"Perhaps it will be set down to the curiosity of my sex if I venture to ask whom this high-souled gentleman is supposed to have put out of the way."
God gave sarcasm to woman in place of sinewy fists. Poor Romney felt his heart pommelled, but being in the right and knowing it, he kept his temper.
"I'll tell thee as if thou hadst asked more kindly."
The shot told, for it was deserved.
"Sir Christopher Neville was accused of killing a Jesuit priest,—one of those who dwell at St. Inigo's. The evidence against him was strong, and Giles Brent credited it, though he had great liking for Neville. But his sister is much under the influence of 'those of the Hill,' as the Jesuits are called, and thou thyself, Mother, dost know how much that order is to be trusted."
Cleverly aimed again, Romney! He knew that his mother had come to the greatest griefs of her life through the machinations of a follower of St. Ignatius; already she weakened a little, though her face did not betray it.
"But why was it necessary that thou shouldst be caught in the toils? Neither deed nor charge was any affair of thine. What was it all to thee?"
"What was it to my father when thou wert in trouble yonder in James City?"
Elizabeth Huntoon trembled.
"Oh, Romney, is it gone so far, in one little fortnight? Remember thy father had known and loved me for years."