Then he seemed to gather his resolution; he leaned forward and whispered sharply.
"The old lady's name is Brand, sir--the mother of Mr.Oliver Brand." For a moment Percy was bewildered.

It was too extraordinary to be true.
He knew Mr.Oliver Brand's name only too well; it was he who, by God's permission, was doing more in England at this moment against the Catholic cause than any other man alive; and it was he whom the Trafalgar Square incident had raised into such eminent popularity.

And now, here was his mother--- He turned fiercely upon the man.
"I do not know what you are, sir--whether you believe in God or not; but will you swear to me on your religion and your honour that all this is true ?" The timid eyes met his, and wavered; but it was the wavering of weakness, not of treachery.
"I--I swear it, sir; by God Almighty." "Are you a Catholic ?" The man shook his head.
"But I believe in God," he said.

"At least, I think so." Percy leaned back, trying to realise exactly what it all meant.

There was no triumph in his mind--that kind of emotion was not his weakness; there was fear of a kind, excitement, bewilderment, and under all a satisfaction that God's grace was so sovereign.