history? you know it already perfectly well, probably much better than myself. I am now a missionary priest, labouring in heretic England, like Parsons and Garnet of old, save and except that, unlike them, I run no danger, for the times are changed. As I told you before, I shall cleave to Rome—I must; _no hay remedio_, as they say at Madrid, and I will do my best to further her holy plans—he! he!—but I confess I begin to doubt of their being successful here—you put me out; old Fraser of Lovat! I have heard my father talk of him; he had a gold-headed cane, with which he once knocked my grandfather down—he was an astute one, but, as you say, mistaken, particularly in himself. I have read his life by Arbuthnot, it is in the library of our college. Farewell! I shall come no more to this dingle—to come would be of no utility; I shall go and labour elsewhere, though — how you came to know my name, is a fact quite inexplicable—farewell! to you both.” He then arose, and without further salutation departed from the dingle, in which I never saw him again. “How, in the name of wonder, came you to know that man’s name?” said Belle, after he had been gone some time. “I, Belle? I knew nothing of the fellow’s name, I assure you.” “But you mentioned his name.” “If I did, it was merely casually, by way of illustration. I was saying how frequently cunning people were mistaken in their calculations, and I adduced the case of old Fraser of Lovat, as one in point; I brought forward his name, because I was well acquainted with his history, from having compiled and inserted it in a wonderful work, which I edited some months ago, entitled _Newgate Lives and Trials_, but without the slightest idea that it was the name of him who was sitting with us; he, however, thought that I was aware of his name. Belle! Belle! for a long time I doubted the truth of Scripture, owing to certain conceited discourses which I had heard from certain conceited individuals, but now I begin to believe firmly; what wonderful texts there are in Scripture, Belle! ‘The wicked trembleth where—where—’” “‘They were afraid where no fear was; thou hast put them to confusion, because God hath despised them,’” said Belle; “I have frequently read it before the clergyman in the great house of Long Melford. But if you did not know the man’s name, why let him go away supposing that you did?” “Oh, if he was fool enough to make such a mistake, I was not going to undeceive him—no, no! Let the enemies of old England make the most of all their blunders and mistakes, they will have no help from me; but enough of the fellow, Belle; let us now have tea, and after that—” “No Armenian,” said Belle; “but I want to ask a question: pray are all people of that man’s name either rogues or fools?”