"The daughter of a wool stapler, one Martin Holt, foster brother to
my venerated father, the third Earl of Andover," said Lady Frances,
quietly. "Truly, my daughter, these good folks are not in birth our
equal, and would be the first to say so; nevertheless they are
worthy and honest people, and I can remember that Bridget, my
mother's maid, who astonished us and deeply offended her relations
by a sudden and ill-judged marriage with Nicholas Trevlyn, was a
wonderfully well-looking woman. How and why such a marriage was
made none may rightly know now. I can remember that the dark-browed
Nicholas, who was but little loved at our house, took some heed to
this girl, greatly younger than himself, though herself of ripening
age when she let herself be persuaded into that loveless wedlock.
It was whispered that he had made a convert of her; the Jesuits and
seminary priests were hard at work, striving to win back their lost
power by increasing the number of their flock and recruiting from
all classes of the people. Nicholas was then a blind tool in the
hands of these men, and I always suspected that this was one of his
chief motives for so ill judged a step. At any rate, Bridget
pronounced herself a Romanist, and was married by a priest of that
Church according to its laws. Her family cast her off, and Nicholas
would let us have no dealings with her. Poor Bridget! I trow she
lived to rue the day; and the change of her faith was but a passing
thing, for I know she returned to her old beliefs when time had
allowed her to see things more clearly.

"But to return to the beginning. If Bridget's brother, Martin Holt,
yet lives and carries on his father's business, as is most like, on
London Bridge, his house would be no bad shelter for this poor lad,
who will scarce have means or breeding as yet to take his place
with those of higher quality."