Early in May, Isoult went alone to market, which was not her custom; and coming back along Cornhill, she suddenly heard a voice say,--"Is it not Mrs Barry?" Wondering who could thus recognise her who was not also aware of her marriage, she looked up into the face of a handsome, courtly gentleman, splendidly apparelled. "Sir," said she, "I pray you of your pardon; I am Isoult Barry, but I am not so fortunate as to know your name." "Do you not so?" replied he, and he smiled. And when he smiled, Isoult thought she knew him. "Is it Mr James Basset?" said she. "Truly so," answered he; "and I am very glad of thus meeting you. I cry you mercy for wrongly naming you, but in very deed I have forgot your present name. Dwell you hereabout?" Isoult told him her name, and that she lived near London, yet not in the City; but she did not give her exact address. "I trust we may be better acquainted," said he, "and that I may find in you (as I cast no doubt) a woman faithful unto God and the Queen's Grace." The terrible peril in which she stood stared her all at once in the face. James Basset was a gentleman of the chamber, and "a stout Papist." "Sir," said she, "I would be right sorry to be less." "Of that I am well assured," replied he. "Saw you of late my sister?" Isoult answered that she had not seen Philippa lately; and he, bowing low, bade our Lady keep her, and departed. Isoult came home trembling like an aspen leaf. She knew well that, did his faith come into question, ties of friendship would have little weight with James Basset. The next morning brought Philippa Basset. "Well," said she, "Isoult, so thou fellest in with my brother James yesterday?" "I did so," answered Isoult, rather shortly. "He told me so much," pursued she; "and said he had forgot to ask where thou dwelledst. So I told him." Isoult drew her breath hard. "I know not whether to thank you for that, Mrs Basset," observed John. Philippa began to laugh. "Do you take me for a fool, both of you?" said she. "Or for worse--a traitor? If I be a Catholic, yet am I a woman, not a stone. I told him you dwelt on the thither side of Lambeth. You have nought to fear from me. If all the Gospellers in the world were wrapped up in thy single person, Isoult, none should ever lay hand on an hair of thine head by means of Philippa Basset. Yea, though mine own life were the forfeit,--'tis not worth much to any now." "I thank thee dearly for thy love, sweet Philippa," said Isoult, "but I hardly know how to thank thee for lying. "'Twere a venial sin, I am assured," said she, lightly. "Why, dear heart! James would burn thee in Smithfield as soon as eat his dinner!" About a fortnight passed uneventfully--a rare occurrence in the year 1555. But as it was growing dusk on the 21st of May, there was a quick rap at the door, and Mr Underhill hastily entered.