“No, nor like to be,” said Annis. “It is Don Juan de Alameda, brother’s son to Doña Isabel, of whom I writ to thee.”
“Thou wrotest marvellous little to me, Annis,” said Isoult, smilingly.
“Nay, I writ twice in every year, as I promised,” answered she.
“Then know thou,” said Isoult, “that I never had those thy letters, saving two, which were (as I judge) the first thou didst write, and one other, two years gone or more, writ on the 14th day of August.”
“I writ thee three beside them,” answered she. “I suppose they were lost at sea, or maybe they lie in the coffers of the Inquisition. Any way, let them be now. I thank God I am come safe out of that land, where, if any whither, Satan hath his throne.”
“Then,” said Dr Thorpe, who had come in while she was speaking, “he must have two; for I am assured there is one set up at Westminster, nor is he oft away from it.”
Annis passed the rest of the day with Isoult, and Don Juan came in the evening to escort her to the inn where she was staying.
“I must needs allow Don Juan a very proper gentleman, and right fair in his ways; but I would Annis’ husband had been an Englishman. I feel not to trust any Spaniard at all,” said Isoult, after Annis was gone.
“Why,” said Marguerite Rose, “they are like us women. Some of the good ones may be very good; but all the bad ones be very bad indeed.”
Austin Bernher brought full news of the death of Ridley and Latimer. Isoult asked especially “if they had great suffering, and if they abode firm in the truth.”