“I should hope so,” said Coventry.  “I pledge you the word of a gentleman I will never let any human creature know that you are working here.”

“Give me your hand on that, if you please.”

Coventry gave him his hand with warmth and evident sincerity.

Young Little was reassured.  “Come,” said he, “I feel I can trust you both.  And, sir, Miss Carden will tell you what happened to me in Cheetham’s works; and then you will understand what I risk upon your honor.”

“I accept the responsibility; and I thank you for giving me this opportunity to show you how deeply I feel indebted to you.”

“That is square enough.  Well, now my mind is at ease about that, I’ll tell you what I’ll do; I won’t take you quite to Raby Hall; but I’ll take you so near to it, you can’t miss it; and then I’ll go back to my work.”

He sighed deeply at the lonely prospect, and Grace heard him.

“Come,” said he, almost violently, and led the way out of church.  But he stayed behind to lock the door, and then joined them.

They all three went together, Grace in the middle.

There was now but little snow falling, and the air was not so thick; but it was most laborious walking, and soon Mr. Coventry, who was stiff and in pain, fell a little behind, and groaned as he hobbled on.

Grace whispered to Henry:  “Be generous.  He has hurt himself so.”

This made Henry groan in return.  But he said nothing.  He just turned back to Coventry—­“You can’t get on without help, sir; lean on me.”

The act was friendly, the tone surly.  Coventry accepted the act, and noted the tone in his memory.

When Grace had done this, she saw Henry misunderstood it, and she was sorry, and waited an opportunity to restore the balance; but, ere one came, a bell was heard in the air; the great alarm-bell of Raby Hall.

Then faint voices were heard of people calling to each other here and there in the distance.

“What is it?” asked Grace.

Henry replied, “What should it be?  The whole country is out after you.  Mr Raby has sense enough for that.”

“Oh, I hope they will not see the light in the church, and find you out.”

“You are very good to think of that.  Ah!  There’s a bonfire:  and here comes a torch.  I must go and quench my fires.  Good-by, Miss Carden.  Good-evening, sir.”

With this, he retired:  but, as he went, he sighed.

Grace said to Coventry, “Oh, I forgot to ask him a question;” and ran after him.  “Mr. Little!”

He heard and came back to her.

She was violently agitated.  “I can’t leave you so,” she said.  “Give me your hand.”

He gave it to her.

“I mortified you; and you have saved me.”  She took his hand, and, holding it gently in both her little palms, sobbed out,—­“Oh, think of something I can do, to show my gratitude, my esteem.  Pray, pray, pray.”