down there in Derby; the Squire and his lady of Ashenden Hall; the Conways of Matlock; and the rest—­these had all changed; and though he did not respect them for it, yet the truth was that they were not yet stricken by thunderbolts or eaten by the plague.  He had wondered whether there were not a way to do as they had done, yet without the disgrace of it....  However, this was plainly not to be so with him.  He must put up with the inconveniences as well as he could, and he just waited to hear from Marjorie how this must be done.

She turned to him again at last.  Twice her lips opened to speak, and twice she closed them again.  Robin continued to stroke her hand and wait for judgment.  The third time she spoke.

“I think you must go away,” she said, “for Easter.  Tell your father that you cannot change your religion simply because he tells you so.  I do not see what else is to be done.  He will think, perhaps, that if you have a little time to think you will come over to him.  Well, that is not so, but it may make it easier for him to believe it for a while....  You must go somewhere where there is a priest....  Where can you go?”

Robin considered.

“I could go to Dethick,” he said.

“That is not far enough away, I think.”

“I could come here,” he suggested artfully.

A smile lit in her eyes, shone in her mouth, and passed again into seriousness.

“That is scarcely a mile further,” she said.  “We must think....  Will he be very angry, Robin?”

Robin smiled grimly.

“I have never withstood him in a great affair,” he said.  “He is angry enough over little things.”

“Poor Robin!”

“Oh! he is not unjust to me.  He is a good father to me.”

“That makes it all the sadder,” she said.

“And there is no other way?” he asked presently.

She glanced at him.

“Unless you would withstand him to the face.  Would you do that, Robin?”

“I will do anything you tell me,” he said simply.

“You darling!...  Well, Robin, listen to me.  It is very plain that sooner or later you will have to withstand him.  You cannot go away every time there is communion at Matstead, or, indeed, every Sunday.  Your father would have to pay the fines for you, I have no doubt, unless you went away altogether.  But I think you had better go away for this time.  He will almost expect it, I think.  At first he will think that you will yield to him; and then, little by little (unless God’s grace brings himself back to the Faith), he will learn to understand that you will not.  But it will be easier for him that way; and he will have time to think what to do with you, too....  Robin, what would you do if you went away?”

Robin considered again.

“I can read and write,” he said.  “I am a Latinist:  I can train falcons and hounds and break horses.  I do not know if there is anything else that I can do.”