For, eldest-born and last-surviving of her generation, in a green old age, Philippa Basset was living still. Time had swept away all the gallant brothers and fair sisters who had once been her companions at Umberleigh: the last to die, seven years before, being the eloquent orator, George. Yet Philippa lived on,--an old maiden lady, with heart as warm, and it must be confessed, with tongue as sharp, as in the days of her girlhood. Time had mellowed her slightly, but had changed nothing in her but one--for many years had passed now since Philippa was heard to sneer at Protestantism. She never confessed to any alteration in her views; perhaps she was hardly conscious of it, so gradually had it grown upon her. Only those perceived it who saw her seldom: and the signs were very minute. A passing admission that "may-be folk need not all be Catholics to get safe up yonder"--meaning, of course, to Heaven; an absence of the set lips and knitted brows which had formerly attended the reading of the English Scriptures in church; a courteous reception of the Protestant Rector; a capability of praying morning and evening without crucifix or rosary; a quiet dropping of crossings and holy water, oaths by our Lady's merits and Saint Peter's hosen: a general calm acquiescence in the new order of things. But how much did it mean? Only that her eyes were becoming accustomed to the light?--or that age had weakened her prejudices?--or that God had touched her heart? Some such thoughts were passing through Barbara's mind, when Lord Strange's voice reached her understanding again. "I ensure you 'tis said in the Court that his grief for the beheading of the Scots Queen is but a blind, [Note 4] and that these two years gone and more hath King Philip been making ready his galleons for to invade the Queen's Majesty's dominions. And now they say that we may look for his setting forth this next year. Sir Francis Drake is gone by Her Highness' command to the Spanish main, there to keep watch and bring word; and he saith he will singe the Don's whiskers ere he turn again. Yet he may come, for all belike." The singeing of the Don's whiskers was effected soon after, by the burning of a hundred ships of war in the harbour of Cadiz. "Why, not a man in England but would turn out to defend the Queen and country!" exclaimed Sir Thomas. "Here is one that so will, Sir, by your leave," said another voice. We may peep behind the green curtain, though Barbara did not. That elegant young man with such finished manners--surely he can never be our old and irrepressible friend Jack? Ay, Jack and no other; more courtly, but as irrepressible as ever. "We'll be ready for him!" said Sir Thomas grimly. "Amen!" was Jack's contribution, precisely in the treble tones of the parish clerk. The imitation was so perfect that even the grave Lord Strange could not suppress a smile. "Shall I get thee a company, Jack Enville?"