Spence, of course, was absolutely forbidden to set foot again over the
threshold of the inn. Penny was kept under strict surveillance until her
father was able to carry her off to a sister of his own in distant
Lancashire, who could be depended upon to prevent any communication
between the lovers. The Pikes--poor people--though absolutely innocent
of any complicity, since they knew no more of what was going on than
Stephen himself, were made to share in Spence's interdict. No assurances
of their total ignorance of the affair would avail; the fact that Pike
had been the unfortunate instrument in introducing his comrade to the
Dale family was in itself sufficient to kindle Stephen's wrath against
him. To add to the sergeant's discomfiture, he could not forget that in
his admiration for his "chum" he had been unstinting in his praises; for
he had a genuine affectionate regard for Spence, as a thoroughly upright
young fellow, and a striking contrast to the majority of the Protestants
with whom he was daily brought into contact.

The unhappy Penny, placed under her aunt's vigilant guardianship, was
inconsolable. She languished and drooped, during the first week or two
of her exile, as though her usually firm will had died within her. So
utterly broken did she seem that her aunt began to lose all hope of
rousing her to any interest in life; apparently she was submitting in a
spirit of blank despair to a fate which she regarded as inevitable. But
soon a change came over her. Though still quiet and seemingly docile,
she gained by degrees some vestiges of her old cheerfulness and gaiety.
Her guardian's watchfulness inadvertently relaxed, for it appeared no
longer necessary.

But the unfortunate woman had a sad awakening. One morning the girl went
out alone--ostensibly to Mass; the day wore on, and to her aunt's
consternation no Penny put in an appearance. An explanation arrived next