dly do that," answered Philip; "the hard thing
being to find the way."

"We shall find it anon, I doubt not," answered Kate. "Things cannot
go on ever as they are now."

"No; methinks one day we may chance to hear that the old Papist has
done his son to death in a fit of blind fury. Then perhaps, my
sister, thou wilt join with me in wishing that the lad had shown
more regard for his stern sire's word."

"Nay, Philip, sure thou fearest too much," spoke Cecilia from her
station beside the window. "Nicholas Trevlyn may be a dark and sour
man, but he scarce would lift a hand against his own flesh and
blood! I cannot believe it of any father."

"Fathers of his type have done as bad ere now," answered Philip,
with gravity, "and there is no bigot like the Papist bigot, who is
soured and embittered by persecution himself. Cuthbert has told me
things ere this which show what an iron soul his father's is. He
believes that he would wring the neck of little Petronella sooner
than see her turn out of the path of unreasoning Papistry in which
he has brought her up," and Philip's face darkened suddenly as he
turned it towards his sisters.

"But sure the King would protect them if he knew," said Bessie, the
youngest of the sisters. "Why, the law bids all loyal subjects go
to church, and punishes those who stay away. The King would be
sorely angry, would he not, were he to hear that any man dared use
force to hinder his children from going."

Kate's delicate lips curved into a smile of derision, and Philip
shrugged his broad shoulders.

"The King, my dear Bessie, is naught but a miserable pedant, who
loves nothing so well as hearing himself talk, and prating by the
hour together on matters of law and religion, and on the divine
right of kings. He is not the King such as England has been wont to
know--a King to whom his subjects might gain access to plead his
protection and ask his aid. I trow none but a fool would strive to
win a smile from the Scottish James. He is scarce a man, by all we
hear, let alone a King. I sometimes think scorn of us as a nation
that we so gladly and peaceably put our necks beneath the sceptre
of such an atomy. Sure had the Lady Arabella but been a man, we
should scarce have welcomed so gladly this son of Mary Stuart as
our monarch."

"Have a care, my children, and talk not rank treason in such open
fashion," said a deep voice behind them, and the daughters started
to see the tall form of their fath