“Sir Oliver,” said Cuthbert, “there was no discourse upon this matter, save only the one remark of which you question me:--this fell from my heart when your good sister read out some news of him--and thereupon the lady Alice went forth without a word; for I presume not to intrude my poor thoughts of court affairs upon any one in this house. I know my place better.” “Life of me! Thou dost not confess thy fault--thou dost not say thy pænitet for teaching this false lesson to my child!” “I would not be slow to speak out my sorrow and shame if I felt them, but I am conscience-whole in this thing,--and my few words did give no other lesson than one of plain humanity.” “Master Cuthbert, I do believe thee a true and gentle youth, of best intentions, and thou comest of a good stock. Thy father is my good friend from the gladsome days when we were school-fellows together at St. Mary, Winton; and where hath church or state a better parson or better subject than he? therefore, I would for his sake, as for thine own, entreat thee mildly. Youth is warm and tender, and wanting a far sight to the great end of punishment--the axe might rust and the scourge gather cobwebs before hearts like thine would give rogues their due.” “I am of sterner stuff, Sir Oliver, than to wish a rogue safe from the beadle, or a traitor from the headsman; but I am not so taught as to think the mistakes of a severe piety treasons deserving of torture.” “Odd’s life! I see how it is--thou art bitten by these gloomy fanatics--the venom is in thy veins:--well for me that I have seen its first workings. By my fathers! these new papists, these worse Carthusians, would drive sunshine from the earth, and kill the flowers, and stop the singing of birds, and give us a world of rock and clouds--hard as their stony hearts, and gloomy as their cold minds! Master Cuthbert, we must part. I’ll not have the path of my boy shadowed over before it be God’s will. The earth is green and goodly, and pleasant to the eyes; and long may his heart rejoice in it, as mine has before him. Look you, we must part.” “At your pleasure I came, Sir Oliver, and I am ready, at your pleasure, to return to my father’s. My stay with you has been short, and I would fain hope that I have not failed in my duty to you. May you be more fortunate in your choice of a tutor for Master Arthur than you have been in me!” Cuthbert spoke these words with so much self-command that not one syllable trembled in the utterance; yet the tone was at once mournful and resolved.