Jack repeated the story, adding, "I do not know but I was wrong, but I could not see her so unhappy without striving to comfort her. It seems to have done no good, however, but rather harm, for I am sure she has been more miserable than she was before, and she grows more and more hard and cold toward me every day. She told me this morning that she would keep no terms with heretics, and that she would be true to her vow and to the Church, if she walked over the dead body of every friend she had in the world. I know not what she would do, but I would fain anticipate her, at least with my father." "It is a hard strait," said the old man, sighing; "yet I suppose Anne feels as you do, that she must follow the dictates of her own conscience." "If she were only doing that," replied Jack; "but I cannot help fearing that she is acting not against her own conscience, and trying to stifle its voice." "If so, she is indeed in evil case, and needs all our prayers," said Thomas Sprat. "Be very gentle and patient with her, dear son, and seek you wisdom of God, doubting not that it shall be given." "Have you seen Father John of late?" asked Jack, after a short silence. "Only twice since you went away. I have not been to the church in service time, but I have met him in the village, and once at the Hall. His reverence has always an inquiry and a good word for you. He seems more easy and jovial, more like his old self, since Father Barnaby went away." "Yes, I dare say. He is afraid of Father Barnaby, and I must say I am glad he is gone, for all our sakes. He is a hard, dangerous man. I must go see the old gentleman, for he has been very kind to me, and I have a token for him from my father, of a kind he will like right well." Jack found Father John looking much as usual, seated at his ease in his great chair with his dinner before him, flanked by a mighty tankard of ale on one side and a flask of wine on the other. He gave Jack a warm and affectionate welcome, and would have him sit down to dinner with him. "I am late to-day," said he; "I have been out visiting the sick, and have taken a long ride, for me—quite to the other end of the parish. But I have great news for you, my son," he continued, piling Jack's plate with good things while he spoke. "The bishop's sumner was here yesterday, and he tells me Father Barnaby is expected to go to Rome on a mission of weight for the king and the cardinals. I am sure I hope he may have a pleasant journey, and that his Holiness will like him so well that he will make him a cardinal, or, at least, a bishop of some good bishopric on the other side of the world." Jack smiled. "Perhaps his Holiness will keep him in his own family," said he. "So much the better—so much the better," said Father John, hastily. "I bear no ill-will to Father Barnaby, but his merits are too great for such an obscure station, and we are a deal more comfortable without him."