sooner
speak against the faith than against good Christians; and then he flamed
up scarlet, and I saw I had touched him; and then my father got scarlet
too, and my mother looked at me, and my father told me to leave the table
for an insolent puppy; and I knocked over my chair and stamped out--and
oh! Mistress Isabel, I came straight here."

And he flung down astride of a chair with his arms on the back, and
dropped his head on to them.

It would have been difficult for Hubert, even if he had been very clever
indeed, to have made any speech which would have touched Isabel more than
this. There was the subtle suggestion that he had defended the
Protestants for her sake; and there was the open defence of her father,
and defiance of the priests whom she feared and distrusted; there was a
warm generosity and frankness running through it all; and lastly, there
was the sweet flattering implication that he had come to her to be
understood and quieted and comforted.

Then, when she tried to show her disapproval of his quick temper, and had
succeeded in showing a poorly disguised sympathy instead, he had flung
away again, saying that she had brought him to his senses as usual, and
that he would ask the priest's pardon for his insolence at once; and
Isabel was left standing and looking at the fire, fearing that she was
being wooed, and yet not certain, though she loved it. And then, too,
there was the secret hope that it might be through her that he might
escape from his superstitions, and--and then--and she closed her eyes and
bit her lip for joy and terror.

She did not know that a few weeks later Hubert had an interview with his
father, of which she was the occasion. Lady Maxwell had gone to her
husband after a good deal of thought and anxiety, and told him what she
feared; asking him to say a word to Hubert. Sir Nicholas had been
startled and furious. It was all the lad's conceit, he said; he had no
real heart at all; he only flattered his vanity in making love; he had no
love for his parents or his faith, and so on. She took his old hand in
her own and held it while she spoke.

"Sweetheart," she said, "how old were you when you used to come riding to
Overfield? I forget." And there came peace into his angry, puzzled old
eyes, and a gleam of humour.

"Mistress," he said, "you have not forgotten." For he had been just
eighteen, too. And he took her face in his hands delicately, and kissed
her on the lips.

"Well, well