"I would willingly have saved the old man," he continued, "but the evidence was too plain against him. He was convicted on the witness of one who heard him not only reading and speaking heresy, but striving to corrupt you. There was nothing to be done." Still Jack did not reply, though the priest paused as though expecting him to speak. "For you, my son, I would fain save you from a like fate," continued Father Barnaby. "I trust to be able to do so, if only you will be conformable and docile as becomes your youth. You will be brought before us in the morning early, before the execution takes place, and I have come to see if any argument of mine can move you so that you shall then be ready to confess your errors." "You are the jailer and I am the prisoner," said Jack, breaking silence for the first time; "therefore I must hear you whether I will or no; but I tell you plainly, I am not to be persuaded. If indeed you do mean kindly, I thank you for your kindness, but I would rather it displayed itself in leaving me alone that I may have space for thought and prayer." "But you will not refuse to listen to me," said Father Barnaby gently. "I have not come to argue with you, my son. I know well that in such cases, arguments are of little avail. But I desire to set before you plainly the results of two different courses of action." Father Barnaby then proceeded to set forth the consequences of Jack's persistence in heresy. He would die a disgraceful and horrible death. He would bring upon his family a lasting shame and probably a suspicion of having shared in his fault. Even if it could be so managed that he should escape with life, he could look for nothing but life-long ignominious imprisonment, secluded from books, from friends, and all that made life worth having. On the other hand, he had but to abjure his errors to be set at liberty. He should not even be asked to do public penance. The worst penalty inflicted on him should be a short seclusion in some religious house, where he could have the use of such a library as he had never yet seen, and pursue those studies which he so dearly loved. After that he should go to Oxford, or to some college at Rome, and who could tell to what station he might arrive? The great cardinal himself was the son of a butcher, and other eminent men at Rome were of equally obscure origin. Jack listened so quietly that Father Barnaby thought he was gaining the day, and waxed yet more eloquent. At last he stopped. "You are very silent, my son. May I not hope that you are coming to a better mind? Upon what are you meditating so deeply?"