"Did he leave no message for me?" she asked. "None," replied Jack. "He asked if all were well, and if Sister Barbara kept on with her school; that was all. Then he bade good-morning and rode away." And was that all? Anne had much ado to keep back her tears of mortification and disappointment. After all her efforts to please him, he had gone away to be gone for weeks or months without a word. He had distinguished Jack with special favor, notwithstanding what she had told him about her brother, and had apparently forgotten her existence. It was very hard, and it did not tend to make her feel more kindly toward her brother. She went up to her room and cried till she was weary, and then imposed a new penance upon herself, because she had failed in humility. Poor Anne! CHAPTER XV. MARY BRENT'S LODGER. "I am glad he is gone," said Sister Barbara to Jack, when she heard of the afternoon's visitor. "I could not be easy so long as he was about. He is a terrible man." "And I am glad as well, and that for more reasons than one," answered Jack; "one of which is that poor old Father John will be left in peace. I have no fears of his disturbing other folks for heresy or anything else, so long as he is left to himself. But there is that sacristan, who is a prying, eavesdropping fellow, and men say a spy of Father Barnaby's." "I grow very weary of all this concealment," said Sister Barbara. "I sometimes feel as if I must speak, come what may." "Father William says the same, and I suppose it must come to that shortly," said Jack. "He has scruples about celebrating masses for the dead, and I think he will declare himself before long. He is not the man to act against his conscience. Do you think, madam, the time will ever come when the people of this realm will dare to speak out, and when the Scripture will be read in the churches?" "It may come in your time, but I fear not in mine," said Sister Barbara, sighing, "and there will be terrible times first. The bishops and priests will not give up their claims on the people without a fierce struggle, and nobody can guess the side the King will take. You heard the sermon the priest of St. Mary's preached last Sunday about those who presume to read the new Gospel?" "Yes, madam," said Jack laughingly. "He is a learned man. He said that Greek was a heathen tongue, and asked if it were likely that the Scripture would be written in the language of heathens, while Latin was the tongue of our Holy Father the Pope. He said Hebrew was the speech of unbelieving Jews, and therefore not fit even to be named by Christians. ¹ I could hardly forbear laughing." ¹ This is a fair sample of the eloquence of the preaching friars.