"I know that much at all events, and so do you, because Father William preached from it only last Sunday."
"I did not hear the sermon," replied Anne. "I was praying in our Lady's Chapel. It would be well, brother, if you prayed more and minded sermons less."
"And I cannot but think, sister, that it would be well for you, not perhaps to pray less, but to seek instruction more."
"I seek instruction where sound teaching is to be found," said Anne, coloring. "I do not run after novelties and novelty-mongers like Father William."
"You have no right to speak in that way of Father William," said Jack, coloring in his turn. "But we will let that pass. One of two things I am sure of," he added, fixing his eyes upon Anne; "either you think I have wronged you or that you have wronged me. Which is it?"
Anne's color grew yet deeper and then faded to paleness. She dropped her eyes, but did not speak.
"Anne, did you tell Father Barnaby that I was curious about heretical books?" asked Jack.
"That is no affair of yours," replied Anne, trying to speak in her usual tone, though she trembled visibly. "My confessions are between my confessor and myself."
"In faith, it is my affair, and is like to be an affair of moment, if your confessions are such as may bring me to the stake," returned Jack. "Father Barnaby may be your confessor, but he is not mine; and you have no right to talk of my affairs to him."
Anne grew paler and paler. She sat silent for a moment, and then whispered, "I could not help it."