"I did not, Mrs Lettice; yet have I seen them both, prisoners, led through Oxford streets. Dr Ridley was a man with a look so grave that it was well-nigh severe: but Dr Latimer could break a jest with any man, and did, yea, with his very judges." "Were you ever in any danger, Rebecca?--or Mrs Morrell?" "I never was, Mrs Lettice; but my good mistress was once well-nigh taken of the catchpoll [constable]. You ask her to tell you the story, how she came at him with the red-hot poker. And after that full quickly she packed her male, and away to Selwick to Sir Aubrey and her Ladyship, where she tarried hid until Queen Elizabeth came in." "Think you there shall ever be such doings in England again?" "The Lord knoweth," and old Rebecca shook her white head. "There's not a bit of trust to be put in them snakes of priests and Jesuits and such like: not a bit! Let them get the upper hand again, and we shall have the like times. Good Lord, deliver us from them all!" Lettice went down, intending to ask Aunt Joyce to tell her the story of the red-hot poker; but she never thought of it again, so absorbed was she with what the two old ladies were saying as she came in. They did not hear her enter: and the first word she heard made her so desirous of more, that she crept as softly as she could to a seat. Curiosity was her besetting sin. "She used not to be thus," said Lady Louvaine. "Truly, I know not what hath thus sorrowfully changed the poor child; but I would some means might be found to undo the same. Even for some years after Ned's death, I mind not this change; it came on right slowly and by degrees." Lettice felt pretty sure that "she" was Aunt Faith. "'Tis weakness, I suppose," said Lady Louvaine, in a questioning tone. "Ay, we are all weak some whither," replied Aunt Joyce; "and Faith's weakness is a sort to show. She is somewhat too ready to nurse her weaknesses, and make pets of them. 'Tis bad enough for a woman to pet her own virtues; but when she pets her vices, 'tis a hard thing to better her. But, Lettice, there is a strong soul among you--a rare soul, in good sooth; and there is one other, of whose weakness, and what are like to be its consequences, I am far more in fear than of Faith's." "Nay, who mean you?" asked Lady Louvaine in a perplexed voice. "I mean the two lads--Hans and Aubrey." "Hans is a good lad, truly." "Hans has more goodness in him than you have seen the end of, by many a mile. But Aubrey!" "You reckon not Aubrey an ill one, I hope?" "By which you mean, one that purposes ill? Oh no, by no means. He is a far commoner character--one that hath no purpose, and so being, doth more real ill than he that sets forth to do it of malicious intent." "Are you assured you wrong not the lad, Joyce, in so saying?"