“Then the woman hath some bowels of mercy, though a Papist.”

“She even saith that she doubteth not that such as live honestly and faithfully by the light that is in them shall be saved.  So when she saw she prevailed nothing with the maid, she left off her endeavours.  Moreover, my son not only saved her life, but won her regard by his faith and honour; and she called him to her, and even besought him to be her daughter’s husband.  I came to you, reverend sir, as one who has known from the first that the young folk are no kin to one another; and as I think the peril to you is small, I deemed that you would do them this office.  Otherwise, I must take her to Holland and see them wedded by a stranger there.”

Mr. Heatherthwayte was somewhat touched, but he sat and considered, perceiving that to marry the young lady to a loyal Englishman was the safest way of hindering her from falling into the clutches of a Popish prince; but he still demurred, and asked how Mr. Talbot could talk of the mere folly of love, and for its sake let his eldest son and heir become a mere exile and fugitive, cut off, it might be, from home.

“For that matter, sir,” said Richard, “my son is not one to loiter about, as the lubberly heir, cumbering the land at home.  He would, so long as I am spared in health and strength, be doing service by land or sea, and I trust that by the time he is needed at home, all this may be so forgotten that Cis may return safely.  The maid hath been our child too long for us to risk her alone.  And for such love being weak and foolish, surely, sir, it was the voice of One greater than you or I that bade a man leave his father and mother and cleave unto his wife.”

Mr. Heatherthwayte still murmured something about “youth” and “lightly undertaken,” and Master Talbot observed, with a smile, that when he had seen Humfrey he might judge as to the lightness of purpose.

Richard meanwhile was watching somewhat anxiously for the arrival of his son, who, he had reckoned, would make so much more speed than was possible for Cis, that he might have almost overtaken them, if the fatal business had not been delayed longer than he had seen reason to anticipate.  However, these last words had not long been out of his mouth when a man’s footsteps, eager, yet with a tired sound and with the clank of spurs, came along the paved way outside, and there was a knock at the door.  Some one else had been watching; for, as the street door was opened, Cicely sprang forward as Humfrey held out his arms; then, as she rested against his breast, he said, so that she alone could hear, “Her last words to me were, ’Give her my love and blessing, and tell her my joy is come—­such joy as I never knew before.’”

Then they knew the deed was done, and Richard said, “God have mercy on her soul!” Nor did Mr. Heatherthwayte rebuke him.  Indeed there was no time, for Humfrey exclaimed, “She is swooning.”  He gathered her in his arms, and carried her where they lighted him, laying her on Oil’s little bed, but she was not entirely unconscious, and rallied her senses so as to give him a reassuring look, not quite a smile, and yet wondrously sweet, even in the eyes of others.  Then, as the lamp flashed on his figure, she sprang to her feet, all else forgotten in the exclamation.