for every hour, in which Topcliffe and Young, the two executioners of the Catholics, exercise all kinds of torments. But come what pleaseth God, we hope we shall be able to bear all 'in Him that strengthens us.'" Even through this darkness, eyes of faith caught gleams of a coming sunrise. "It seems to me," he wrote later that year, in words which were to prove so deeply prophetic, "that I see the beginning of a religious life set on foot in England, of which we now sow the seeds with tears, that others hereafter may with joy carry in the sheaves to the heavenly granaries. . . . With such dews as these the Church is watered. . . . We also look for the time (if we are not unworthy of so great a glory) when our day (like that of the hired servant) shall come."
His day was, in fact, not long to be deferred. In 1592 Father Southwell made a dangerous acquaintance in the person of Richard Bellamy of Uxenden Hall, one of whose kinsmen had been executed in connection with the "Babington Conspiracy," and every member of whose family was under suspicion as to his belief. The young Jesuit said Mass at their home and ministered to the whole household, until the storm-cloud suddenly broke above their heads. Anne Bellamy, a young daughter, was chosen as the Government's first victim. She was confined in the Gatehouse at Westminster under the care of one Nicholas Jones, and the story of her double fall is as brief as it is ugly. Having lost both faith and virtue, the girl was soon persuaded to the final baseness of betraying her family and her friends. From her the savage Topcliffe learned that Richard Bellamy was in the habit of receiving Father Southwell and other priests at his home; he learned the manner of their coming and other details; then, like Judas of old, he acted quickly.
