The priest nodded, and the other held up his hand for silence.
"There is more yet," he said.
Mr.Simpson, with a hand that still shook so violently that he could hardly hold his glass, lifted and drank off a cup of muscadel.

Then he cleared his throat, sat up a little in his chair, and resumed: "'Next I went to see Mr.Sherwood, to talk to him in prison and to encourage him by telling him of the passion of the other and how bravely he bore it.

Mr.Sherwood took it very well, and said that he was afraid of nothing, that he had reconciled his mind to it long ago, and had rehearsed it all two or three times, so that he would know what to say and how to bear himself.'" Mr.FitzHerbert leaned over again to the priest at this point and whispered something.

Mr.Simpson nodded, and raised his eyes.
"Mr.Sherwood," he said, "was a scholar from Douay, but not a priest.

He was lodging in the house of a Catholic lady, and had procured mass to be said there, and it was through her son that he was taken and charged with recusancy." Again ran a rustle through the benches.