“And why has neither my father nor my Uncle Bassett come to see me?” snapped the man.

“They have tried again and again, sir,” said Marjorie.  “But permission was refused.  They will no doubt try again, now that Mrs. FitzHerbert has been admitted.”

He paced up and down again for a few steps without speaking.  Then again he turned on her, and she could see his face working uncontrolledly.

“And they will enjoy the estates, they think, while I rot here!”

“Oh, my Thomas!” moaned his wife, reaching out to him.  But he paid no attention to her.

“While I rot here!” he cried again.  “But I will not!  I tell you I will not!”

“Yes, sir?” said Marjorie gently, suddenly aware that her heart had begun to beat swiftly.

He glanced at her, and his face changed a little.

“I will not,” he murmured.  “I must break out of my prison.  Only their accursed—­”

Again he interrupted himself, biting sharply on his lip.

* * * * *

For an instant the girl had thought that all her old distrust of him was justified, and that he contemplated in some way the making of terms that would be disgraceful to a Catholic.  But what terms could these be?  He was a FitzHerbert; there was no evading his own blood; and he was the victim chosen by the Council to answer for the rest.  Nothing, then, except the denial of his faith—­a formal and deliberate apostasy—­could serve him; and to think that of the nephew of old Sir Thomas, and the son of John, was inconceivable.  There seemed no way out; the torment of this prison must be borne.  She only wished he could have borne it more manfully.

It seemed, as she watched him, that some other train of thought had fastened upon him.  His wife had begun again her lamentations, bewailing his cell and his clothes, and his loss of liberty, asking him whether he were not ill, whether he had food enough to eat; and he hardly answered her or glanced at her, except once when he remembered to tell her that a good gift to the gaoler would mean a little better food, and perhaps more light for himself.  And then he resumed his pacing; and, three or four times as he turned, the girl caught his eyes fixed on hers for one instant.  She wondered what was in his mind to say.

Even as she wondered there came a single loud rap upon the door, and then she heard the key turning.  He wheeled round, and seemed to come to a determination.

“My dearest,” he said to his wife, “here is the gaoler come to turn you out again.  I will ask him—­” He broke off as the man stepped in.

“Mr. Gaoler,” he said, “my wife would speak alone with you a moment.”  (He nodded and winked at his wife, as if to tell her that this was the time to give him the money.)

“Will you leave Mistress Manners here for a minute or two while my wife speaks with you in the passage?”

Then Marjorie understood that she had been right.