There was only one, however, whom he remembered
to have lodged before, over five years ago. The name of this one was Mr.
Alban. But all this was not his business. His duty was to be hearty and
deferential and entirely stupid; and certainly this course of behaviour
brought him a quantity of guests.
* * * * *
Mr. Alban, about half-past nine o'clock, had finished unstrapping his
luggage. It was of the most innocent description, and contained nothing
that all the world might not see. He had made arrangements that articles
of another kind should come over from Rheims under the care of one of
the "servants," whose baggage would be less suspected. The distribution
would take place in a day or two. These articles comprised five sets of
altar vessels, five sets of mass-vestments, made of a stuff woven of all
the liturgical colours together, a dozen books, a box of medals, another
of _Agnus Deis_--little wax medallions stamped with the figure of a Lamb
supporting a banner--a bunch of beads, and a heavy little square package
of very thin altar-stones.
As he laid out the suit of clothes that he proposed to wear next day,
there was a rapping on his door.
"Mr. Babington is come--sir." (The last word was added as an obvious
afterthought, in case of listeners.)
Robin sprang up; the door was opened by his "servant," and Anthony came
in, smiling.
* * * * *
Mr.
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