“My dear,” says I to her, when we were speaking of the matter, “I have seen so much of Popery as I am determined never to support it here. Sure you’ll have heard from the French fugitives what should have armed you against it. Had King James followed his own religion in peace, I had never murmured, but when he shows himself desirous to thrust it upon us, we have a right to resist him.” In which I was coming much nearer to the politics of my old acquaintance Substitution Darrell than ever I had at one time thought likely, but we live and learn. “Alas!” cried Dorothy, the tears running down her face, “that I should live to hear my husband, my dear Sir Harry’s own son, speak thus! Sure ’tis enough to disturb your father in his grave, sir. If God will, can’t He protect us Protestants without any help of ours? and if it ben’t His will to save us, let us suffer, but don’t let us sin in rebelling against the Lord’s anointed.” “I will have no hand in bringing in Popery,” says I in a great heat. “Let us do the right, and care naught for what may come after,” says she. “But sure that can’t be the right which should enslave our country, and bring over again the days of Bloody Mary,” says I. “That can’t be the right which would take part against our lawful king, and set a stranger over us,” says Dorothy. “Dorothy,” says I, after much further talk, “if you’ll agree, I’ll consent with you to meet you half-way. I won’t offer my sword to King James, but neither will I at present raise a troop for the Prince. Yet if we see the Protestant cause in danger, sure you must even let me go. Are we to have a Bloody Assize throughout all England?”