returning
from a visit to the cottage, they were startled to see a crowd of women
gathered round the blacksmith's shed, and Bertram, in his usual
impetuous fashion, ran forward to see what was the matter. Maud was
mounted on Cavalier, and Bessie on her brother's pony, while Bertram,
being on foot, managed to edge himself to the front of the little crowd,
and presently came running back, crying, "Maud, Maud, the man is dying!
somebody has been beating him." Several of the women were coming towards
her by this time, and she sprang from her horse and stepped forward to
meet them.

"Prithee, what is the matter?" she asked, seeing their anxious faces.
"Is the poor man much hurt?"

"By my faith, I think he's dying; but he says he _must_ get to Oxford
first, to deliver up some papers he is bearing to the King," said one of
the women.

"And what saith the blacksmith to his going on his journey?" asked Maud.

"That he will not live an hour with the wound he has received in his
side. Nought but keeping him quite still, as well as careful dressing,
will stanch the bleeding, Martin says, and he knows of such matters."

"Then he must not suffer the poor man to depart," said Maud, in the tone
of one accustomed to be obeyed, as she stepped up to the blacksmith. She
spoke loud enough for the stranger to hear, as she had intended; but he
feebly shook his head, while Martin completed the temporary bandaging of
his wound.

"Marry, stranger, you had better tarry here awhile, for your life will
pay for this journey if you do not," said the blacksmith.

"Nay, nay, I must away to Oxford. I have been sore hindered already, and
lives more valuable than mine depend upon the speedy delivery of these
papers;" and as he spoke he attempted to rise, but fell back into the
blacksmith's arms with a faint groan.

"He must not undertake this journey," said Maud; an