'How can he live and not know?' Pitt answered in a lowered tone. 'Uncertainty on that point would be enough to drive a thinking man mad. Henry the Seventh, you see, could not bear it, and so he arranged to have ten thousand masses said for him, and filled his chapel with intercessory saints.' 'But I do not see how any one is to have certainty, Mr. Pitt,' Betty said. 'One cannot see into the future.' 'It is only necessary to believe, in the present.' 'Believe what?' 'The word of the King, who promised,--"Whosoever liveth and believeth in me _shall never die_." The love that came down here to die for us will never let slip any poor creature that trusts it.' 'Yes; but suppose one cannot trust _so?_' objected Betty. 'Then there is probably a reason for it. Disobedience, even partial disobedience, cannot perfectly trust.' 'How can sinful creatures do anything perfectly, Pitt?' his mother asked, almost angrily. 'Mamma,' said he gravely, 'you trust _me_ so.' Mrs. Dallas made no reply to that; and they moved on, surveying the chapels. The good lady bowed her head in solemn approbation when shown the place whence the bodies of Cromwell and others of his family and friends were cast out after the Restoration. 'They had no business to be there,' she assented. 'Where were they removed to?' Betty asked. 'Some of them were hanged, as they deserved,' said Mr. Dallas. 'Cromwell, Ireton, and Bradshaw, at Tyburn,' Pitt added. 'The others were buried, not honourably, not far off. One of Cromwell's daughters, who was a Churchwoman and also a royalist, they allowed to remain in the Abbey. She lies in one of the other chapels, over yonder.' 'Noble revenge!' said Betty quietly. 'Very proper,' said Mrs. Dallas. 'It seems hard, but it is proper. People who rise up against their kings should be treated with dishonour, both before and after death.' 'How about the kings who rise up against their people?' asked Betty. She could not help the question, but she was glad that Mrs. Dallas did not seem to hear it. They passed on, from one chapel to another, going more rapidly; came to a pause again at the tomb of Mary, Queen of Scots. 'I am beginning to think,' said Betty, 'that the history of England is one of the sorrowfullest things in the world. I wonder if all other countries are as bad? Think of this woman's troublesome, miserable life; and now, after Fotheringay, the honour in which she lies in this temple is such a mockery! I suppose Elizabeth is here somewhere?'