“True?”

“Listen,” cried the other suddenly, “and tell me what you would have done.  Mr. Sutton was taken, and was banished, and came back again, as any worthy priest would do.  Then he was taken again, and condemned.  I did my utmost to save him, but I could not.  Then, as I would never have any part in the death of a priest for his religion, another was appointed to carry the execution through.  Three days before news was brought to me by a private hand that Mr. Sutton had promised to give the names of priests whom he knew, and of houses where he had said mass, and I know not what else; and it was said to me that I might on this account stay the execution until he had told all that he could.  Now I knew that I could not save his life altogether; that was forfeited and there could be no forgiveness.  All that I might do was to respite him for a little—­and for what?  That he might damn his own soul eternally and bring a great number of good men into trouble and peril of death for themselves.  I sent the messenger away again, and said that I would listen to no such tales.  And Mr. Sutton died like a good priest three days after, repenting, I doubt not, bitterly, of the weakness into which he had fallen.  Now, sir, what would you have done in my place?”

He wagged his face fiercely from side to side.

Mr. John put his hand over his eyes and nodded without speaking.  Robin sat silent:  it was not only for priests, it seemed, that life presented a tangle.

II

The evening before the two left for the north again, Mr. Bassett took them both into his own study.  It was a little room opening out of his bedroom, and was more full of books than Robin had ever seen, except in the library at Rheims, in any room in the world.  A shelf ran round the room, high on the wall, and was piled with manuscripts to the ceiling.  Beneath, the book-shelves that ran nearly round the room were packed with volumes, and a number more lay on the table and even in the corners.

“This is my own privy chamber,” said Mr. Bassett to the priest.  “My other friends have seen it many a time, but I thought I would show it to your Reverence, too.”

Robin looked round him in wonder:  he had no idea that his host was a man of such learning.

“All the books are ranged in their proper places,” went on the other.  “I could put my finger on any of them blind-fold.  But this is the shelf I wished you to see.”

He took him to one that was behind the door, holding up the candle that he might see.  The shelf had a box or two on it, besides books, and these he opened and set on the table.  Robin looked in, as he was told, but could understand nothing that he saw:  in one was a round ball of crystal on a little gold stand, wrapped round in velvet; in another some kind of a machine with wheels; in a third, some dried substances, as of herbs, tied together with silk.  He inspected them gravely, but was not invited to touch them.  Then his host touched him on the breast with one finger, and recoiled, smiling.