Bayley, were both persuaded--so it seemed--that Miss Fountain had set her
cap at the Squire from the beginning, ready at a moment's notice to
swallow the Scarlet Lady when required. And Catholic and Protestant alike
were kind enough to say that she had made use of her cousin to draw on
Mr. Helbeck. The neighbourhood, in fact, held her to be a calculating
little minx, ripe for plots and Papistry, or anything else that might
suit a daring game.

The girl gradually fell silent. Her head drooped. Her eyes looked at
Polly askance and wistfully. She did not defend herself; but she showed
the wound.

"Well, I'm sorry you don't understand," she said at last, while her voice
trembled. "Perhaps you will some day. I don't know. Anyway, will you
please tell Cousin Elizabeth that I'm not going to be a Catholic? Perhaps
that will comfort her a little."

"But howiver are you goin to live wi Mr. Helbeck then?" asked Polly. Her
loud surprise conveyed the image of Helbeck as it lay graven in the minds
of the Browhead circle,--a sort of triple-crowned, black-browed tyrant,
with all the wiles and torments of Rome in his pocket. A wife
resist--defy? The Church knows how to deal with naughtiness of that kind.

Laura laughed.

"We can but try. But now then,"--she bent forward and put her hands
impulsively on Polly's shoulders,--"tell me about everybody and
everything. How's Daffady? how's the cow that was ill? how're the calves?
how's Hubert?"