Ever since April last they had been playing at hide-and-seek through the
length and breadth of England, and now they were only lying quiet till
expected news from Ireland should give them their cue, and a great
"rising of the West" should sweep from her throne that stiff-necked,
persecuting, excommunicate, reprobate, illegitimate, and profligate
usurper, who falsely called herself the Queen of England.

For they had as stoutly persuaded themselves in those days, as they
have in these (with a real Baconian contempt of the results of sensible
experience), that the heart of England was really with them, and that
the British nation was on the point of returning to the bosom of the
Catholic Church, and giving up Elizabeth to be led in chains to the feet
of the rightful Lord of Creation, the Old Man of the Seven Hills.
And this fair hope, which has been skipping just in front of them for
centuries, always a step farther off, like the place where the rainbow
touches the ground, they used to announce at times, in language which
terrified old Mr. Leigh. One day, indeed, as Eustace entered his
father's private room, after his usual visit to the mill, he could
hear voices high in dispute; Parsons as usual, blustering; Mr. Leigh
peevishly deprecating, and Campian, who was really the sweetest-natured
of men, trying to pour oil on the troubled waters. Whereat Eustace (for
the good of the cause, of course) stopped outside and listened.

"My excellent sir," said Mr. Leigh, "does not your very presence here
show how I am affected toward the holy cause of the Catholic faith? But
I cannot in the meanwhile forget that I am an Englishman."

"And what is England?" said Parsons: "A heretic and schismatic Babylon,
whereof it is written, 'Come out of her, my people, lest you be partaker