are bowed him down, and fear, rage, jealousy, and wounded
pride gnawed unceasingly at his heart. He knew that he was a suspected
person: his neighbours shunned him; many of his servants and
dependants, by sidelong looks and spying ways, showed that they
mistrusted him. Within a week of the time when Father Jerome and his
two lieutenants quartered themselves upon him, the young master of Dean
Tower went about with pale face and bowed head, ashamed to meet the
eyes of a passer-by; and all the time wild anger surged up in his
heart, equally against those whose tool he was and against those who
stepped aside with a shrug to let him pass. He suffered all the
agonies that come upon weak natures that fall into temptation or
succumb to evil influences. He dreaded the power of the Church of
Rome; he shivered as he thought of the terrors of England's laws
against traitors. He loved his country in a way, and he was proud of
her; yet, having done nothing to merit the applause of his
fellow-countrymen, he was maliciously envious of those who had risen to
emergencies, or deliberately planned great deeds, and thus won
themselves fame. He loved Mistress Dorothy, and he felt that, if she
would only love him, he could be brave and noble; yet he hated the
easy-going, simple-hearted Johnnie Morgan, who had made himself a
popular idol, and was marked out by the gossips as the fittest and
properest husband for pretty Mistress Dawe. Master Windybank could not
help but admire the valiant admiral, and he remembered how he had
flushed with pleasure when Drake had taken him by the hand on the
occasion of their introduction. He hated and feared Father Jerome: but
he was aiding his schemes, and endeavouring to frustrate those of the
gallant sailor whom he honoured.

As the days wore on, unceasing fears began to torture him. Did any one
know of his treason? One aged servitor only had been admitted into the
secret of the unwelcome guests in the Tower, and the honest veteran had
gone straightway upon his knees and besought his young master to cast
them out. Of the Romish faith himself, he would have no hand in plots
against his lawful Queen, and no truckling to the cruel bigot who sat
upon the throne of Spain. But love of his master brought him into the
snare, and made him an unwilling tool of the conspirators. Both fear
and affection lead men to belie their better selves.

After a month of what was almost seclusion, Andrew Windybank det