it was a beautiful late autumn day and the sun was shining on the moat and the old walls of holwick. some few weeks previously news had arrived in that remote corner of the death of queen mary and the accession of elizabeth, and audry was sitting as she often did, in the bay window of mistress mowbray’s bower, looking down toward middleton, when four riders and a pack horse were seen approaching the gates.

audry had noticed their coming and, as they drew nearer, she recognised two of them and ran eagerly out to meet them. “oh, how i have hoped for you to come,” she said, “and somehow i knew it would not be long before you were here.”

ian dismounted and helped his sister and aline to alight, while the serving man took the horses. aline was in perfect health, but ian was still worn and thin. she had not been long in recovering; but he had hovered between life and death for some time.

“this is the lady shiona, ian’s sister,” said aline. audry came forward a little shyly, but shiona said, “oh, i have heard so much about you,” and kissed her warmly.

audry then flung her arms round aline as though she would never let her go.

“you must not leave ian in the cold,” said aline.

“no, indeed, i should think not,” exclaimed audry;389 “why, if it were not for him you would not be here at all,” and she held up her face to be kissed.

“she is getting too big to be kissed, is she not?” said ian.

“not at all,” said aline, “you kiss me.”

“that is a different matter,” said ian, laughing, as he kissed audry, “you are my ward, you see.”

although master richard and his wife were by no means pleased at the political change, they were delighted that it had brought their young visitor, and mistress eleanor greeted her with an unusual show of affection. she had been long enough falling under aline’s spell, but the conquest was complete and resulted in the re-development of a side of her nature that had practically lain dormant since, a charming girl of sixteen, master richard had met her in york and against all the wishes of his parents had insisted on marrying her. she became more human and more anxious to please, and gradually won the esteem and even love of her servitors and the people of holwick.

aline introduced her escort, and while they were being shown to their rooms, she went and found elspeth.

elspeth wept tears of joy over her and said; “now, hinnie, i shall be able to die happy. i thought the sunlight had gone out of my life forever.”

they had a long talk and in the afternoon she went down with elspeth to the arnsides. janet seized a stool and dusted it for the young mistress; and john, who was just outside the house, came in.

“o john,” aline said, “i can never repay you or thank you enough, it is no use my trying to put my thanks into words.”

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“what i did was nothing,” he said.

“but if you had not done it, the duke of ochil would never have come and i should have been lost.”

“no one who knew you, mistress aline, could have done less.”

the time seemed all too short to the arnsides, when aline turned to go. “i shall ask cousin richard to let us stay here for at least a month,” she said, “even if i do not come back here to live. i am going to teach you to read, john, and i have brought you this,” and she produced a beautifully bound copy of the scriptures, which she had bought for him with all the money she had left.

john was confused with gratitude, and aline fled, leaving him an opportunity to recover by himself.

she had had a long talk with ian in which they had decided that it was right that master mowbray should hear the whole story and be told about the secret room, as after all it belonged to him.

so that night she secured the little book and took it up to her old room with audry.

as they were undressing, aline took off the ruby pendant, which she was wearing concealed beneath her simple costume.

“oh, how lovely!” exclaimed audry, “diamonds and pearls and—what a marvellous ruby! but aline, you have no right to wear this.”

“i feel a little doubtful, but ian says it is all right, as at present i am in the position of his ward and in any case i am scots and not english.”

“but if you are father’s ward then you will count as english.”

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“anyway, i shall not wear it in public; so it does not matter.”

“your luck has come at last, aline; just fancy your wearing diamonds and pearls like a duke’s daughter. but you deserve to be lucky after all you have been through. i would not go through what you have been through, for all the luck in the world, you beautiful lovely thing.”

audry had by this time begun combing aline’s hair. “why, aline,” she said, “your hair is not quite so long as it was!”

“oh, i forgot to tell you,” said aline, and she told her all about the cutting off. “but it has very nearly grown again, it has been extraordinarily quick.”

“yes, you are beautiful,” audry went on, “look at that hair, look at that neck, look at those perfect ears.”

“do not be silly, audry!”

“yes,” said audry, not heeding, “and the luck is not over yet. you will be married very soon.”

aline blushed. “be quiet, audry.”

“but you are far too beautiful and charming and good to be left long unmarried,” and audry embraced her impulsively.

“come, let us get into bed and sit and study the book.”

so aline read to the end and discovered that it explained how to open the great iron chest.

the next day they managed to leave shiona with mistress mowbray, and aline, audry and ian took master mowbray into the library.

they sat in the great window seat and aline read out of the little book and told the story of their adventures,392 which was frequently supplemented by audry and ian. richard mowbray was again entranced and he thought aline’s new tale even more wonderful than malory.

when she had finished they all went down to the secret room and master richard asked hundreds of questions about all their experiences. they examined everything and explored the secret passage to the cave and back.

“but there is still one thing that we have to do,” said aline, “and that is to open the great iron chest and see what is inside. i have only just discovered how it is done and there is a good deal that requires doing first. but listen to this: exactly under the middle of the great oriel window of the library, the book says,—that a foot and a half below the water in the moat is a chain made of links of greenheart wood, so as to withstand the wet; and at the end of that is a large round ball also of greenheart, and embedded in it with pitch is the great key of the iron chest. i have been thinking how to get it and, if the chain has not rotted and we do not have to dredge for the ball, i think i might go a-sailing for it in a tub, which would be fun. we might see to that this afternoon and then open the chest to-morrow.”

“you will probably upset,” said audry, “but, as you can swim like a fish, that will not matter; but i shall laugh to see you tumble in.”

“you bad girl,” said aline, and chased her round the room. “well, i am going to try anyway.”

after dinner master richard went and ordered two of the men to bring a great tub from the laundry, while aline went upstairs and changed her things, putting on393 a pair of boy’s trunks. she then threw a cloak about her and came down.

the tub was rolled round till it was opposite the window and then aline insisted that the serving men should go away. a board, hastily thinned down at one end, made a sort of rude paddle and, with shrieks of derision from audry, the others held the tub and aline cautiously got in and squatted tailorwise on the bottom. they all laughed so much that they nearly upset the tub at the outset.

aline then started on her perilous voyage, but, the tub being circular, every time she took a stroke with the paddle, it simply spun round and round.

those on the bank held their sides with laughter, but the more they laughed the more confused aline became. she tried taking a stroke first one way and then the other. this was not quite so bad, but the tub revolved backwards and forwards like a balance wheel.

“try little short strokes pulling the paddle towards you,” shouted ian, when the laughter had a little subsided. this answered somewhat better and the tub slowly made its way across, but with many vagaries and strange gyrations.

at last she reached the wall right under the great projecting corbel of the window, and, very cautiously putting down her arm, she felt the chain.

“hurrah!” she shouted, “i have it”; but she spoke too soon. as she pulled the chain, the tub over-balanced and aline tumbled head first into the moat. audry collapsed altogether at this and rolled over on to the grass.

ian, however, for the moment took it seriously and394 was going to jump in, but audry seized one of his ankles to stop him and laughed still more till the tears ran down her cheeks. “you’ll kill me, you two,” she said, as aline’s head appeared above the water with long green weeds hanging in her hair.

aline swam to the chain and found that the ball was very heavy. she then righted the tub.

“get in, get in quickly,” shouted audry mischievously, and aline, without thinking, made the attempt with the result that the tub lifted and turned over on her like an extinguisher. audry was convulsed.

“you little mischief,” said ian, and picked her up and held her out over the water at arm’s length; but she only laughed the more.

aline meanwhile again righted the tub and then shouted to the others to bring an axe. audry refused to go. she said she must wait for the end of the performance. so master richard ran and called one of the men, who brought the things required.

while he was gone aline, with difficulty, got the ball into the tub. she then swam across for the axe and, taking it over, she cut the chain, threw the axe in with the ball and, pushing the tub before her, swam back to the other side.

“you will be getting to know this moat,” said audry, as ian pulled aline, all dripping, up the bank. “this is your third adventure in the moat since you came.”

she then went up and changed her clothes and joined the others in the solar. there she found that father laurence had just arrived. he was looking worn and worried, but a smile lit up his face as aline came in.

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the old man’s hand trembled as he laid it on her head. “you are growing tall, my child; we shall soon see you a woman. i have just arrived with some strange and horrible news, which i have been telling my lord of ochil. you remember old ‘moll o’ the graves,’ aline.”

“yes, father.”

“she’s dead, my child; i saw her a few minutes ago on my way up. she was lying at the foot of the crags.”

aline shuddered.

“we cannot leave the poor creature there,” he continued; “can you let me have a couple of men, master richard, and would you mind her lying here for the night? i will arrange for the funeral to-morrow.”

“certainly,” said master mowbray, and he arose and accompanied father laurence.

twenty minutes later aline and ian were crossing the courtyard and saw the bearers carrying the body on a hurdle into the room below the granary. ian at once drew aline away in another direction, that she should not see the horrible sight. he had caught one glimpse of the face, and it was enough. it was the same as he had seen in his awful vision in the fire,—the terrible grin,—the blood trickling through the teeth. “come away, little one, let us go elsewhere,” he said.

after all was quiet again, thomas carluke walked stealthily across the quadrangle and entered the room where the body lay. a sheet had been placed over it, but he drew it aside. the grin on the face seemed to mock him. “aha!” he said, “you fooled me twice, you old wretch, but you will never do it again. you need not laugh at me like that. i have cleared my score396 with you now. did you not tell me that you would get rid of the child?—and they got her out of the moat. did you not tell me she would be burnt?—and now queen mary is dead and there are no more burnings. you miserable worm, what was the good of your hate? you were no better than andrew, no better than father ambrose. pah! you defied me just now on the crags, did you? well, here you are; and i would do it again. oh, it was so easy,—one little push. ha, you still mock; no, you cannot hurt me,—no, no,” he repeated apprehensively. “you are dead, you cannot come back. i will not believe it. the devil has your soul. but i must go, must go.”

he drew the sheet over the body again and went out. “fool,” he said to himself, “what am i afraid of? fool, i say.”

meanwhile aline was walking with audry through the garden.

“i am glad the horrible old thing is gone,” said audry. “are not you?”

“it seems too dreadful to say so,” aline answered, “but i cannot pretend that i am sorry. she always seemed to me a sort of evil influence, a spirit of discord and hate.”

“yes,” said audry, slipping her arm round aline’s waist, “just as you are the spirit of love.”

“don’t be foolish, audry; besides i do not believe that any one could love everybody.”

“no, but need you hate them? come now, did you hate old moll?”

“i do not know; somehow she seemed too mean, too397 petty and spiteful to hate. you could not fight her exactly. she was not worth fighting, so to speak.”

“but i always felt,” said audry, “that behind the old woman, not in the old woman herself, was a power of evil and hate, a great power that could be fought.”

“oh, yes, quite so. i think there are things to hate. i do not believe in sickly sentiment; but that poor wretched old woman in herself was rather a thing to be pitied than hated, and, now that i come to think of it, i never did meet any one really to hate.”

“what about thomas?”

“that is just a case in point,” said aline. “i despise him, pity him, but one would lose one’s own dignity in hating such a poor thing. now if one could find some one really strong, really great and wicked, one could hate them. but no one of that sort has ever come my way.”

“have you thought of father martin?”

“i did not hate him. i was afraid of him and i did not think him altogether a good man; but in the main he seemed to act up to his lights. father austin, i might have hated, perhaps; but i do not know enough about him. there is some one over there that i love,” she said suddenly, as father laurence appeared at the other end of the garden. “i think he is the best man i have ever seen.”

“better than ian?” asked audry.

“i do not know, and it is impossible for me to say. dear ian. i used to feel that there was something weak about him, but i think i was wrong. the wonderful thing about him is that he is developed on every side. it is true that we have mainly seen the softer398 side and also for a great part of the time he has been ill. but i keep discovering new things in his character. in any case he has a far more difficult position than father laurence. i should think that really it would be a much easier thing to retire from the world like a priest, than to try and make oneself a more complete and fully developed being and remain in the world. and after all, the world would cease to exist if we were all priests and nuns. to live the worldly life is certainly the lowest, and to come out of the world is higher than that; yet i am not sure that there is not something harder and higher still; and i believe ian has done it; but here comes father laurence.”

the children ran to him, and the three walked round the garden together. it was a rare picture, the fine tall figure, slightly bent, with the wonderful spiritual face, an epitome of the glory of age, and the two exquisite children, just approaching the threshold, on the other side of which they would soon reach the mysteries of adult life.

after they had talked for some time audry asked, “how do you suppose, father, that moll met her death?”

“i cannot say, my children; she may have fallen over by accident, but master richard thinks that she threw herself over. you know, little girl, how she hated you,” he said, turning to aline, “and she must have been bitterly chagrined that everything has gone so well with you. perhaps he is right, but let us speak of other things.”

he stopped, and for a time no one said anything at all. then, moved by some motive that he could not explain,399 he went on,—“children, i shall soon have to bid you farewell.”

“oh, why?” they both said in a breath.

“i do not know what prompts me to tell you, mistress aline,” he said.

aline started; it was the first time he had ever addressed her like that; and the old man continued,—“i have not yet said anything to any one else, even of the old faith; and i know, child,” he went on, dropping into the more familiar manner, “that you are not of us; so why i should tell you, a mere child, and a heretic,”—he lingered on the word regretfully,—“i am unable to say. the queen’s grace is minded that there shall be an act of uniformity for this realm and that the prayer book of 1552 shall be re-affirmed. it liketh me not and i shall not subscribe and therefore shall lose my benefice. i had hoped to end my days in middleton, but it cannot be, and i must, if he be willing, take up my abode with my nephew. it will be a sore grief to me after all these years.

“but my work is done and i must not repine. one thing, aline, child, i would say, and that is this,—thou mindest how i have ever told thee that the light must overcome the dark, and so has it been with the machinations of that poor evil woman. so hath it been with you; not that it will be ever so with things temporal, but it will be so in the world of the unseen and eternal. but farewell, my children, and i must go. benedicat vos omnipotens deus, in nomine patris et filii et spiritus sancti. amen.”[30]

[30] may almighty god bless you, in the name of the father, the son, and the holy spirit. amen.

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when he had gone audry said, “how unjust it is that father ambrose will remain and that father laurence should go.”

“how so?” said aline.

“have you not heard; father ambrose hath said that he will subscribe to anything that will keep his place, and he is the very man who persecuted you in the name of the church?”

“what a scoundrel!” said aline. “i had liever see father laurence, the catholic, than father ambrose, the protestant, hold his own, protestant though i be. i must see if the duke may not be able to do something, though he be not of this realm. now that queen elizabeth’s grace hath come to the throne he hath many friends who are right powerful in this land. father laurence is an old man, and will not be long in this life in anywise; methinks it will not be a hard matter.”

“i hope you will succeed,” said audry, “and i shall do my best with master richard that father ambrose be moved, whatever dishonest shifts he may practice.”

they had reached the door that led into the garden. “come, audry, the afternoon is spent and it is time for supper.”