"There is nothing left me but my daughter and the ragged edge of life, Philip," said the old man, with a great sadness. "And these, too, would I spend, as I thought, God knows, to spend all that is gone,--for the good, I mean, of England. But not as you would lay them out, Philip; not on James, his harlots, priests, and bastards. The King is the slave of priests as his brother was of women; and, Gad 's my life! the late King was more English in 's tastes. Women may harm the king, but your priest in power is death to the kingdom. I have learned one thing, son Philip, in my nine and seventy years: that a man's king is much, but his country more. But it is enough. Let us leave the matter, or, God forgive me, I shall end by lauding the man I have most hated--the one Englishman since I drew breath that was feared and honored by Pope, Emperor, and Kings. And since? We have been laughed to scorn of the Spaniard, spat upon by the Hollander, and paid--God's blood! ay, paid by a filthy Frenchman!" "You have called a man traitor for less words than these, sir," said his son, mightily amazed. "Traitor!" quoth Sir Michael, with a great bitterness. "We are all traitors now. It is the curse of God upon a wicked and adulterous generation. There is no man among us but some will say of him, 'There goeth a traitor,' whether to his king, his country, or his God." Then Philip: "If I must choose, it shall be to all before my God." "Ay," said Sir Michael; "but in my plain English way of thought, Sir Priest, no man betrays his country but is traitor to his God."