"But he was a priest!" said I.
My uncle smiled. "Read your Bible from beginning to end, child, and if you can find one word which makes it unlawful for a priest to marry, I give you free leave to call my Katherine by the worst name you can think of."
Somehow these words did seem like a gleam of light on a dark night; but I had no time to dwell on them just now.
"And Avice—?"
"Avice is a widow, or so we fear!" said he. "She married a good man, a merchant, and rich in this world's goods. His business took him to Madrid a year ago, and we have never heard of him since. Avice hopes still, and will hope to the end of her days, I think, but I fear she will never see her husband again till meets him where the wicked cease from troubling."
"And yourself, dear uncle? We heard that you had lost much through the treachery of an agent."
"Ay, and came near losing mine own life also, but I escaped and got safe to Rotterdam, where the family joined me after awhile. I cannot guess how it is that Master Davis hath received none of my letters, save that letters are so very uncertain. I am not so rich as when I was in London, yet have I enough to make myself and my family comfortable. But now tell me of yourself and how you have fared all these long years, and why we never heard from you. Ah, my child, I have had many a bitter draught prepared for me by mine own hasty temper, but never a worse than I brewed for myself when I put my brother's orphan child into such hands."
"They were kind hands enough, dear uncle, and, save that they kept your letters from me, I have naught whereof to blame them," said I, and with that I gave him a short history of my life up to the present time.
"And you think your master and mistress would be willing to have you return with me, if it could be contrived?" said he.
"I am sure of it!" I answered. "His Grace said he wished he could send me to you."