As Kate stepped within the room, followed by her brother, it was plain from the lighting of her father’s eyes that she was the favourite daughter with him.  He laid his hand lightly on her shoulder, and she stood up close beside him, her bright face upraised, a saucy gleam in her eyes, and both her attitude and bearing bespoke an affectionate confidence between father and child less common in those ceremonious days than it has since become.

“Father, we were talking of Cuthbert.  Did you see him at church today?  He was there both in the morning and the afternoon.”

“I thought I saw him.  I was not sure.  I am glad his father has had the sense to relent thus far with him.”

“But he has not relented,” answered Kate quickly.  “Cuthbert comes in defiance of his commands; and Philip says he misdoubts if his father may not do him some grievous bodily harm in his rage and fury.  Bessie did ask if the King would not interfere to save him;” and then Kate broke off with her rippling, saucy laugh.  “I was just answering that question when you came.  But sure, father, something might be done for him.  It is a cruel thing for a boy to be treated as he is treated, and all for striving to obey the law of the land.”

Sir Richard Trevlyn stood in silent thought awhile.  He was a fine-looking man, with a thoughtful, benevolent countenance, and eyes that Kate had inherited.  He had known something of peril and trouble himself in his day, and could feel for the troubles of others.  But he also knew the difficulties of dealing with such a man as his kinsman Nicholas; and without bringing him to the notice of the authorities as a concealed Papist—­an idea repugnant to him where one of his own name and blood was concerned—­it was difficult to see what could be done for the protection of the hapless Cuthbert and his sister.

Sir Richard Trevlyn did not wish to draw public attention upon himself.  It was his desire to live as quietly and privately as possible.  The Trevlyns had been for many generations a family stanch to the doctrines and traditions of the Church of Rome, and they had won for themselves that kind of reputation which clings tenaciously to certain families even when it has ceased to be a fact.  The present Sir Richard’s father had broken through the traditions of his race in marrying a lady of the Reformed faith.  It was a love match, and all other considerations went to the winds.  The lady was no theologian, and though believing all she had been taught, had no horror of Popery or of her husband’s creed.  They had lived happily together in spite of their respective opinions; but either through the influence of his wife, or through other causes less well understood, Sir Richard the elder in his later life became gradually weaned from the old faith, and embraced that of his wife.  Some said this was done from motives of policy, since Elizabeth was on the throne, and the edicts against Papists, though only rigidly enforced by fits and starts, were always in existence, and had been the ruin of many ancient families.  However that may have been, the only son of this union had been trained up a Protestant, and had brought up his own children as members of the Established Church of the land.