; a pair of beads that had been the property of Mr. Cuthbert Maine, seminary priest, recently executed in Cornwall for his religion; and a kiss-the first deliberate, free-will kiss she had e

n God, and to be patient and submissive with his father in all things that did not touch divine love and faith. The pair of beads that were once Mr. Maine's, he wa

e hall and the buttery and the living-rooms in the midst, with the stables and falconry on the left, and the servants' lodgings on the right; the fourth side, that which lay opposite to the little gate-house, was a wall, with a great double gate in it, hung on stone posts that had, each of them, a great stone dog that held a blank shield. All this later part, the wall with the gate, the stables and the servants' lodgings, as well as the gatehouse without, had been built by the lad's father twenty years ago, to bring home his wife

here," he said. "He c

in th

they are

*

und vent overhead in the roof through which went the smoke and came the rain. The tables stood down the hall, one on either side, with the master's table at the da?s end set cross-ways. It was not a great hall, though that was its name; it ran perhaps forty feet by twenty. I

complexion and a high look in his face, but a little pale, too, with study, for he was learned beyond his years and read all the books that he could lay hand to. It was said even that his own verses, and a prose-lament he had written upon the Death of a Hound, were read with pleasure in London by the lords and gentlemen. It was as long ago a

e, lad," sai

adley, sir.... G

ic would play, if there was music to be had; or a scholar would read from a book for awhile at the beginning, from the holy gospe

t potatoes; and last of all a florentine which he ate with a cup of Canarian. He ate heartily and quickly, while the two waited for him and nibbled at marchpane. Then, when the doors were flung open and the troop of servants came in to their supper, Mr. Audrey blessed himself, and for them, too; and they

country fashion, and were sitting each with his glass beside him. (Through the door behind ca

r," said the boy. "Mr. M

ers had a

g swifter than her hus

al things in Mr. Anthony's company, for he had a quick and a gay wit, and talked enough for five. Robin knew very well what was the matter; it was what lay upon his own heart as heavy as lead; but he was sorry that the signs of it should be so evident, and wondered what he should say to his friend Anthony when the time came for telling; since Anthony was as ardent for the old Faith as any in the la

ny himself opened on a matte

Herbert that his uncle would be let out ag

as the Catholics were named) put in prison for their faith, but fined for it as wel

to Norbury?"

ney for her ships and her men, and for her pursuivants to catch us all

d, pursing up his lips a

l no more,

s in his mind. He knew it must be said; yet he feared its saying, and

Scots," he said. "Have

ur of a common man. He was furious for the Old Faith, furious against the new; he dreamed of wars and gallantry and splendour; you could see it even in his dress, in his furred doublet, the embroideries at his throat, his silver-hilted rapier, as well as in his port and countenance: and the burning heart of all his images, the mirror on earth of Mary in heaven, the emblem of his piety,

the boy's face, and a look came u

as if he pronounced t

rd of her.... She is

dored her the more. He leaned back now, shading his eyes from the candles upon the table, and began to sing his love and his queen. He told of new insults that had been put upon her, new deprivations of what was left to her of liberty; he did not speak now of Elizabeth by name, since a fountain, even of talk, should not give out at once sweet water and bitter; but he spoke of the day when Mary should come herself to the throne of England, and take that which was already hers; when the night should ro

d up. Then he stoo

riding, sir

to the latten bell that sto

orse," said Robin suddenly, f

d Anthony, as he drew on hi

*

little hall where peace now reigned, except for the clatter of the boys who took away the dishes; and the night wa

Anthony was still aglow with his own talk. Then, as the servant who waited for his master,

l you," he said softly.

E

n to wait wit

g, and went on across the grass, and out through the open iron gate that gave upon the woods. He dared not say what he had to say within the precincts of the house, for fear he should be overheard and the shame know

a fool could see that the news was to

t as well as the prudent way. Yet now black shame had come on him-the black shame that any who was a Catholic should turn from his faith; blacker, that he should so turn without even a touch of the rack or the threat of it; blackest of all, that

, breathing so heavily

Rob; tell

ew a lon

y father was si

es

that you will tell no one what you will h

" whispered Antho

ddering breath. Anthony could hea

t Easter. He is tired of paying fines, he says. And h

as dead

some day; so I told her, but no one else. She has bidden me to leave Matstead for E

ed suddenly

... no! It is

never known my father

*

re or a-hunting, but it chimed in with the desolation of their hearts so as to seem but a part of it. So the two stood in silence. The house was quiet now, and most of those within it upon their beds. Only, as the two knew, there still sat in silence within the little wainscoted parlour, with his head on his hand and a glass of