"It was monstrous, I told the fellow, that a man should be haled from his home like this to pay a price for his conscience. The religion of my father and his father and all our fathers was good enough for me; and why in God's name should the Catholic have to pay who had never changed his faith, while every heretic went free? And then to that some stripling of a clerk told me that a religion that was good enough for the Queen's Grace should be good enough for her loyal subjects too; but my Lord silenced him quickly. And then I went at them again; and all my Lord would do was to nod his head and smile at me as if I were a child; and then he told me that it was a special Commission all for my sake, and Sir Arthur's, who was there too, my dear.... Well, well, the end was that I had to pay for their cursed religion." "Sweetheart, sweetheart," said Lady Maxwell, glancing at Isabel. "Well, I paid," went on Sir Nicholas, "but I showed them, thank God, what I was: for as we came out, Sir Arthur and I together, what should we see but another party coming in, pursuivant and all; and in the mid of them that priest who was with us last July.--Well, well, we'll leave his name alone--him that said he was a priest before them all in September; and I went down on my knees, thank God, and Sir Arthur went down on his, and we asked his blessing before them all, and he gave it us: and oh! my Lord was red and white with passion." "That was not wise, sweetheart," said Lady Maxwell tranquilly, "the priest will have suffered for it afterwards." "Well, well," grumbled Sir Nicholas, "a man cannot always think, but we showed them that Catholics were not ashamed of their religion--yes, and we got the blessing too." "Well, but here is supper waiting," said my lady, "and Isabel, too, whom you have not spoken to yet." Sir Nicholas paid no attention. "Ah! but that was not all," he went on, savagely striking his boot again, "at the end of all who should I see but that--that--damned rogue--whom God reward!"--and he turned and spat into the fire--"Topcliffe. There he was, bowing to my Lord and the Commissioners. When I think of that man," he said, "when I think of that man--" and Sir Nicholas' kindly old passionate face grew pale and lowering with fury, and his eyebrows bent themselves forward, and his lower lip pushed itself out, and his hand closed tremblingly on his whip. His wife laid down her embroidery and came to him. "There, sweetheart," she said, taking his cap and whip. "Now sit down and have supper, and leave that man to God." Sir Nicholas grew quiet again; and after a saying a word or two of apology to Isabel, left the room to wash before he sat down to supper. "Mistress Isabel does not know who Topcliffe is," said Hubert. "Hush, my son," said his mother, "your father does not like his name to be spoken."