"That is what I have come for," said Marjorie. "We have Mrs. Thomas over at Babington House."
"She'll be of no great service to her husband," said the other. "She cries and laments too much. Now—"
He stopped himself from paying his compliments. It seemed to him that this woman, with her fearless, resolute face, would do very well without them.
Then he set himself to relate the tale.
It seemed that little Mrs. Thomas had given a true enough report. It was true that Topcliffe had arrived from London on the morning of the arrest; and Mistress Manners was perfectly right in her opinion that this signified a good deal. But, it seemed to Mr. Bassett, the Council had made a great mistake in striking at the FitzHerberts. The quarry was too strong, he said, for such birds as the Government used—too strong and too many. For, first, no FitzHerbert had ever yet yielded in his allegiance either to the Church or to the Queen's Grace; and it was not likely that Mr. Thomas would begin: and, next, if one yielded (suadente diabolo, and Deus avertat!) a dozen more would spring up. But the position was serious for all that, said Mr. Bassett (and Mr. Biddell nodded assent), for who would deal with the estates and make suitable arrangements if the heir, who already largely controlled them, were laid by the heels? But that the largeness of the undertaking was recognised by the Council, was plain enough, in that no less a man than Topcliffe (Mr. Bassett spat on the floor as he named him), Topcliffe, "the devil possessed by worse devils," was sent down to take charge of the matter.
Marjorie listened carefully.
"You have no fear for yourself, sir?" she asked presently, as the man sat back in his chair.
Mr. Bassett smiled broadly, showing his strong white teeth between the iron-grey hair that fringed his lips.
"No; I have no fear," he said. "I have a score of my men quartered in the town."
"And the trial? When will that—"