was still Elizabeth Westley, but had thought little or nothing
of her since. She was a pale little creature, fair-haired and timorous,
and had now a hunted look of misery in her eyes that was very piteous to
see. It was plain they had done right in coming: this woman would be of
little service to her husband.

Then when Alice had said a word or two, Marjorie began her questions.

"Tell me," she said gently, "had you no warning of this?"

The girl shook her head.

"Not beyond that which came from yourself," she said; "and we never
thought--"

"Hath Mr. Thomas had any priests with him lately?"

"We have not had one at Norbury for the last six months, whilst we were
there, at least. My husband said it was better not, and that there was a
plenty of places for them to go to."

"And you have not heard mass during that time?"

The girl looked at her with tear-stained eyes.

"No," she said. "But why do you ask that? My husband says--"

"And when was the first you heard of Topcliffe? And what have you heard
of him?"

The other's face fell into lines of misery.

"I have heard he is the greatest devil her Grace uses. He hath authority
to question priests and others in his own house. He hath a rack there
that he boasts makes all others as Christmas toys. My husband--"

Marjorie patted her arm gently.

"There! there!" she said kindly. "Your husband is not in Topcliffe's
house. There will be no question of that. He is here in his own county,
and--"

"But that will not save him!" cried the girl. "Why--"

"Tell me" interrupted Marjorie, "was Topcliffe with the men that took
Mr. Thomas?"

The other shook her head.

"No; I heard he was not. He was come from London yesterday morning. That
was the first I heard of him."

Then Alice began again to soothe her gently, to tell her that her
husband was in no great danger as yet, that he was well known for his
loyalty, and to do her best to answer the girl's pitiful questions. And
Marjorie sat back and considered.

Marjorie had a remarkable knowledge of the methods of the Government,
gathered from the almost endless stories she had heard from travelling
priests and others; it was her business, too, to know them. Two or three
things, therefore, if the girl's account was correct, were plain. First,
that this was a concerted plan, and not a mere chance arrest. Mr.
Audrey's message to her showed so much, and the circumstances of
Topcliffe's arrival confirmed it. Next, it m