. I have heard that he hath a
wife, but she lives very privately, and teaches children. He dwelleth
not with her, but hath his lodging at my Lord Northumberland's. I never
saw her."

"That's an ill hearing. 'Tis meet for men to come together by
themselves for business: but to dwell in their own homes, and never a
woman with them, wife, mother, sister, nor daughter,--that means
mischief, lad. It means some business of an evil sort, that they don't
want a woman to see through. If there had been one, I went about to
say, take me with thee some even to visit her. I'd have known all about
it under an hour, trust me."

"You should have seen nought, Aunt."

"Tell that to the cowcumbers. You see nought, very like."

Lady Louvaine laid her hand on her grandson's.

"Aubrey, promise me at least this: that for a month to come thou wilt
not visit any of these gentlemen."

After an instant's pause, Aubrey replied, "Very well, Madam; I am ready
to promise that."

"That's not much to promise," commented Temperance.

"It is enough," said Lady Louvaine, quietly.

An hour later, when Aubrey was gone, Faith asked rather complainingly
what had induced Lady Louvaine to limit the promise to a month.

"I cannot tell thee, Faith," was the answer. "Something seemed to
whisper within me that if the lad would promise that, he would be safe.
It may be no more than an old woman's fantasy; and even so, no harm is
done. Or it might be that God spake to me--and if thus, let us obey His
voice. He knows what He will do, and what men will do."

"I've as great a mind as ever I had to eat--"

"What to do, Temperance?"

"Get to see those fellows, somehow."

"Wait the month, Temperance," suggested Edith, quietly.

"Wait! you're always for waiting. I want to work."

"Waiting is often the hardest work," said Edith.

The middle of the month was nearly come. The six last barrels of powder
were in the vault; the whole thirty-six were covered with stones and
iron bars: Gideon Gibbons, the porter, was delivering at the door three
thousand billets and five hundred faggots of wood and another man in a
porter's frock was stacking the wood in the vault.

"There, that's the last lot!" said Gibbons, throwing in a packet of
tied-up billets. "Count right, Johnson?"

"All right, Gibbons."

"Your master likes a good fire, I should say," observed Gibbons, with a
grin of amusement, as he looked into the vault. "There's fuel there to
last