"Well, now, he will hear all you say; and will know whether you say the
truth or not. Now tell me if you still hold to what you said yesterday."
And then Lackington with the aid of the papers ran quickly over the story
that Sir Francis had related. "Now do you mean to tell me, John Belton,"
he added, "that you, a Protestant, and a lad of twelve, are employed on
this work by papists, to gather them for mass?"
The boy looked at him with the same earnest horror.
"Yes, sir, yes, sir," he said, and there was a piteous sob in his voice.
"Indeed it is all true: but I do not often go on these messages for my
master. Mr. Roger generally goes: but he is sick."
"Oho!" said Lackington, "you did not say that yesterday."
The boy was terrified.
"No, sir," he cried out miserably, "the gentleman did not ask me."
"Well, who is Mr. Roger? What is he like?"
"He is my master's servant, sir; and he wears a patch over his eye; and
stutters a little in his speech."
These kinds of details were plainly beyond a frightened lad's power of
invention, and Lackington was more satisfied.
"And what was the message that you were to give to the folk and the
priest?"
"Please, sir, 'Come, for all things are now ready.'"
This was such a queer answer that Lackington gave an incredulous
exclamation.
"It is probably true," said Sir Francis, without looking up from his
letters; "I have come across the same kind of cypher, at least once
before."
"Thank you, sir," said the agent.
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