"If I lay in my room," said he, "with a bolt drawn, I would soon have
some busy fellow knocking on the door to know what I did there. But if I
could but dine with her Grace, or take an hour with Mr. Topcliffe, I
should be secure for ever."
Marjorie glanced shyly towards Alice, as if to ask a question. (She was
listening, it seemed to her, with every nerve in her tired body.) The
priest saw the glance.
"Mr. Topcliffe, madam? Well; let us say he is a dear friend of the
Lieutenant of the Tower, and has, I think, lodgings there just now. And
he is even a friend of Catholics, too--to such, at least, as desire a
heavenly crown."
"He is an informer and a tormentor!" broke in Anthony harshly.
"Well, sir; let us say that he is very loyal to the letter of the law;
and that he presides over our Protestant bed of Procrustes."
"The--" began Marjorie, emboldened by the kindness of the priest's
voice.
"The bed of Procrustes, madam, was a bed to which all who lay upon it
had to be conformed. Those that were too long were made short; and those
that were too short were made long. It is a pleasant classical name for
the rack."
Marjorie caught her breath. But Father Campion went on smoothly.
"We shall have a clear day to-morrow, I think," he said. "If you are at
liberty, sir, and these ladies are not too wearied--I have a little
business in Westminster; and--"
"Why, yes," said Anthony, "for to-morrow night we expect friends.
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