letter in her hand. Isabel called to her; and the old nun came
down the steps into the garden. Why did she walk so falteringly, the girl
wondered, as if she could not see? What was it? What was it?

Isabel rose to her feet, startled, as the nun with bent head came up the
path. "What is it, Mistress Margaret?"

The other tried to smile at her, but her lips were trembling too much;
and the girl saw that her eyes were brimming with tears. She put the
letter into her hand.

Isabel lifted it in an agony of suspense; and saw her name, in Hubert's
handwriting.

"What is it?" she said again, white to the lips.

The old lady as she turned away glanced at her; and Isabel saw that her
face was all twitching with the effort to keep back her tears. The girl
had never seen her like that before, even at Sir Nicholas' death. Was
there anything, she wondered as she looked, worse than death? But she was
too dazed by the sight to speak, and Mistress Margaret went slowly back
to the house unquestioned.

Isabel turned the letter over once or twice; and then sat down and opened
it. It was all in Hubert's sprawling handwriting, and was dated from
Plymouth.

It gave her news first about the squadron; saying how Don Antonio had
left London for Plymouth, and was expected daily; and then followed this
paragraph:

"And now, dearest Isabel, I have such good news to give you. _I have
turned Protestant_; and there is no reason why we should not be married
as soon as I return. I know this will make you happy to think that our
religions are no longer different. I have thought of this so long; but
would not tell you before for fear of disappointing you. Sir Francis
Drake's religion seems to me the best; it is the religion of all the
'sea-dogs' as they name us; and of the Queen's Grace, and it will be soon
of all England; and more than all it is the religion of my dearest
mistress and love. I do not, of course, know very much of it as yet; but
good Mr. Collins here has shown me the superstitions of Popery; and I
hope now to be justified by faith without works as the gospel teaches. I
fear that my mother and aunt will be much distressed by this news; I have
written, too, to tell them of it. You must comfort them, dear love; and
perhaps some day they, too, will see as we do." Then followed a few
messages, and loving phrases, and the letter ended.

Isabel laid it down beside her on the low stone wall; and looked round
her with eyes that saw nothi