“Eh! come in, mistress.  The master saw you ride into town.  He is in the upstairs parlour, with Mr. Bassett.”

The girl nodded to her bodyguard, and followed the old woman in.  She bowed as she passed the lawyer’s confidential clerk and servant, Mr. George Beaton, in the passage—­a big man, with whom she had had communications more than once on Popish affairs.

Mr. John Biddell, like Marjorie’s own father and his partner, was one of those quiet folks who live through storms without attracting attention from the elements, yet without the sacrifice of principle.  He was a Catholic, and never pretended to be anything else; but he was so little and so harmless that no man ever troubled him.  He pleaded before the magistrates unobtrusively and deftly; and would have appeared before her Grace herself or the Lord of Hell with the same timid and respectful air, in his iron-rimmed spectacles, his speckless dark suit, and his little black cap drawn down to his ears.  He had communicated with Marjorie again and again in the last two or three years on the subject of wandering priests, calling them “gentlemen,” with the greatest care, and allowing no indiscreet word ever to appear in his letters, He remembered King Harry, whom he had seen once in a visit of his to London; he had assisted the legal authorities considerably in the restoration under Queen Mary; and he had soundlessly acquiesced in the changes again under Elizabeth—­so far, at least, as mere law was concerned.

Mr. William Bassett was a very different man.  First he was the brother-in-law of Sir Thomas FitzHerbert himself; and was entirely of the proper spirit to mate with that fearless family.  He had considerable estates, both at Langley and Blore, in both of which places he cheerfully evaded the new laws, maintaining and helping priests in all directions; a man, in fact, of an ardent and boisterous faith which he extended (so the report ran) even to magic and astrology; a man of means, too, in spite of his frequent fines for recusancy, and aged about fifty years old at this time, with a high colour in his face and bright, merry eyes.  Marjorie had spoken with him once or twice only.

These two men, then, first turned round in their chairs, and then stood up to salute Marjorie, as she came into the upstairs parlour.  It was a somewhat dark room, panelled where there was space for it between the books, and with two windows looking out on to the square.

“I thought we should see you soon,” said the attorney.  “We saw you come, mistress; and the fellows that cried out on you.”

“They had their deserts,” said Marjorie, smiling.

Mr. Bassett laughed aloud.

“Indeed they did,” he said in his deep, pleasant voice.  “There were two of them with bloody noses before all was done....  You have come for the news, I suppose, mistress?”

He eyed her genially and approvingly.  He had heard a great deal of this young lady in the last three or four years; and wished there were more of her kind.