became
known in that underworld of the north, which finds no record in history,
as a safe place for folks in trouble for their faith. For one whole
month in the summer there had been a visitor at the house--a cousin of
old Mr. Manners, it was understood; and, except for the Catholics in
the place, not a soul knew him for a priest, against whom the hue and
cry still raged in York.

Derbyshire, indeed, had done well for the old Religion. Man after man
went in these years southwards and was heard of no more, till there came
back one day a gentleman riding alone, or with his servant; and it
became known that one more Derbyshire man was come again to his own
place to minister to God's people. Mr. Ralph Sherwine was one of them;
Mr. Christopher Buxton another; and Mr. Ludlam and Mr. Garlick, it was
rumoured, would not be long now.... And there had been a wonderful
cessation of trouble, too. Not a priest had suffered since the two, the
news of whose death she had heard two years ago.

* * * * *

Marjorie, then, sitting quiet over the fire that burned now all the
winter in her mother's room, was thinking over these things.

She had had more news from London from time to time, sent on to her
chiefly by Mr. Babington, though none had come to her since the summer,
and she had singled out in particular all that bore upon Father Campion.
There was no doubt that the hunt was hotter every month; yet he seemed
to bear a charmed life. Once he had escaped, she had heard, through the
quick wit of a servant-maid, who had pushed him suddenly into a
horse-pond, as the officers actually came in sight, so that he came out
all mud and water-weed; and had been jeered at for a clumsy lover by the
very men who were on his trail.... Marjorie smiled to herself as she
nursed her knee over the fire, and remembered his gaiety and sharpness.

Robin, too, was never very far from her thoughts. In some manner she put
the two together in her mind. She wondered whether they would ever
travel together. It was her hope that her old friend might become
another Campion himself some day.

A log rolled from its place in the fire, scattering sparks. She stooped
to put it back, glancing first at the bed to see if her mother were
disturbed; and, as she sat back again, she heard the blowing of a horse
and a man's voice, fierce and low, from beyond the windows, bidding the
beast hold himself up.

She was accustomed now to such arr