“Ne crede principibus,” said the stranger, “is no more worthy of acceptance than ne crede feminis.”

“Chosen friend of my soul, sworn brother of my heart,” exclaimed the Knight, “I conjure thee to tell me what thou knowest or dost suspect of these mysterious circumstances.”

“Thou hast borne, beloved friend, a cross, whereof thou knewest not.  You were betrayed, like him whose name you bear even in the house of your friends.”

“A light begins to dawn upon my mind.  And Sister Celestina—­”

“Aye, Sister Celestina, or, as she must now be called, the Abbess of St. Idlewhim, was the traitress.  Yet, why call I her so?  She did but obey her vow.”

“May it please thee, Albert, to be more explicit?”

“Know, then,” said the stranger, “that it was in consequence of representations from Sister Celestina thou wast recalled.”

“How knowest thou this to be true?”

“Ask me not, for that I dare not reveal; but I swear, by the bones of Loyola, and by our mutual friendship, that it is the sincere truth.  Father ——­ (I will not breathe his name, he added, looking cautiously around,) loves thee not.  Thou wert in his way, and he had thee removed from England.  He is strong now and fears thee no longer, and has had thee sent ignominiously home, seizing hold of the idle suspicions of a woman as a pretext.”

“I see now,” said the Knight, “reasons for her conduct, which at the time seemed inexplicable.  But what reported Celestina to him?”

“Recollect you your offer to join the congregation?”

“It was but a stratagem.”

“But so could she not understand it.  Besides, she mistrusted thine intimacy with Winthrop, and his influence over thee.”

“I loved the man for his gracious qualities, heretic though he be; but he never influenced me.”

“The intense zeal of Celestina, guided only by her womanly instincts, was unable to comprehend thy feeling.  She communicated her suspicions to the Father, and it was his pleasure to receive them as truths and act accordingly.  It was the father who wrote the letters, signing thereto feigned names, and charging thee with crimes as feigned.  It was he who, to avert suspicion from our order (for news had come that the jealousy of the prick-ear’d heretics was aroused, and that they were on sharp look-out for Catholics,) hesitated not to slander the Sister, his own confidential agent, trusting, by the magnitude and foulness of the charges, so to fill the minds of your judges, that other surmises would be thrust out, and thus the ground be preserved for further operations.”

“I understand,” said the Knight, “that my successor has departed.”

“He has gone.  Sister Celestina, in her elevation, forgets her temporary humiliation, and Sir Christopher Gardiner—­”

“Is the victim of a woman’s suspicions and of a monk’s policy.  Albert, I thank thee; my mind is now at ease, and I shall no longer beat the air in vain attempts to discover my accusers; unsubstantial figments of the Father’s imagination.  But why told you me not on my arrival in London, when I did so eagerly search for the infamous varlets who had attempted to attaint my honor, and when vain, of course, were my exertions?”