trived to be adjusting Mrs. Gaunt's
dress. The lady's heart gave a leap, and the servant's cunning finger
felt it, and then felt a shudder run all over that stately frame. But
after that Mrs. Gaunt seemed to turn to steel. She distrusted Ryder, she
could not tell why; distrusted her, and was upon her guard.

"You must be mistaken," said she. "Who would dare to lay hands on a
priest in my house?"

"Well, Dame, you see they egg one another on: don't ask me to betray my
fellow-servants; but let us balk them. I don't deceive you, Dame: if the
good priest shows his face here, he will be thrown into the horse-pond,
and sent home with a ticket pinned to his back. Them that is to do it
are on the watch now, and have got their orders; and 't is a burning
shame. To be sure I am not a Catholic; but religion is religion, and a
more heavenly face I never saw: and for it to be dragged through a
filthy horse-pond!"

Mrs. Gaunt clutched her inspector's arm and turned pale. "The villains!
the fiends!" she gasped, "Go ask your master to come to me this
moment."

Ryder took a step or two, then stopped. "Alack, Dame," said she, "that
is not the way to do. You may be sure the others would not dare, if my
master had not shown them his mind."

Mrs. Gaunt stopped her ears. "Don't tell me that _he_ has ordered this
impious, cruel, cowardly act. He is a lion: and this comes from the
heart of cowardly curs. What is to be done, woman? tell me; for you are
cooler than I am."

"Well, Dame, if I were in your place, I'd just send him a line, and bid
him stay away till the storm blows over."

"You are right. But who is to carry it? My own servants are traitors to
me."

"I'll carry it myself."

"You shall. Put on your hat, and run through the wood; that is the
shortest way."

She wrote a few lines on a large sheet of paper, for note-paper there
was none in those days; sealed it, and gave it to Ryder.

Ryder retired to put on her hat, and pry into the letter with greedy
eyes.

It ran thus:--

"DEAR FATHER AND FRIEND,--You must come hither no more at present. Ask
the bearer why this is, for I am ashamed to put it on paper. Pray for
them: for you can, but I cannot. Pray for me, too, bereft for a time of
your counsels. I shall come and confess to you in a few days, when we
are all cooler; but you shall honor _his_ house no more. Obey _me_ in
this one thing, who shall obey you in all things else, and am

"Your indignant and sorrowful