So, then, it was with her.  There was no drawing back now, even had she wished it.  And she wished it indeed, though she did not will it; she knew that she must stand in her place, now more than ever, when the blow had fallen so near.  Now more than ever must she be discreet and resolute, since Padley itself was fallen, in effect, if not in fact; and Booth’s Edge, in this valley at least, was the one hope of hunted men.  She must stand, then, in her place; she must plot and conspire and scheme; she must govern her face and her manner more perfectly than ever, for the sake of that tremendous Cause.

As she lay there, listening to her friend’s breathing in the darkness, staring now at the doors of the press, now at the baggage that lay heaped ready for the early start, these and a thousand other thoughts passed before her.  It was a long plot that had ended in this:  it must have reached its maturity weeks ago; the decision to strike must have been reached before even Squire Audrey had given her the warning—­for it was only by chance that she had met him and he had told her....  And he, too, Robin’s father, would be in the midst of it all; he, too, that was a Catholic by baptism, must sit with the other magistrates and threaten and cajole as the manner was; and quiet Derby would be all astir; and the Bassetts would be there, and Mr. Fenton, to see how their friend fared in the dock; and the crowds would gather to see the prisoner brought out, and the hunt would be up.  And she herself, she, too, must be there with the tearful little wife, who could do so little....

Thank God Robin was safe in Rheims!...

III

Derby was, indeed, astir as they rode in, with the servants and the baggage following behind, on the late afternoon of the next day.  They had ridden by easy stages, halting at Dethick for dinner, where the Babingtons’ house already hummed with dismay at the news that had come from Derby last night.  Mr. Anthony was away, and all seemed distracted.

They rode in by the North road, seeing for the last mile or two of their ride the towering spire of All Saints’ Church high above the smoke of the houses; they passed the old bridge half a mile from the market-place, near the ancient camp; and even here overheard a sentence or two from a couple of fellows that were leaning on the parapet, that told them what was the talk of the town.  It was plain that others besides the Catholics understood the taking of Mr. Thomas FitzHerbert to be a very significant matter.

Babington House stood on the further side of the market-place from that on which they entered, and Alice was for going there through side streets.

“They will take notice if we go straight through,” she said.  “It is cheese-market to-day.”

“They will take notice in any case,” said Marjorie.  “It will be over the town to-morrow that Mistress Babington is here, and it is best, therefore, to come openly, as if without fear.”