Isabel heard her father call from his room as she passed through the hall; and went in to him as he sat at his table in his furred gown, with his books about him, to bid him good-night and receive his blessing. He lifted his hand for a moment to finish the sentence he was writing, and she stood watching the quill move and pause and move again over the paper, in the candlelight, until he laid the pen down, and rose and stood with his back to the fire, smiling down at her. He was a tall, slender man, surprisingly upright for his age, with a delicate, bearded, scholar's face; the little plain ruff round his neck helped to emphasise the fine sensitiveness of his features; and the hands which he stretched out to his daughter were thin and veined. "Well, my daughter," he said, looking down at her with his kindly grey eyes so like her own, and holding her hands. "Have you had a good evening, sir?" she asked. He nodded briskly. "And you, child?" he asked. "Yes, sir," she said, smiling up at him. "And was Sir Nicholas there?" She told him what had passed, and how Sir Nicholas had been fined again for his recusancy; and how Lady Maxwell had sung one of Sir Thomas Wyatt's songs. "And was no one else there?" he asked. "Yes, father, Hubert." "Ah! And did Hubert come home with you?" "Only as far as the gate, father. I would not let him come further." Her father said nothing, but still looked steadily down into her eyes for a moment, and then turned and looked away from her into the fire. "You must take care," he said gently. "Remember he is a Papist, born and bred; and that he has a heart to be broken too." She felt herself steadily flushing; and as he turned again towards her, dropped her eyes. "You will be prudent and tender, I know," he added. "I trust you wholly, Isabel." Then he kissed her on the forehead and laid his hand on her head, and looked up, as the Puritan manner was. "May the God of grace bless you, my daughter; and make you faithful to the end." And then he looked into her eyes again, smiled and nodded; and she went out, leaving him standing there. Mr. Norris had begun to fear that the boy loved Isabel, but as yet he did not know whether Isabel understood it or even was aware of it. The marriage difficulties of Catholics and Protestants were scarcely yet existing; and certainly there was no formulated rule of dealing with them. Changes of religion were so frequent in those days that difficulties, when they did arise, easily adjusted themselves. It was considered, for example, by politicians quite possible at one time that the Duke of Anjou should conform to the Church of England for the sake of marrying the Queen: or that he should attend public services with her, and at the same time have mass and the sacraments in his own private chapel. Or again, it was open to question whether England as a whole would not return to the old religion, and Catholicism be the only tolerated faith.