"I knew nothing of it till then," whispered the priest steadily. "But—"
(A face suddenly blotted out more of the light.)
"Yes?"
"Anthony—I mean Mr. Babington—had spoken to me a great while before—in … in some village inn…. I forget where. It was when I was a lad. He asked whether I would join in some enterprise. He did not say what it was…. But I thought it to be against the Queen of England…. And I would not."…
He closed his eyes again. There had begun a slow heat of pain in ankles and wrists, not wholly unbearable, and a warmth began to spread in his body. A great shudder or two shook him. The voice said something he could not hear. Then a metal rim was pressed to his mouth; and a stream of something at once icy and fiery ran into his mouth and out at the corners. He swallowed once or twice; and his senses came back.
"You do not expect us to believe all that!" came the voice.
"It is the truth, for all that," murmured the priest.
The next question came sudden as a shot fired:
"You were at Fotheringay?"
"Yes."