"You forget Mr. Trudgeon of Launceston, father, and poor Father Mayne,"
interposed Eustace, who had by this time slipped in; and Campian added
softly--

"Yes, your West of England also has been honored by its martyrs, as well
as my London by the precious blood of Story."

"What, young malapert?" cried poor Leigh, facing round upon his son,
glad to find any one on whom he might vent his ill-humor; "are you too
against me, with a murrain on you? And pray, what the devil brought
Cuthbert Mayne to the gallows, and turned Mr. Trudgeon (he was always a
foolish hot-head) out of house and home, but just such treasonable talk
as Mr. Parsons must needs hold in my house, to make a beggar of me and
my children, as he will before he has done."

"The Blessed Virgin forbid!" said Campian.

"The Blessed Virgin forbid? But you must help her to forbid it, Mr.
Campian. We should never have had the law of 1571, against bulls, and
Agnus Deis, and blessed grains, if the Pope's bull of 1569 had not made
them matter of treason, by preventing a poor creature's saving his soul
in the true Church without putting his neck into a halter by denying the
queen's authority."

"What, sir?" almost roared Parsons, "do you dare to speak evil of the
edicts of the Vicar of Christ?"

"I? No. I didn't. Who says I did? All I meant was, I am sure--Mr.
Campian, you are a reasonable man, speak for me."