Page:Once a Week Volume 7.djvu/127

26, 1862.] “You would have married him this month if there had been a priest within reach to marry you.”

“Ah! if that were all! It may be at any time that a priest would come this way, and stay a day for the church rites. But whether ever to marry Sampson is my doubt.”

Did he then think seriously of becoming a priest himself?

Never. The Earl showed him that his way was clear. He could read the service; and the university would have made him ready for ordination in a year; and the Earl was pleased to say that he was distinguished for piety; and he had only to throw off his wild Swiss notions—

“More easily said than done,” observed the Wise Man.

“Only too easily done, however,” sighed Polly.

“Why regret it?” asked her counsellor. “You dread the Queen’s displeasure at her clergy marrying. But, you see, they do marry; and if she dislikes it, she cannot prevent it. You and Sampson might be very happy in your parsonage, so far out of the range of the Queen’s eye. But I perceive that your difficulty is of another kind. Perhaps Sampson is no Protestant at all.”

“I was sure you would know,” said the sighing girl. “And now, what am I to do? If I marry him, I must be a Papist too: and if I break off from him, he will be suspected; and he will—O! I must do anything rather than betray him to suspicion.”

“If I were he, I would avow the conversion,” said the adviser. “Times are not yet so bad but that a man may follow his own religion, after a manner, if he keeps himself quiet.”

“He must keep his secret,” Polly declared. “Those who made him a Papist have pledged him to secresy. Yes,—I know it is bad: but it is a thing done. They have their reasons—”

“Very strong reasons, no doubt. They hope, and by ‘they’ I mean in particular the Jesuit priest who masquerades as a tailor before the Earl’s eyes—”

“Ah! I was sure you would be able to help me,” said Polly. “You see what is going on up at the Castle as plain as if its walls were made of glass, and you were always walking round them.”

“Far from it, Polly. That disguised Jesuit may well be suspected, if plain, guileless persons are watched, from the same suspicion, all over the kingdom. You may not be aware, but I was, that Sampson himself was suspected of being a Popish agent, from the moment he arrived here.”

“Who suspected him?” asked Polly, indignantly.

“Warning was sent from London to the magistrates, and to certain trusty citizens.”

“What a shame!” exclaimed Polly; “and he so proud of the twice-reformed faith, and of the courage of his Church, and of having himself picked up John Calvin’s bowls when he played at Geneva on Sunday evenings. If they had once heard what Sampson had to tell, they could never have suspected him.”

“Yet you say he is now a Papist. He must be very weak, or—”

The Wise Man paused, and Polly poured out the defence of her lover which had been collecting in her mind. Sampson had soon learned that the gay tailor was a priest; and that he wore his disguise in the pure love of human souls. He did not care for the humiliation of his function. He could cut out and stitch with gaiety of heart to draw stray souls into the Church—”

“Ah! yes; I know,” observed the Wise Man. “That is a very common story.”

And then, Polly said, he had spoken so strongly to Sampson on the perilous pride and vanity shown in setting up against the Church which had for so many ages included all the wisdom—”

“Ah! yes,” said the Wise Man. “That is the way the story runs; but, to come to the end,—has not Sampson, just once, only once,—had a sight of the lady?”

“The Lady Bess? He has seen her often, for she busies herself much about the accommodations of the apartments which are not yet fully furnished. The Countess herself has given orders at several times to Sampson for silken hangings for two windows, and—”

“I did not speak of Bess of Hardwick; and you are aware that I meant the greater lady, Polly. I divine that Sampson has seen her Grace of Scotland, and has, moreover, heard the sound of her voice.”

“Once,—only once,” Polly admitted.

“I understand that sort of magical practice, at least,” the Wise Man observed. “The same honey-pot catches many flies.”

“Do not speak so of Sampson!” Polly entreated.

“Well! if he has not been employed to fetch and carry—”

“Do not speak so of Sampson!” cried Polly, more piteously.

“What, then, do you wish more from me, Polly? If he has been used by his new friends as an agent, I perceive that you do not know it. What is the question which weighs upon your mind? Are you doubting whether to turn Papist, and marry Sampson, or to leave him to his new friends? You cannot break off from him, you think, without dooming him to terrible things. Then, I suppose, you are intending the other course. But how can it be? Will yonder gay tailor tie the knot?”

“Yes,—yes,—that is it?” whispered Polly. “They wish it to be done while the household are mostly absent: they wish it done this week.”

“Protestant as you still are? Well; they may be right in reckoning on your conversion as a certain event, if you are to contend alone against a Jesuit priest and a husband. Have you made up your mind, Polly?”

Certainly not, or she would not be asking counsel. It did seem a great deal to risk and to undergo; and she would not think of it for a moment but for the fear of destroying Sampson. He would remain, whatever happened. Nothing could induce him to leave.

“No; he is too useful,” the Wise Man said. “He will remain while her Grace wants secret messages carried. If you marry him, Polly, you must bring none of your secret messages here. I cannot harbour anything of the sort.”