"You must find a way out of it," she reiterated firmly.
He shrugged his shoulders, and said drily:
"Fair Mistress, you may as well ask me to reconcile the Pope of Rome and all the hierarchy of the Catholic Church to the idea of flouting the sacrament of marriage, by declaring that its bonds are no longer indissoluble. The past few centuries have taught us that in Rome they are none too ready to do that."
"I was not thinking of such vast schemes," said Julia in tones as dry as his had been. "I was not thinking either of corrupting the Roman Church, or of persuading one of her adherents to rebel against her. My lord of Stowmaries has already explained to me," she continued with bitter sarcasm, "that against the Pope's decision there would be no appeal—he himself would not wish to appeal against it. His love for me is apparently not so boundless as I had fondly imagined, its limits meseems are traced in Rome. He has given me to understand that his wife's people—those—those tailors of Paris—actually hold a promise from the Pope that a command will be issued ordering that their daughter be installed and acknowledged as Countess of Stowmaries and that without any undue delay. Failing which, excommunication for my lord, scandal, disgrace. Bah! I know not!—these Romanists are servile under such tyranny—and we know that not only the Duke of York, but the king himself is at one with the Catholics just now. No—no—no—that sort of thing is not to be thought on, Cousin, but there are other ways—"
Her eyes, restless, searching, half-fearful, tried to fix the glance of his own. But his shifted uneasily, now responding to her questioning look, anon trying to avoid it, as if dreading to comprehend.
"Other ways, other ways!" he muttered; "of a truth there are many such—but none of which you, fair Cousin, would care to take the risk."
"How do you know that?" she retorted. "There are no risks which I would not run, in order to free the man I love from the trammels of an undesired marriage."
Cousin John said nothing in reply. His eyes, still furtive in expression, were no longer restless. They were fixed upon the beautiful face before him, the luminous eyes, the daintily-curved mouth, the rounded chin—a transparent and exquisite mask which scarcely concealed now the strange and tortuous thoughts which chased one another behind that white brow, smooth as that of a child.
She held his gaze, willing that he should read those thoughts, wishing him to divine them; in fact, to save her the humiliation of framing them into words. But as he seemed disinclined to speak, she reiterated with slow and deliberate emphasis: