riend who tries to ferret it out of you--ay, and
of the friends who don't try. Sometimes they are the more treacherous
of the two. Let me know where you live, and if you are wanted I will
send for you. Do you see this ball of grey wool? If any person puts
that into your hand, whenever and however, come here as quick as you
can. Till then, keep away."

"Good lack! But you won't keep me long away?"

"I shall think of her, not of you," replied Haldane shortly. "And the
more you resent that, the less you love."

After a moment's struggle with his own thoughts, Stephen said, "You're
right, Mother. I'll stay away till you send for me."

"Those are the words of a true man," said Haldane, "if you have strength
to abide by them. Remember, the test of love is not sweet words, but
self-sacrifice; and the test of truth is not bold words, but patient
endurance."

"I'm not like to forget it. You bade me tell you where I live? I am
one of the watchmen in the Castle of Oxford; but I am to be found most
days from eleven to four on duty at the Osney Gate of the Castle. Only,
I pray you to say to whomsoever you make your messenger, that my
brother's wife--he is porter at the chief portal--is not to be trusted.
She has a tongue as long as the way from here to Oxford, and curiosity
equal to our mother Eve's or greater. Put yon ball of wool in _her_
hand, and she'd never take a wink of sleep till she knew all about it."

"I trust no man till I have seen him, and no woman till I have seen
through her," said Haldane.

"Well, she's as easy to see through as a church window. Ermine knows
her. If you must needs trust any one, my cousin Derette is safe; she is
in Saint John's anchorhold. But I'd rather not say too much of other
folks."

"O Stephen, Mother Isel!"

"Aunt Isel would never mean you a bit of harm, dear heart, I know that.
But she might let something out that she did not mean; and if a pair of
sharp ears were in the way, it would be quite as well she had not the
chance. She has carried a sore heart for you all these four months,
Ermine; and she cried like a baby over your casting forth. But Uncle
Manning and Haimet were as hard as stones. Flemild cried a little too,
but not like Aunt Isel. As to Anania, nothing comes amiss to her that
can be sown to come up talk. If an earthquake were to swallow one of
her children, I do believe she'd only think what a fine thing it was for
a gossip."

"I hope she's not