there to fear?"

"I do not know; I am uneasy. But that is not to the purpose. I tell you
it is forbidden by God's--"

"Uneasy! Fear it! Why, tell me what there is to fear? What hole can you
find anywhere?"

"I do not know. I hardly know the tale yet. But it seems to me there
might be a hundred."

"Tell me one of them, then."

Anthony threw himself back with an indulgent smile on his face.

"Why, if you will have it," said Robin, roused by the contempt, "there
is one great hole in this. All hangs upon Gifford's word, as it seems to
me. You have not spoken with Mary; you have not even her own hand on
it."

"Bah! Why, her Grace of the Scots cannot write in cypher, do you think?"

"I do not know how that may be. It may be so. But I say that all hangs
upon Gifford."

"And you think Gifford can be a liar and a knave!" sneered Anthony.

"I have not one word against him," said the priest. "But neither had I
against Thomas FitzHerbert; and you know what has befallen--"

Anthony snorted with disdain.

"Put your finger through another hole," he said.

"Well--I like not the comfort that Mr. Secretary Walsingham has given
you. You told me a while ago that Ballard was on the eve of going to
France. Now Walsingham is no fool. I would to God he were! He has laid
enough of our men by the heels already."

"By God!" cried Anthony, roused again. "I would not willingly call you
a fool either, my man! But do you not understand that Walsingham
believes me as loyal as himself? Here have I been at court for the last
year, bowing before her Grace, and never a word said to me on my
religion. And here is Walsingham has bidden me to lodge in his house, in
the midst of all his spider's webs. Do you think he would do that if--"

"I think he might have done so," said Robin slowly.

Anthony sprang to his feet.

"My Robin," he said, "you were right enough when you said you would not
join with us. You were not made for this work. You would see an enemy in
your own father--"

He stopped confounded.

Robin smiled drearily.

"I have seen one in him," he said.

Anthony clapped him on the shoulder, not unkindly.

"Forgive me, my Robin. I did not think what I said. Well; we will leave
it at that. And you would not give me absolution?"

The priest shook his head.

"Then give me your blessing," said Anthony, dropping on his knees. "And
so we will close up the _quasi-sigillum confessionis_."

III

It was a heavy-hearted priest