ow, disappeared towards the stable.

"Why that's Chris Hatton--whom the Queen calls her sheep, and he's as
silly as one, too, with his fool's face and his bleat and his great eyes.
He trots about after her Grace, too, like a pet lamb. Bah! I'm sick of
him. That's enough of the ass; tell me about Isabel."

Then they fell to talking about Isabel; and Mary eyed him as he answered
her questions.

"Then she isn't a Papist, yet?" she asked.

Anthony's face showed such consternation that she burst out laughing.

"There, there, there!" she cried. "No harm's done. Then that tall lad,
who was away last time I was there--well, I suppose he's not turned
Protestant?"

Anthony's face was still more bewildered.

"Why, my dear lad," she said, "where are your eyes?"

"Mistress Corbet," he burst out at last, "I do not know what you mean.
Hubert has been in Durham for years. There is no talk----" and he
stopped.

Mary's face became sedate again.

"Well, well," she said, "I always was a tattler. It seems I am wrong
again. Forgive me, Master Anthony."

Anthony was indeed astonished at her fantastic idea. Of course he knew
that Hubert had once been fond of Isabel, but that was years ago, when
they had been all children together. Why, he reflected, he too had been
foolish once--and he blushed a little.

Then they went on to talk of Great Keynes, Sir Nicholas, and Mr.
Stewart's arrest and death; and Mary asked Anthony to excuse her interest
in such matters, but Papistry had always been her religion, and what
could a poor girl do but believe what she was taught? Then they went on
to speak of more recent affairs, and Mary made him describe to her his
life at Lambeth, and everything he did from the moment he got up to the
moment he went to bed again; and whether the Archbishop was a kind
master, and how long they spent at prayers, and how many courses they had
at dinner; and Anthony grew more and more animated and confidential--she
was so friendly and interested and pretty, as she leaned towards him and
questioned and listened, and the faint scent of violet from her dress
awakened his old memories of her.

And then at last she approached the subject on which she had chiefly
wished to see him--which was that he should speak to the steward at
Lambeth on behalf of a young man who was to be dismissed, it seemed, from
the Archbishop's service, because his sister had lately turned Papist and
fled to a convent abroad. It was a small matt