he thanked the magistrate for his compliments, and would he proceed with the plan? By the south door, he was saying, yes, into the hall.--Yes, the East room was Sir Nicholas' study; or of course they might be supping upstairs. But it made no difference; no, the magistrate was right about that. So long as they held the main staircase, and had all the other doors watched, they were safe to have him.--No, no, the cloister wing would not be used; they might leave that out of their calculations. Besides, did not the magistrate say that Marion had seen the lights in the East wing last night? Yes, well, that settled it.--And the signal? Oh, he had not caught that; the church bell, was it to be? But what for? Why did they need a signal? Ah! he understood, for the advance at half-past eight.--Just so, he would send Thomas up to ring it. Would Marion kindly see to that?--Yes, indeed, his wife was a woman to be proud of; such a faithful Protestant; no patience with these seditious rogues at all. Well, was that all? Was there anything else?--Yes, how dark it was getting; it must be close on eight o'clock. Thomas had gone, had he? That was all right.--And had the men everything they wanted?--Well, yes; although the village did go to bed early it would perhaps be better to have no lights; because there was no need to rouse suspicion.--Oh! very well; perhaps it would be better for Mr. Frankland to go and sit with the men and keep them quiet. And his wife would go, too, just to make sure they had all they wanted.--Very well, yes; he would wait here in the dark until he was called. Not more than a quarter of an hour? Thank you, yes.-- Then the door had closed; and the man, left alone, flung himself down in his chair, and buried his face again in his arms. Ah! what was to be done? Nothing, nothing, nothing. And there they were at the Hall, his neighbours and friends. The kind old Catholic and his ladies! How would he ever dare to meet their eyes again? But what could be done? Nothing! How far away the afternoon seems; that quiet sunny walk beneath the pines. His friend is at his books, no doubt, with the silver candles, and the open pages, and his own neat manuscript growing under his white scholarly fingers. And Isabel; at her needlework before the fire.--How peaceful and harmless and sweet it all is! And down there, not fifty yards away, is the village; every light out by now; and the children and parents, too, asleep.--Ah! what will the news be when they wake to-morrow?--And that strange talk this afternoon, of the Saviour and His Cup of pain, and the squalor and indignity of the Passion! Ah! yes, he could suffer with Jesus on the Cross, so gladly, on that Tree of Life--but not with Judas on the Tree of Death! And the minister dropped his face lower, over the edge of his desk; and the hot tears of misery and self-reproach and impotence began to run. There was no help, no help anywhere. All were against him--even his wife herself; and his Lord.