Coventry did not let well alone, he alluded delicately but tenderly to what had passed between them, and said he could not bear her out of his sight until she was safe at Raby.  The words and the tone were those of a lover, and Henry was in agony:  thereupon Grace laughed it off, “Not bear me out of your sight!” said she.  “Why, you ran away from me, and tumbled into the river.  Ha! ha! ha!  And” (very seriously) “we should both be in another world but for Mr. Little.”

“You are very cruel,” said Mr. Coventry.  “When you gave up in despair, I ran for help.  You punish me for failure; punish me savagely.”

“Yes, I was ungenerous,” said Grace.  “Forgive me.”  But she said it rather coolly, and not with a very penitent air.

She added an explanation more calculated to please Henry than him.  “Your gallantry is always graceful; and it is charming, in a drawing-room; but in this wild place, and just after escaping the grave, let us talk like sensible people.  If you and I set out for Raby Hall alone, we shall lose our way again, and perish, to a certainty.  But I think Mr. Little must know the way to Raby Hall.”

“Oh, then,” said Coventry, catching at her idea, “perhaps Mr. Little would add to the great obligation, under which he has laid us both, by going to Raby Hall and sending assistance hither.”

“I can’t do that,” said Henry, roughly.

“And that is not at all what I was going to propose,” said Grace, quietly.  “But perhaps you would be so good as to go with us to Raby Hall?  Then I should feel safe; and I want Mr. Raby to thank you, for I feel how cold and unmeaning all I have said to you is; I seem to have no words.”  Her voice faltered, and her sweet eyes filled.

“Miss Carden,” said the young man, gravely, “I can’t do that.  Mr. Raby is no friend of mine, and he is a bigoted old man, who would turn me out of this place if he knew.  Come, now, when you talk about gratitude to me for not letting you be starved to death, you make me blush.  Is there a man in the world that wouldn’t?  But this I do say; it would be rather hard if you two were to go away, and cut my throat in return; and, if you open your mouths ever so little, either of you, you will cut my throat.  Why, ask yourselves, have I set up my workshop in such a place as this—­by choice?  It takes a stout heart to work here, I can tell you, and a stout heart to sleep here over dead bones.”

“I see it all.  The Trades Unions!”

“That is it.  So, now, there are only two ways.  You must promise me never to breathe a word to any living soul, or I must give up my livelihood, and leave the country.”

“What can not you trust me?  Oh, Mr. Little!”

“No, no; it’s this gentleman.  He is a stranger to me, you know; and, you see, my life may be at stake, as well as my means.”

“Mr. Coventry is a gentleman, and a man of honor.  He is incapable of betraying you.”