It was opened by an old woman
who smiled at the sight of her.
"Eh! come in, mistress. The master saw you ride into town. He is in the
upstairs parlour, with Mr. Bassett."
The girl nodded to her bodyguard, and followed the old woman in. She
bowed as she passed the lawyer's confidential clerk and servant, Mr.
George Beaton, in the passage--a big man, with whom she had had
communications more than once on Popish affairs.
Mr. John Biddell, like Marjorie's own father and his partner, was one of
those quiet folks who live through storms without attracting attention
from the elements, yet without the sacrifice of principle. He was a
Catholic, and never pretended to be anything else; but he was so little
and so harmless that no man ever troubled him. He pleaded before the
magistrates unobtrusively and deftly; and would have appeared before her
Grace herself or the Lord of Hell with the same timid and respectful
air, in his iron-rimmed spectacles, his speckless dark suit, and his
little black cap drawn down to his ears. He had communicated with
Marjorie again and again in the last two or three years on the subject
of wandering priests, calling them "gentlemen," with the greatest care,
and allowing no indiscreet word ever to appear in his letters, He
remembered King Harry, whom he had seen once in a visit of his to
London; he had assisted the legal authorities considerably in the
restoration under Queen Mary; and he had soundlessly acquiesced in the
changes again under Elizabeth--so far, at least, as mere law was
concerned.
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