“Eh, my masters!” continued Dr Thorpe very sadly, “when I was born, seventy-one years gone, the Wars of the Roses were scantly over. I have heard my father tell what they were. Trust me, rather than go through such a time again, I would be on my knees to God to spare it unto us,—ay, night and day.”
“But in case no devise of the succession were made,” said John, “the Lady Mary’s Grace should follow without gainsaying, I take it.”
“Not without gainsaying,” answered Mr Rose. “My Lord of Northumberland knoweth full well that he could not reign under her as he hath done under King Edward. Remember, she is no child, but a woman; ay, and a woman taught by suffering also.”
“And every Lutheran in the kingdom would gather round him,” added Mr Underhill.
“Round John Dudley?” cried Dr Thorpe. “Hang me if I would!”
“Saving your mastership,” said Mr Underhill, laughing, and making him a low bow.
“And every Papist would go with the Lady Mary,” said John. “It were an hard choice for us. How think you? Which way should the Gospellers go?”
“Which way?” cried Mr Underhill, flaring up. “Why, the right way! With the right heir of England, and none other!”
“I asked not you, Ned Underhill,” answered John, smiling. “I know your horse, and how hard you ride him. I wished to question Rose and Holland.”
Mr Rose did not answer immediately. Mr Holland said, “It were an hard case; yet methinks Mr Underhill hath the right. Nothing can make right wrong, I take it, neither wrong to be right.”