The second letter gave some account of the life lived in Rheims—­was a real boy’s letter—­and this was more difficult to treat with discretion.  It related that studies occupied a certain part of the day; that “prayers” were held at such and such times, and that the sports consisted chiefly of a game called “Cat.”

So with the eight or nine that followed.  The third and fourth were bolder, and spoke of certain definitely Catholic practices—­of prayers for the conversion of England, and of mass said on certain days for the same intention.  It seemed as if the writer had grown confident in his place of security.  But later, again, his caution returned to him, and he spoke in terms so veiled that even Marjorie could scarcely understand him.  Yet, on the whole, the letters, if they had fallen into hostile hands, would have done no irreparable injury; they would only have indicated that a Catholic living abroad, in some unnamed university or college, was writing an account of his life to a Catholic named Mistress Marjorie Manners, living in England.

* * * * *

When the girl had finished her explaining, it was evident that there was no longer any need for Anthony to take them with him.  He said so.

“Ah! but take them, if you will,” cried the girl.

“It would be better not.  You have them safe here.  And—­”

Marjorie flushed.  She felt that her ruse had been too plain.

“I would sooner you took them,” she said.  “You can read them at your leisure.”

So he accepted, and slipped them into his breast with what seemed to the girl a lamentable carelessness.  Then he stood up.

“I must go,” he said.  “And I have never asked after Mistress Manners.”

“She is abed,” said the girl.  “She has been there this past month now.”

She went with him to the door, for it was not until then that she was courageous enough to speak as she had determined.

“Mr. Babington,” she said suddenly.

He turned.

“I have been thinking while we talked,” she said.  “You think my coming to London would be of real service?”

“I think so.  It would be good for you to meet these priests before they—­”

“Then I will come, if my mother gives me leave.  When will you go?”

“We should be riding in not less than a week from now.  But, mistress—­”

“No, I have thought of it.  I will come—­if my mother gives me leave.”

He nodded briskly and brightly.  He loved courage, and he understood that this decision of hers had required courage.

“Then my sister shall come for you, and—­”

“No, Mr. Babington, there is no need.  We shall start from Derby?”

“Why, yes.”

“Then my maid and I will ride down there and sleep at the inn, and be ready for you on the day that you appoint.”

* * * * *