‘Mr. Erin—— ‘ began William Henry.
‘Why not call me “father,” Samuel?’ put in the old man, gently; if it was the sense of favours to come that moved him, it was at least a deep and genuine sense of them. Margaret’s fair face glowed with pleasure.
‘I have often heard you say, father, that you wished above all things to discover what were, in reality, Shakespeare’s religious convictions.’
The antiquary nodded assent, but said nothing; the intensity of expectation, indeed, precluded speech; the perspiration came out upon his forehead.
‘It distressed you, I know, to believe it possible—as, indeed, the language used by the Ghost in “Hamlet” would seem to imply, that he was of the Catholic persuasion. In the profession of faith found at Stratford—— ‘
‘Spurious,’ put in Mr. Erin, mechanically; ‘that fool, Malone, believed in it, nobody else.’
This was not quite in accordance with fact; for many months the whole Shakespearean world had admitted its authenticity.
‘If it had been true, however, it would have offended your sense of the fitness of things.’
‘No doubt; still we must take things as they really were.’