"...Ideo firmiter propono, adiuvante gratia Tua, de cetero me non peccaturum peccandique occasiones proximas fugiturum. Amen."

"Deus, Pater misericordiárum, qui per mortem et resurrectiónem Fílii sui mundum sibi reconciliávit et Spíritum Sanctum effúdit in remissiónem peccatórum, per ministérium Ecclésiæ indulgéntiam tibi tríbuat et pacem. Et ego te absólvo a peccátis tuis in nómine Patris et Fílii et Spíritus Sancti."

"Amen."

"Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good."

"His mercy endures for ever."

"The Lord has freed you from your sins. Go in peace."

"Thank you Brother. Tell me, will you be safe on your way home at this time of night?"

Xavier smiles and looks at Richard kindly. "We Dominicans have grown warier over the past few years, with the failed Armada and the death of King Philip, rest his soul. Certainly Robert Cecil is proving to be as canny as his father, but we didn't survive Harry Tudor and Walsingham for nothing. But thank you for your concern."

Richard shakes his head. "It's becoming harder, Brother. My children are afraid they'll slip up in public."

"Have faith. God willing, England will be reconciled to Rome. King James was baptized at St. Andrews, and has done well curbing the excesses of zealous Knoxian presbyters. Let us hope the Stuarts can end this schism. Until then, prepare your soul for martyrdom, if He calls you to it." Xavier stood, and shaking hands with Richard begain to take his leave. Putting on his capuce, Xavier didn't strike much of an impression: short, portly, and shaved bald, he struck most as soft and indolent. He was content in that impression; it allowed him more time alone to his work. "May the blessings of God be with you and your family, Richard. You children will be among my intentions at Mass. Good day." He grabbed his staff and walked into the night.

The streets of London were muffled from the fog, a cause of both relief and concern for Xavier. Relief that it would be easier for him to escape notice; concern that it would be harder for him to know if the Anglicans' little birds were following him. Xavier would not forgive himself if his carelessness brought harm to Richard and the rest of the Colliers, or any of the other penitents he had visited tonight. He found himself regretting the early death of Mary Tudor that removed King Philip from the English throne, and put Elizabeth, every bit the schismatic as her father, on the throne. But no, he chided himself, do not presume to know what's better than Him. It is for us to endure and strive, and follow Him, even unto Calvary.

By secret ways, he returned to his abbey, now underground, and the dim cell which contained his meagre belongings. He knelt by his bed, remembering his day, his failures and his successes, and reviewing the tasks he had for tomorrow. As he was about to begin his evening prayers, he noticed the letter placed on his pillow addressed to him; it was from the Order of St. Catherine.