possible; now, by her
own initiative, she had paved the way to an evident descent in the social
scale. Not content with choosing one far beneath her, she had even
chosen a Protestant! Yet Stephen had too strong a will to be easily
contravened. He was determined to prevent, at all costs, such a
disaster. His first impulse was to relieve his mind by telling Spence in
no measured language what he thought of his conduct; the latter had
perforce to keep silent, however exaggerated the abuse heaped upon him,
for his conscience told him that he was in fault. Penny was the next to
listen to some very candid truths as to the uprightness of her part in
the proceedings. Then when he had given full play to his indignation,
Stephen began to make plans for the future which might effectually defeat
any attempts on the part of the young people to renew their intimacy.
Spence, of course, was absolutely forbidden to set foot again over the
threshold of the inn. Penny was kept under strict surveillance until her
father was able to carry her off to a sister of his own in distant
Lancashire, who could be depended upon to prevent any communication
between the lovers. The Pikes--poor people--though absolutely innocent
of any complicity, since they knew no more of what was going on than
Stephen himself, were made to share in Spence's interdict. No assurances
of their total ignorance of the affair would avail; the fact that Pike
had been the unfortunate instrument in introducing his comrade to the
Dale family was in itself sufficient to kindle Stephen's wrath against
him. To add to the sergeant's discomfiture, he could not forget that in
his admiration for his "chum" he had been unstinting in his praises; for
he had a genuine affectionate regard for Spence, as a thoroughly upright
young fellow, and a striking contrast to the majority of the Protestants
with whom he was daily brought into contact.

The unhappy Penny, placed under her aunt's vigilant guardianship, was
inconsolable. She languished and drooped, during the first week or two
of her exile, as though her usually firm will had died within her. So
utterly broken did she seem that her aunt began to lose all hope of
rousing her to any interest in life; apparently she was submitting in a
spirit of blank despair to a fate which she regarded as inevitable. But
soon a change came over her. Though still quiet and seemingly docile,
she gained by degrees some vestiges of her old che