"Relent! It is well known that he careth little for religion. How can he, seeing the life he lives? It is said by those who know him best, that he favours the Papist religion more than any other, and would bring it back if he could. His mother hath a host of intriguing priests from Rome with her every day; these priests are treated like great nobles, and the king allows it—nay, smiles upon it. I have been told that Charles Stuart doth not believe in our Lord Christ at all, and calls himself a Deist. Such is the state of religion. People live for carnal pleasures, while the virtue of maidens is laughed at as an idle tale."
Conversation like this I heard again and again during the next few months, and I judged from all that came to me from the outside world that it was true. Meanwhile the prison became more and more crowded with Nonconformists. Men, women, and even children were packed in this evil-smelling place, and as far as I could discover their only crime was that they desired to pray and to preach according to the dictates of their conscience.
Meanwhile, I learnt no more concerning Constance. I asked many questions, but no man could give me an answer except that the king regarded her with favour.
Not once did my father visit me, at the which I wondered greatly, for I knew that he loved me, and would not willingly allow me to remain here to die like a rat in a hole as I was like to do. One day, however, after I had been a long time here, my heart gave a great leap, for I heard his voice speaking to a gaoler, and shortly after we were alone together.
"I grieve much for you, Roland," he said presently, "and yet it is your own fault."
"My own fault, father?"
"Ay, your own fault."
"Why, what have I done?" I asked.
"You have opposed the king's will," he replied; "you have used your information like a fool."
"But perchance you do not know all that hath taken place," I said; "you do not know what the king would have had me do?"