new cisterns. But what
I meant was that it grieved me that any should hold such men in
reprobation, or should betray them into the hands of their enemies,
should they be in any peril."

"It is what we are bidden to do sometimes," spoke Arthur gravely.

"I know; but I could not do it. I should shrink from any man who
could obey such a mandate as that."

He looked at her long and earnestly, then he turned and took her
hands in his, and stood facing her for a while in silence.

"And what would you do for the man who should, instead of
betraying, warn, such conspirators of their peril, should he know
that they stood in need of warning?"

She thrilled somewhat beneath his touch. There seemed a purpose in
his words. The colour rose in her face.

"I should look upon him as a friend. I should call him noble. I
should put my trust in him. Our Lord has promised His blessing to
the merciful. Surely He would count that an act of mercy which
should save those in peril from the hands of their foes."

She spoke with great earnestness and with kindling eyes. His clasp
upon her hands tightened.

"And what reward would you give to such a man?" he asked; but then,
seeming, as it were, to feel shame for these words, he added
hastily, "It is thus, sweet lady, with me. Mine uncle is the
proctor in Oxford--proctor for the south. Through him I ofttimes
glean news unknown to other students. If I should hear of any peril
menacing those who hold these new opinions, for which you, I can
see, have such tenderness, I will not fail to warn them of it. If I
know, they shall know likewise. Will that satisfy you?"

"It will," she answered, with a glance that thrilled him to his
heart's core. "I thank you from my soul."

Chapter VI: For Love and the Faith

"Yes, Anthony, I love thee, and one day I will be thy wife!"

The words seemed to set themselves to joyous music in the ears of
Anthony Dalaber as he hastened homeward through the miry and
darkening streets towards his lodging in St. Alban Hall. He trod on
air. He regarded neither the drizzling rain overhead nor the mire
and dirt of the unpaved streets.

He had come from Dr. Langton's house. He had heard Freda pronounce
these words, which made her all his own. For some months he had
been feeding on hope. He knew that she loved him up to a certain
point. But until today she had never openly declared herself. Today
he had ventured to plead his cause with a new fervour, and she ha