"He is one of the betrayers--know you not what manner of man he is?--Then I will tell you." And here a strange light flashed from her eyes, and her lips became compressed till all the colour disappeared--"He is a viper that stung me once--and would sting me again if I took him to my bosom, and laid it open for his poisonous tooth. I tell you the Lord Mallerden is a godless, hopeless, faithless man--bound hand and foot to the footstool of the despotic, cruel monster--the Jesuit who has now his foot upon the English throne. He is a Papist, fiercer, bitterer, crueller, because he has no belief neither in priest nor pope--but he is ambitious, reckless, base, a courtier. He prideth himself in his shame, and says he has openly professed. It is to please the hypocritical master he serves. And he boasts that our late king--defender of the faith--was shrived on his deathbed by a Popish friar." "I cannot believe it, my lady." "You are a good man--a good simple man, Master Willis," she said; and although the words of her designation were above my deserts, seeing that simplicity and goodness are the great ornaments of the Christian character, still the tone in which she spoke did not partake of the nature of a compliment, and I bowed, but made no observation in reply. "But it needs men of other minds in these awful times which I see approaching--men of firmness, men of boldness--yea, who can shed blood and shudder not; for great things are at stake." "I trust not, my lady--albeit the shedding of blood"----