Lonely as might be her situation in this deserted house, it could not but be a relief to her to feel that her timid mother would shortly be under the protection of her husband, and more at rest than she could ever hope to be away from his side.  He could not keep the distemper at bay, but he could often quiet the restless plaints and causeless terrors of his weak-minded spouse.

As she turned back into the silent house she was aware of two figures in the great hall that were strange there, albeit she knew both well as belonging to two of the oldest retainers of the place, an old man and his wife, who had lived the best part of their lives in Sir Hugh’s service at Woodcrych.

“Why, Betty —­ and you also, Andrew —­ what do ye here?” asked Joan, with a grave, kindly smile at the aged couple.

With many humble salutations and apologies the old folks explained that they had heard of the hasty and promiscuous flight of the whole household, headed by the mistress, and also that the “sweet young lady” was left all alone because she refused to leave old Bridget; and that they had therefore ventured to come up to the great house to offer their poor services, to wait upon her and to do for her all that lay in their power, and this not for her only, but for the two sick persons already in the house.

“For, as I do say to my wife there,” said old Andrew, though he spoke in a strange rustic fashion that would scarce be intelligible to our modern ears, “a body can but die once; and for aught I see, one might as easy die of the Black Death as of the rheumatics that sets one’s bones afire, and cripples one as bad as being in one’s coffin at once.  So I be a-going to look to poor Willum, as they say is lying groaning still upon the kitchen floor, none having dared to go anigh him since he fell down in a fit.  And if I be took tending on him, I know that you will take care of my old woman, and see that she does not want for bread so long as she lives.”

Joan put out her soft, strong hand and laid it upon the hard, wrinkled fist of the old servant.  There was a suspicious sparkle in her dark eyes.

“I will not disappoint that expectation, good Andrew,” she said.  “Go if you will, whilst we think what may best be done for Bridget.  Later on I will come myself to look at William.  I have no fear of the distemper; and of one thing I am very sure —­ that it is never kept away by being fled from and avoided.  I have known travellers who have seen it, and have been with the sick, and have never caught the contagion, whilst many fled from it in terror only to be overtaken and struck down as they so ran.  We are in God’s hands —­ forsaken of all but Him.  Let us trust in His mercy, do our duty calmly and firmly, and leave the rest to Him.”

Later in the day, upheld by this same lofty sense of calmness and trust, Joan, after doing all in her power to make comfortable the old nurse, who was terribly distressed at hearing how her dear young lady had been deserted, left her to the charge of Betty, and went down again through the dark and silent house to the great kitchen, where William was still to be found, reclining now upon a settle beside the glowing hearth, and looking not so very much the worse for the seizure of the afternoon.