understand presently. Oh, and by the way," he went on, looking curiously at the strained face, "I am sorry to hear of your anxiety. Pemberton told me just now."
Oliver lifted a hand abruptly.
"Tell me," he said. "What am I wanted to say?"
"Well, the President will have a proposal, we imagine. You know our minds well enough. Just explain our attitude towards the Catholics."
Oliver's eyes shrank suddenly to two bright lines beneath the lids. He nodded.
Cartwright came up presently, an immense, bent old man with a face of parchment, as befitted the Lord Chief Justice.
"By the way, Brand, what do you know of a man called Phillips? He seems to have mentioned your name."
"He was my secretary," said Oliver slowly. "What about him?"
"I think he must be mad. He has given himself up to a magistrate, entreating to be examined at once. The magistrate has applied for instructions. You see, the Act has scarcely begun to move yet."
"But what has he done?"
"That's the difficulty. He says he cannot deny God, neither can he affirm Him.—He was your secretary, then?"
"Certainly. I knew he was inclined to Christianity. I had to get rid of him for that."
"Well, he is to be remanded for a week. Perhaps he will be able to make up his mind."
Then the talk shifted off again. Two or three more came up, and all eyed Oliver with a certain curiosity; the story
