ly men whom you
would have sworn to be country gentlemen or yeomen living on their
estates or farms and fearing to look no man in the face. It was this
latter kind, thought Robin, that was best suited to such a life--to
riding all day through north-country storms, to lodging hardily where
they best could, to living such a desperate enterprise as a priest's
life then was, with prices upon their heads and spies everywhere. It was
not a life for quiet persons like Mr. Simpson, who, surely, would be
better at his books in some college abroad, offering the Holy Sacrifice
in peace and security, and praying for adventurers more hardy than
himself. Yet here was Mr. Simpson just set out upon such an adventure,
of his own free-will and choice, with no compulsion save that of God's
grace.

* * * * *

There was yet more than an hour before supper-time when he rode into the
court at last; and Dick Sampson, his own groom, came to take his horse
from him.

"The master's not been from home to-day, sir," said Dick when Robin
asked of his father.

"Not been from home?"

"No, sir--not out of the house, except that he was walking in the
pleasaunce half an hour ago."

Robin ran up the steps and through the screens to see if his father was
still there; but the little walled garden, so far as he could see it in
the light from the hall windows, was empty; and, indeed, it would be
strange for any man to walk in such a place at such an hour. He
wondered, too, to hear that his father had not been from home; for on
all days, except he were ill, he would be about the estate, here and
there. As he came back to the screens he heard a step going up and down
in the hall, and on looking in met his father face to face. The old man
had his hat on his head, but no cloak on his shoulders, though even with
the fire the place was cold. It was plain that he had been walking up
and down to warm himself. Robin could not make out his face very well,
as he stood with his back to a torch.

"Where have you been, my lad?"

"I went to meet Anthony at one of the Dethick farms, sir--John
Merton's."

"You met no one else?"

"Yes, sir; Mr. Thomas FitzHerbert was there and dined with us. He rode
with us, too, a little way." And then as he was on the point of speaking
of the priest, he stopped himself; and in an instant knew that never
again must he speak of a priest to his father; his father had already
lost his right to that.