these things had brought the hearts of the faithful very low.  Mr. John himself had had an untroubled time since his return a little before Easter; but he had taken the precaution not to remain too long at Padley at one time; he had visited his other estates at Swynnerton and elsewhere, and had even been back again at Langley.  But there had been no hint of any pursuit.  Padley had remained untouched; the men went about their farm business; the housekeeper peered from her windows, without a glimpse of armed men such as had terrified the household on Candlemas day.

It was only last night, indeed, that the master had returned, in time to meet the two priests who had asked for shelter for a day or two.  They had stayed here before continually, as well as at Booth’s Edge, during their travels, both in the master’s absence and when he was at home.  There were a couple of rooms kept vacant always for “men of God”; and all priests who came were instructed, of course (in case of necessity), as to the hiding-holes that Mr. Owen had contrived a few years before.  Never, however, had there been any use made of them.

* * * * *

It was a hot July afternoon when the two priests were met to-day by Mr. John outside the arched gate that ran between the hall and the buttery.  They had already dined at a farm a few miles down the valley, but they were taken round the house at once to the walled garden, where drink and food were set out.  Here their dusty boots were pulled off; they laid aside their hats, and were presently at their ease again.

They were plain men, these two; though Mr. Garlick had been educated at Oxford, and, before his going to Rheims, had been schoolmaster at Tideswell.  In appearance he was a breezy sunburnt man, with very little of the clerk about him, and devoted to outdoor sports (which was something of a disguise to him since he could talk hawking and riding in mixed company with a real knowledge of the facts).  He spoke in a loud voice with a strong Derbyshire accent, which he had never lost and now deliberately used.  Mr. Ludlam looked far more of the priest:  he was a clean-shaven man, of middle-age, with hair turning to grey on his temples, and with a very pleasant disarming smile; he spoke very little, but listened with an interested and attentive air.  Both were, of course, dressed in the usual riding costume of gentlemen, and used good horses.

It was exceedingly good to sit here, with the breeze from over the moors coming down on them, with cool drink before them, and the prospect of a secure day, at any rate, in this stronghold.  Their host, too, was contented and serene, and said so, frankly.

“I am more at peace, gentlemen,” he said, “than I have been for the past five years.  My son is in gaol yet; and I am proud that he should be there, since my eldest son—­” (he broke off a moment).  “And I think the worst of the storm is over.  Her Grace is busying herself with other matters.”