talking to
Anthony, was suddenly silent and lifted his hand as if to check the
conversation a moment.

"I saw them myself," said Sir Richard's voice just behind.

"What is it?" whispered Anthony.

"The Catholics," answered the steward.

"They were taken in Newman's Court, off Cheapside," went on the voice,
"nearly thirty, with one of their priests, at mass, in his trinkets
too--Oldham his name is."

There was a sudden crash of a chair fallen backwards, and Anthony was
standing by the officer.

"I beg your pardon, Sir Richard Barkley," he said;--and a dead silence
fell in the hall.--"But is that the name of the priest that was taken
yesterday?"

Sir Richard looked astonished at the apparent insolence of this young
official.

"Yes, sir," he said shortly.

"Then, then,----" began Anthony; but stopped; bowed low to the Archbishop
and went straight out of the hall.

* * * *

Mr. Scot was waiting for him in the hall when he returned late that
night. Anthony's face was white and distracted; he came in and stood by
the fire, and stared at him with a dazed air.

"You are to come to his Grace," said the steward, looking at him in
silence.

Anthony nodded without speaking, and turned away.

"Then you cannot tell me anything?" said Mr. Scot. The other shook his
head impatiently, and walked towards the inner door.

The Archbishop was sincerely shocked at the sight of his young officer,
as he came in and stood before the table, staring with bewildered eyes,
with his dress splashed and disordered, and his hands still holding the
whip and gloves. He made him sit down at once, and after Anthony had
drunk a glass of wine, he made him tell his story and what he had done
that day.

He had been to the Marshalsea; it was true Mr. Oldham was there, and had
been examined. Mr. Young had conducted it.--The house at Newman's Court
was guarded: the house behind Bow Church was barred and shut up, and the
people seemed gone away.--He could not get a word through to Mr. Oldham,
though he had tried heavy bribery.--And that was all.

Anthony spoke with the same dazed air, in short broken sentences; but
became more himself as the wine and the fire warmed him; and by the time
he had finished he had recovered himself enough to entreat the Archbishop
to help him.

"It is useless," said the old man. "What can I do? I have no power.
And--and he is a popish priest! How can I interfere?"