“We would all gladly do that,” answered Philip; “the hard thing being to find the way.”

“We shall find it anon, I doubt not,” answered Kate.  “Things cannot go on ever as they are now.”

“No; methinks one day we may chance to hear that the old Papist has done his son to death in a fit of blind fury.  Then perhaps, my sister, thou wilt join with me in wishing that the lad had shown more regard for his stern sire’s word.”

“Nay, Philip, sure thou fearest too much,” spoke Cecilia from her station beside the window.  “Nicholas Trevlyn may be a dark and sour man, but he scarce would lift a hand against his own flesh and blood!  I cannot believe it of any father.”

“Fathers of his type have done as bad ere now,” answered Philip, with gravity, “and there is no bigot like the Papist bigot, who is soured and embittered by persecution himself.  Cuthbert has told me things ere this which show what an iron soul his father’s is.  He believes that he would wring the neck of little Petronella sooner than see her turn out of the path of unreasoning Papistry in which he has brought her up,” and Philip’s face darkened suddenly as he turned it towards his sisters.

“But sure the King would protect them if he knew,” said Bessie, the youngest of the sisters.  “Why, the law bids all loyal subjects go to church, and punishes those who stay away.  The King would be sorely angry, would he not, were he to hear that any man dared use force to hinder his children from going.”

Kate’s delicate lips curved into a smile of derision, and Philip shrugged his broad shoulders.

“The King, my dear Bessie, is naught but a miserable pedant, who loves nothing so well as hearing himself talk, and prating by the hour together on matters of law and religion, and on the divine right of kings.  He is not the King such as England has been wont to know—­a King to whom his subjects might gain access to plead his protection and ask his aid.  I trow none but a fool would strive to win a smile from the Scottish James.  He is scarce a man, by all we hear, let alone a King.  I sometimes think scorn of us as a nation that we so gladly and peaceably put our necks beneath the sceptre of such an atomy.  Sure had the Lady Arabella but been a man, we should scarce have welcomed so gladly this son of Mary Stuart as our monarch.”

“Have a care, my children, and talk not rank treason in such open fashion,” said a deep voice behind them, and the daughters started to see the tall form of their father in the room behind them.  “We Trevlyns are none too safe from suspicion that we need endanger ourselves wilfully.  Whatever else James Stuart may be, he has shown that he means to be a monarch as absolute as any who have gone before him.  Wherefore it behoves us to be cautious even in the sanctuary of this peaceful home.

“What is the matter, Kate, that thou art thus scornful towards his majesty?  In what has he offended thee, my saucy princess?”