er than she had feared it would be. There was a
strong undercurrent of excitement in her heart, flushing her cheeks and
sparkling in her eyes; yet never for one moment was she even tempted to
forget that he was now vowed to God. It seemed to her as if she talked
with him in the spirit of that place where there is neither marrying nor
giving in marriage. Those two years of quiet in the north, occupied,
even more than she recognised, in the rearranging of her relations with
the memory of this young man, had done their work. She still kindled at
his presence; but it was at the presence of one who had undertaken an
adventure that destroyed altogether her old relations with him.... She
was enkindled even more by the sense of her own security; and, as she
looked at him, by the sense of his security too. Robin was gone; here,
instead, was young Mr. Audrey, seminary student, who even in a court of
law could swear before God that he was not a priest, nor had been
"ordained beyond the seas."

So they sat and exchanged news. She told him of the rumours of his
father that had come to her from time to time; he would be a magistrate
yet, it was said, so hot was his loyalty. Even her Grace, it was
reported, had vowed she wished she had a thousand such country gentlemen
on whose faithfulness she could depend. And Robin gave her news of the
seminary, of the hours of rising and sleeping, of the sports there; of
the confessors for the faith who came and went; of Dr. Allen. He told
her, too, of Mr. Garlick and Mr. Ludlam; he often had talked with them
of Derbyshire, he said. It was very peaceful and very stirring, too, to
sit here in the lighted parlour, and hear and give the news; while the
company, gathered round Anthony and Father Campion, talked in low
voices, and Mistress Babington, placid, watched them and listened. He
showed her, too, Mr. Maine's beads which she had given him so long ago,
hung in a little packet round his neck.

* * * * *

More than once, as they talked, Marjorie found herself looking at Mr.
Ballard, or, as he was called here, Captain Fortescue. It was he who
seemed the leader of the troop; and, indeed, as Robin told her in a
whisper, that was what he was. He came and went frequently, he said; his
manner and his carriage were reassuring to the suspicious; he appeared,
perhaps, the last man in the world to be a priest. He was a big man, as
has been said; and he had a frank assured way