"Fear it? Why, I tell you, we hold them so." (He stretched out his lean, young hand, and clenched the long fingers slowly together.) "We have them by the throat. You will be glad enough to profit by it, when Mary reigns. What is there to fear?"
"I do not know; I am uneasy. But that is not to the purpose. I tell you it is forbidden by God's—"
"Uneasy! Fear it! Why, tell me what there is to fear? What hole can you find anywhere?"
"I do not know. I hardly know the tale yet. But it seems to me there might be a hundred."
"Tell me one of them, then."
Anthony threw himself back with an indulgent smile on his face.
"Why, if you will have it," said Robin, roused by the contempt, "there is one great hole in this. All hangs upon Gifford's word, as it seems to me. You have not spoken with Mary; you have not even her own hand on it."
"Bah! Why, her Grace of the Scots cannot write in cypher, do you think?"
"I do not know how that may be. It may be so. But I say that all hangs upon Gifford."
"And you think Gifford can be a liar and a knave!" sneered Anthony.