It was with immense relief that we saw that Kirkwell was still with us.

My father came riding over to Featherston Manor. He was clearly worried.

"Is it true?" he demanded. "I heard they have taken Sir Harold to London."

"He is now in the jail at Bridgwater awaiting removal to London," said Kirkwell.

"This is a monstrous thing."

"The Popish Plot is a monstrous plot."

"Surely people are not such fools as to think your father—"

"People do not think. Titus Gates has them on leading strings."

"But Father Greville is an old man. He would not harm a fly. There is no justice."

"None with such as Titus Gates. Nevertheless, I shall go to London. I must do what I can to save our father."

"There is nothing you can do," said my father.

"It is just possible that I may be able to do something."

"It is well to keep away."

"I could not do that."

Christobel said: "If you go, I shall go with you."

"I will come too," I said.

My father looked at me in amazement.

I looked steadily at him and said: "I must be with Christobel and Kirkwell at such a time."

I thought he was going to forbid me to go, but he did not. He seemed rather pleased in a way. He said: "It is a grievous thing that has come upon us. Why does this man do it? It is to call attention to himself, I'll swear. He is the most talked-of man in England. He is given money for his pains."

"Why does not the King see that he is exposed for what he is?" cried Christobel.

"The King is cautious. He never forgets that his father lost not only his kingdom but his head. Our King Charles is determined that shall not happen to him. He knows the people's feeling. It could take little to bring about division in the kingdom such as we knew before. We have rid ourselves of the Puritans. We have had the Restoration of the monarchy and right glad the people were to have it back after years of Puritan rule. But the King is wise. Many times I have heard him say he will not go wandering again. He knows the people listen to Titus Oates. What do you think would happen if the fellow were piit where he deserves to be? Riots, of a surety. It is the warring religions that are at the root of it. The majority of Englishmen and -women are determined never to have a Catholic monarch on the throne again, but the King has no legitimate heir. There is only the Duke of Monmouth, the firmest Protestant of all, and he is only the King's natural son. But the people are afraid of Catholic James, the heir to the throne. There is a protest against him at this very moment."

"And what of our father?" asked Kirk well.

There was silence.

Then Kirkwell went on: "I must be near him. There may be something I can do. There may be someone who could help. Someone in court circles ..."

He was looking at my father, who, after a moment's hesitation, said: "There is little I or anyone can do. I could speak to someone highly placed—Stafford, Arundel, Buckingham, perhaps even the King himself. But, as I say, this is not a matter of reason. The people at this time believe Titus Oates because they want to. They are afraid that when the King dies the Catholic Duke of York will be King. They want to keep the Catholics from the throne of England and they support this tale of Catholic plots."

"You make it sound as though there is little hope."

"Once a man is accused by Titus Oates there is little hope."

"Oh, our poor father. You see, he will do nothing to save himself. So I must do all I can."

"I will come to London with you," said my father. "If it is possible to do anything, that shall be done."

It was agreed that they would go to London, and as I desperately wanted to go with them, my father said that, if my ankle was well enough, I could go.

It was a somber journey.

We had seen Father Greville and Sir Harold leave Bridgwater as traitors, and we all knew that there was but the flimsiest hope of our being able to do anything to save them.

Christobel and I went to Maggie. It was certainly a pleasure to see her again, and for a moment I tried to forget the dismal reason for our coming. Maggie could not hide her pleasure in seeing me, but naturally she deplored the reason which had brought us. Kirkwell stayed at my father's lodgings and it seemed that it would not be long before the fate of Father Greville and Sir Harold would be decided.

Maggie wanted to hear how I was faring at Somerset, and I gave her an account of the Dower House and Mistress Longton; she nodded appreciatively, and talking of it made me stop brooding, if only briefly, on the fate of those poor old men who we now knew had been taken to the Tower and, like all the victims of Titus Oates, were being accused of treason.

Christobel and Kirkwell were seeing some friends they knew in London who they felt might have some influence, and I believed my father was doing all he could.

That left me with Maggie, and she talked to me just as she used to in the past. Alas, on this occasion the talk centered round Titus Oates, but that was because, as I quickly realized, that man seemed to have taken possession of the town and he was the most dominant figure in London.

"I believe him to be a wicked man," said Maggie, "and that is more than I dare say to anyone else. There are some who would call you Papist and have you in the Tower for saying as much. But how does a man sleep in his bed at night when through him wives have lost their husbands, husbands their wives and little children their parents? And all for the sake of religion. They do say that what he wants to be rid of is the Queen and that is one of the main reasons for his actions."

"But why?" I asked. "I thought she was a kind and gentle lady."

"Oh, she is, she is. But she is also a Catholic. They're looking at her household. Mark me, they'll be having some of her household brought up, but it is the Queen they are after."

"They could not harm her. The King would not allow that."

" 'Tis the old story. We need a Queen that can get boys. And when you think of the King's bastards ... ! Why, I could name ten and I reckon there are more; yet she cannot get one. It is as though God is making a mock of kings, bringing home to them who is above them all. Oh, to see the airs and graces that man Oates gives himself! I have to seal up my lips or I'd not be able to stop the words coming from them."

"Why does he do it?" Martha asked.

"Why indeed? Look at him. He was nobody but a short while ago, and here he is, strutting round like the king of the realm. 'Tis dangerous. Oh, we live in dangerous days, I tell you. And that poor man ..."

"I saw him, Maggie. He thought of nothing but his religion. And now these ..."

"They say the King would stop it if he dared. But you see, there is his brother. He is one of them. The King wants to go on his easy way ... and how can he with all this going on?"

"What is going to happen to Christobel's father?"

She was silent for a moment. Then she said: "He is of noble birth. It will be the axe for him."

"And poor Father Greville?"

"Pray let us not talk of it."

"Do you think my father can save them? He will try, I believe. He does not like this any more than you do."

"It will be a miracle if anyone can save them."

"Poor Christobel! Poor Kirkwell."

"Why do they do this? Why do they have to let everyone know? If they want to be on the side of the Pope, why not do it behind closed doors? I expect the Duke of York has at least one chapel. Why must they tell everyone?"

"I suppose they would think it was dishonest to pretend."

"So they let forth a bag of trouble and bring misery to thousands for the sake of being honest," cried Maggie. "I'd rather see a little dishonesty myself."

I agreed with her.

Then she changed the subject and wanted to know if I had met Lady Rosslyn, and what she thought of my being at the Dower House.

I could not say, but I imagined she would not be very happy about it.

"Like the poor Queen. There is another. And like the Queen, doubtless Lady Rosslyn must turn a blind eye to her husband's tricks."

"It is very sad for them both. I wonder how they can be so cruel ... the King and my father."

"It is the nature of men. I doubt either of them could turn themselves into a faithful husband ...no, not for a brood of sons."

"I should not care to be the wife of such a man."

"Then you must choose well. The handsome rake with the honeyed tongue is not for you. Your father must find you a good and honest man who knows the true values in life."

"Are there such?"

"Mayhap a few."

And so we talked while waiting for news.

It came. Among the last of those to be executed for treason were Father Greville and Sir Harold Carew.

There was very little delay in these matters. The streets were thronged with people come to see the deaths of those men condemned as traitors and discovered through the zealous work of their hero Titus Oates. We sat together, Christobel and I, with Maggie beside us. In our minds we were out there with the crowd. I could picture them so clearly, heads held high, perhaps clasping their crucifixes as they faced death, proud to die for their faith. I could picture the crafty face of Titus Oates, though I had never seen it. Wicked ... he must be wicked ... laughing to himself as the head of another victim fell.

And poor Father Greville ... whose only crime was to be a Catholic priest.

Christobel's face was distorted by grief. This was her father.

He had been remote, more concerned with religion than with his family, but still her father, and innocent of any crime.

How long could this wickedness go on?

I knew that man Oates was evil. Why did so many people applaud him, almost make a god of him, calling him their savior because he had sent innocent men to their death?

So it was over. All our hopes of saving Sir Harold were gone. We sat silently in Maggie's parlor. Kirkwell was with us, and there was hatred in his eyes.

He said: "Our father was betrayed. And to think I brought that man into the house. I see it clearly now. Isaac Napp. He was a spy for that odious Oates. I wish I'd killed him ... before he worked his mischief."

Poor, poor Kirkwell. I knew what he was suffering. He was blaming himself for having brought the man who betrayed his father to Featherston.

"I should have seen it," he said. "All that preaching, all that virtue. A spy for Titus Oates. I would have killed him if I'd known."

"You must not blame yourself," said Christobel. "How could we have known what that man was? Spies like that are everywhere."

And so we talked or fell into one of those brooding silences when we were all going over it in our minds.

"I must go back to Featherston with Kirkwell," said Christobel at last. "Kate, you may come with me."

So to Featherston Manor we went.

Carrie and her niece May greeted us somberly. It was a house of sorrow.

Carrie insisted that we eat, and we did, although we had little appetite. We sat for a long time in the solarium, and the tragedy seemed closer to us there than it had in London.

I am sure that that night the others were sleepless, as I was.

It was the morning of the day after our return to Featherston. Carrie had tried to tempt us with food, to which we could do little justice. We were in the room which overlooked the courtyard and suddenly we heard the clatter of horses' hooves and after a few moments James Morton appeared.

He came into the room in which we sat.

"I heard you were back," he said.

He did not mention Sir Harold, but his looks showed his deep sympathy.

"I suppose you will be getting down to work without delay," he said to Kirkwell.

"Yes," replied Kirkwell. "I must do that."

"I was wondering if you needed any help over that thatching job. The half-finished one, you know, at Downside Cottage."

Before Kirkwell could answer we heard voices outside, and two men came into the courtyard.

Kirkwell stared at them for a second and then he was on his feet, and to my horror I saw that the two men were Jem Lee, who did odd jobs on the estate, and Isaac Napp.

Kirkwell had risen, his face distorted with rage.