Absorbed in his studies, and cheered and encouraged by the dawn of religious certainty, and his growing confidence in the sureness of the ground on which his feet were placed, Bute had, it is probable, reckoned little, if at all, on the storm of opposition, protest, and resentment which was bound to break out the moment his proposed change of religion became known. Lady Edith Fergusson, his guardian's wife, for whom he had a sincere affection, first learned his intention from himself during his Christmas sojourn at Dumfries House. The news came as a great blow to Sir James, who, with all his good qualities, had no intellectual equipment adequate to meeting the reasoned arguments of his young ward; and he fled up to London to take counsel with Bute's English guardians. The tidings caused consternation in the {44} Lord Chancellor's Court, and (it was said) in a Court even more august; and the cry was for a scapegoat to bear the brunt of the general wrath. Who and where was the subtle Jesuit, the secret emissary of Rome, who had hatched the dark plot, had "got hold of" the guileless youth, and inveigled him away from the simple faith of his childhood? Public indignation was heightened rather than allayed by the impossibility of identifying this sinister conspirator. _Non est inventus_. He had, in fact, no more existence than Mrs. Harris. The circumstances of the case were patent and simple. A young man of strong religious instincts, good parts, and studious habits, had, after much reading, grave consideration (and, it might be added, earnest prayer, but that was outside the public ken), come to the conclusion that the religion of the greater part of Christendom was right and that of the British minority wrong. And what made matters worse was that he had in his constitution so large a share of native Scottish tenacity, that there seemed no possibility of inducing him to change his mind. The obvious, and only alternative, policy was delay. Get him to put off the evil day, and all might yet be well. The _mot d'ordre_ was accordingly given; and a united crusade was entered on by kinsfolk and acquaintance, guardians, curators, and tutors-at-law, the Chancellor and his myrmidons, the family solicitors, and finally the dons and tutors at Oxford, to extract from the prospective convert, at whatever cost, a promise not to act on his convictions at least until after attaining his majority. After that--well, anything might happen; and if during the interval of nearly two years he were to take to drink or gambling, to waste his substance on riotous living (like his {45} unfortunate cousin), or generally to go to the devil--it would be of course very regrettable, but anyhow he would be rescued from Popery, and that was the only thing that really mattered. [Sidenote: 1867, Oxford alarmed]