suspecting La Fosse's duplicity, he gave him
legal right to place his property as hostage also. The child was to
remain at the convent, unless England preferred to have her under
their own _regime_. La Fosse was sure Sir John would never again be
free and could never, of course, claim his lands. He went so far as
to make sure--as sure as was in his power--that Penwick should not be
released. He, being a man of shrewdness, at once manipulated affairs
without the knowledge of his sovereign or the higher powers about him.
In a very short time these possessions were built upon by the Jesuits,
who, through La Fosse, claimed all right and title. But La Fosse was
forgetful. He never gave the babe a second thought, it being of no
consequence whatever. It would, no doubt, sicken and die without a
mother's care. He was aware of its whereabouts, but even that in time
was forgotten, his mind being occupied by more pertinent thoughts.
This was a great victory for the Catholics, whose lands had been
confiscated in England, and La Fosse felt he had dealt a master stroke
for his religion. But no mortal man can equal Time as an adept in
chicanery. He brings forth truths unheard of or dreamt by poor
humanity.

Years went by and La Fosse was suspicioned. At the first smell of
smoke, La Fosse fled. No one knew whither. He escaped, however, to
the monastery upon Lord Cedric's estates. The sudden appearance of
Mistress Penwick at the monastery was believed to be a direct answer
to their prayers. When, too, it was found without a doubt she was Sir
John's daughter, they felt she belonged to them to do with as they
pleased, so all things were accomplished for the benefit of the only
divine church. Their rights in the New World were now being meddled
with and this God-send was to give them, with her own hand, all right
and title to the property in question.

Sir John had vaguely heard while in prison of Jean La Fosse's
duplicity, and at once sought to save his daughter from his hands by
sending her to his old friend, Lord Cedric of Crandlemar. He, angry at
himself for being so duped, and heartbroken at his loss of property,
knew of nothing else to do but call upon his Lordship for his child's
protection; yet he was too proud to tell him why these calamities
had come upon him. Indeed, any man would take him for a fool for so
trusting another. He had been ill when writing those letters. He never
expected to arise from bed again and thought 'twas