er young, plump beauty, but looking
much quieter, and always coming to her for news of Steadfast. There were
even tears in those bright eyes when she heard how much he suffered.
The girl had evidently been greatly sobered by the results of her
indiscretion, and the treachery into which it had led her. She probably
cared more for Steadfast than for anyone else except herself, and was
shocked and grieved at his condition; and she had moreover discovered
how her credulity had been played upon, and that she had had a narrow
escape of being carried off by a buccaneer.

Her master too had been called to order by the authorities, fined and
threatened for permitting Royalist plots to be hatched in his house. He
had been angered by the younger Ayliffe's riotous doings, and his wife
had been terrified. There had been a general reformation in which Emlyn
had only escaped dismissal through her mistress's favour, pleading her
orphanhood, her repentance, and her troth plight to the good young man
who had been attacked by those dissolute fellows, though Mrs. Henshaw
little knew how accountable was her favourite maid for the attack.

So good and discreet was Emlyn, so affectionate her messages to Stead,
and so much brightness shone in his face on hearing them; there was so
much pleasure when she sent him an orange and he returned the snowdrops
he had made Rusha gather, that Patience began to believe that Stead was
right--that the shock was all the maiden needed to steady her--and that
all would end as he hoped, when he should be able to resume his labours,
and add to the sadly reduced hoard.

It was not, however, till the March winds were over that Stead made any
decided step towards recovery, and began to prefer the sun to the fire,
and to move feebly and slowly about the farmyard, visiting the animals,
too few in number, for his skilled attention had been missed. As summer
came on he was able to do a little more, herd them with Growler's help,
and gradually to undertake what required no exertion of strength or
speed, and there he stopped short--all the sunny months of summer could
do no more for him than make him fit to do such work as an old man of
seventy might manage.

He was persuaded, much against his will, to ride the white horse into
Bristol at a foot-pace to consult once more the barber surgeon. That
worthy, who was unusually sagacious for his time and had had experience
in the wars, told him that his recovery was a marvel