She was as pale as a ghost,
but her eyes shone like stars.
* * * * *
It was a couple of months after his leaving Chartley before he came at
last to Booth's Edge. First he had had to bestow Mr. Arnold in
Lancashire, for suspicion was abroad; and it was a letter from Marjorie
herself, reaching him in Derby, at Mr. Biddell's house, that had told
him of it, and bidden him go on with his friend. The town had never been
the same since Topcliffe's visit; and now that Babington House was no
longer in safe Catholic hands, a great protection was gone. He had
better go on, she said, as if he were what he professed to be--a
gentleman travelling with his servant. A rumour had come to her ears
that the talk in the town was of the expected arrival of a new priest to
take Mr. Garlick's place for the present, and every stranger was
scrutinised. So he had taken her advice; he had left Derby again
immediately, and had slowly travelled north; then, coming round about
from the north, after leaving his friend, saying mass here and there
where he could, crossing into Yorkshire even as far west as Wakefield,
he had come at last, through this wet November day, along the Derwent
valley and up to Booth's Edge, where he arrived after sunset, to find
the hall filled with folks to greet him.
He was smiling himself, though his eyes were full of tears, by the time
that he had done giving his blessings. Mr. John FitzHerbert was come up
from Padley, where he lived now for short times together, greyer than
ever, but with the same resolute face.
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