I

It was strange to Robin to walk about the City, and to view all that he saw from his new interior position.  The last time that he had been in his own country on that short visit with “Captain Fortescue,” he had been innocent in the eyes of the law, or, at least, no more guilty than any one of the hundreds of young men who, in spite of the regulations, were sent abroad to finish their education amid Catholic surroundings.  Now, however, his very presence was an offence:  he had broken every law framed expressly against such cases as his; he had studied abroad, he had been “ordained beyond the seas”; he had read his mass in his own bedchamber; he had, practically, received a confession; and it was his fixed and firm intention to “reconcile” as many of “her Grace’s subjects” as possible to the “Roman See.”  And, to tell the truth, he found pleasure in the sheer adventure of it, as would every young man of spirit; and he wore his fine clothes, clinked his sword, and cocked his secular hat with delight.

The burden of what he had heard still was heavy on him.  It was true that in a manner inconceivable to any but a priest it lay apart altogether from his common consciousness:  he had talked freely enough to Mr. Charnoc and the rest; he could not, even by a momentary lapse, allow what he knew to colour even the thoughts by which he dealt with men in ordinary life; for though it was true that no confession had been made, yet it was in virtue of his priesthood that he had been told so much.  Yet there were moments when he walked alone, with nothing else to distract him, when the cloud came down again; and there were moments, too, in spite of himself, when his heart beat with another emotion, when he pictured what might not be five years hence, if Elizabeth were taken out of the way and Mary reigned in her stead.  He knew from his father how swiftly and enthusiastically the old Faith had come back with Mary Tudor after the winter of Edward’s reign.  And if, as some estimated, a third of England were still convincedly Catholic, and perhaps not more than one twentieth convincedly Protestant, might not Mary Stuart, with her charm, accomplish more even than Mary Tudor with her lack of it?

* * * * *

He saw many fine sights during the three or four days after his coming to London; for he had to wait there at least that time, until a party that was expected from the north should arrive with news of where he was to go.  These were the instructions he had had from Rheims.  So he walked freely abroad during these days to see the sights; and even ventured to pay a visit to Fathers Garnett and Southwell, two Jesuits that arrived a month ago, and were for the present lodging in my Lord Vaux’s house in Hackney.

He was astonished at Father Southwell’s youthfulness.

This priest had landed but a short while before, and, for the present, was remaining quietly in the edge of London with the older man; for himself was scarcely twenty-five years old, and looked twenty at the most.  He was very quiet and sedate, with a face of almost feminine delicacy, and passed a good deal of his leisure, as the old lord told Robin, in writing verses.  He appeared a strangely fine instrument for such heavy work as was a priest’s.