For the Master's Sake, by Emily Sarah Holt. 

________________________________________________________________________The story is set in the middle of the sixteenth century, in London, at atime when a Catholic Queen had succeeded to the throne, shortly to marryKing Philip of Spain. The Protestant Bishops were replaced withCatholic ones, in particular Bonner, Bishop of London, and these setabout murderously dealing with the least signs of Protestantism. 

All this is very confusing to the average person, and that is what thestory is about. Just fairly ordinary citizens of London, trying to workout what they are supposed to think and do. 

The author was a strong Protestant, and this makes her arguments all thestronger. 

________________________________________________________________________FOR THE MASTER'S SAKE, BY EMILY SARAH HOLT. 

PREFACE. 

This is not a story which requires much preface. The tale speaks foritself. But it is only right to inform the reader, that the persons whoplay their parts in it (apart from the historical details given) are allfictitious, excepting John Laurence and Agnes Stone. 

It rests, under God, with the men and women of England--and chiefly withthose of them who are young now--whether such events as are heredepicted shall recur in this nineteenth century. The battle of theReformation will soon have to be fought over again; and reformations (noless than revolutions) are "not made with rose-water. "

"Choose you this day whom ye will serve! If the Lord be God, followHim; but if Baal, then follow him. "

Are we ready to follow the Master, --if He lead to Calvary? Or are weready to run the awful risk of hearing Christ's "Depart!" rather thanface men's "Crucify"? Now, while it is called to-day, let us settle thequestion. 

CHAPTER ONE. 

GLAD TIDINGS. 

 "For when the heart of man shuts out, Straightway the heart of God takes in. "

 _James Russell Lowell_. 

"Good lack, Agnes! Why, Agnes Stone! Thou art right well be-calledStone; for there is no more wit nor no more quickness in thee than in apebble. Lack-a-daisy! but this were never good land sithence preachingcame therein, --idle foolery that it is!--good for nought but to set folkby the ears, and learn young maids for to gad about a-showing of theirfine raiment, and a-gossiping one with another, whilst all the work tobe wrought in the house falleth on their betters. Bodykins o' me! canstnot hear mass once i' th' week, and tell thy beads of the morrow withone hand whilst thou feedest the chicks wi' th' other? and that shall bereligion enough for any unlettered baggage like to thee. Here have Ibeen this hour past a-toiling and a-moiling like a Barbary slave, whilethou, my goodly young damosel, wert a-junketing it out o' door; and forwhy, forsooth? Marry, saith she, to hear a shaven crown preach at theCross! Good sooth, but when I tell lies, I tell liker ones than so!And but now come home, by my troth; and all the pans o' th' fire mightha' boiled o'er, whilst thou, for aught I know, wert a-dancing inFinsbury Fields with a parcel of idle jades like thyself. Beshrew theefor a lazy hilding [young person; a term applied to either sex] thatne'er earneth her bread by the half! Now then, hold thy tongue, Mistress, and get thee a-work, as a decent woman should. When I lack alick o' th' rough side thereof, I'll give thee due note!"

Thus far Mistress Martha Winter poured out the vials of her wrath, standing with arms akimbo in the doorway, and addressing a slight, pale-faced, trembling girl of twenty years, who stood before her withbowed head, and made no attempt at self-defence. Indeed, she would havebeen clever who could have slipped in a sentence, or even have edged ina word, when Mistress Winter had pulled out of her wrath-bottle thatcork which was so seldom in it, as Agnes Stone knew to her cost. Norwas it the girl's habit to excuse or defend herself. Mistress Winter'sdeprecation of that proceeding was merely a flourish of rhetoric. SoAgnes, as usual, let the tempest blow over her, offering no attempt tostruggle, but only to stand and endure. 

Mistress Winter had made an excellent investment when, six years before, she adopted Agnes Stone, then an orphan, homeless and friendless; not byany means to be "treated as one of the family, " but to be tyrannisedover as drudge and victim in general. The transaction furnished herwith two endless topics for gossip, on which she dilated with greatenjoyment--her own surpassing generosity, and the orphan's intenseunworthiness. The generosity was not costly; for the portion of foodbestowed on Agnes consisted of the scraps usually given to a dog, whileshe was clothed with such articles as were voted too shabby for thefamily wear. All work which was dirty or disagreeable, fell to Agnes asa matter of course. The widow's two daughters, Joan and Dorothy, respectively made her the vent for ill-temper, and the butt for sarcasm;and if, in some rare moment of munificence, either of them bestowed onher a specked apple, or a faded ribbon, the most abject gratitude wasexpected in return. She was practically a bond slave; for except byrunning away, there was no chance of freedom; and running away, in hercase, meant starvation. 

It had not always been thus. For ten years, more or less, before herterm of bondage to Martha Winter, Agnes had lived with an aunt, her onlysurviving relative. During this stage of her life, she had taken herfair share in the household work, had been fed and clothed--coarselyindeed, for her aunt was comparatively poor, but sufficiently--and shehad been allowed a reasonable number of holidays, and had not beenscolded, except when she deserved it. Though her aunt was anundemonstrative woman, who never gave her an endearing word or a caress, yet life with her was Elysium compared with present circumstances. Butbeyond even this, far back in early childhood, Agnes could dimlyrecollect another life again--a life which was love and sunshine--when amother's hand came between her and hardship, a mother's heart broodedwarmly over her, and a mother's lips called her by tender pet names, "asone whom his mother comforteth. " That was long ago; so long, that tolook back upon it was almost like recalling some previous state ofexistence; but the very memory of it, dim though it was, made thepresent bondage all the harder. 

The offence which Agnes had committed on this occasion lay in havingexceeded the time allowed her by six minutes. Out of respect to theday, which was the festival of Corpus Christi, she had been graciouslygranted the rare treat of a whole hour to spend as she pleased. She hadchosen to spend it in hearing the latter half of a sermon preached atPaul's Cross. For, despite Mistress Winter's disdainful incredulity, the assertion was the simple truth; though that lady, being one of thenumerous persons who cannot imagine the possibility of anythingunpleasant to themselves being delightful to others, had been unable togive credence to the statement. As to the charge of dancing in FinsburyFields, poor Agnes had never in her life been guilty of such a piece ofdissipation. But she knew what to expect when she came in sight of theclock of Saint Paul's Cathedral, and became mournfully conscious thatshe would have to confess where she had been: for Mistress Winter hadpeculiar ideas about religion, and a particular horror of beingrighteous overmuch, which usually besets people who have no tendency inthat direction. Anything in the shape of a sermon was her specialabhorrence. Every Sunday morning Agnes was required to wait upon herliege lady to matins--that piece of piety lasting for the week: andthree times in the year, without the faintest consideration of herfeelings--always terribly outraged thereby--poor Agnes was draggedbefore the tribunal of the family confessor, and required to give a listof her sins since the last occasion. But anything beyond this, andsermons in particular, found no favour in the eyes of Mistress Winter. 

Generally speaking, Agnes shrank from the mere _thought_ of a lecturefrom this terrible dame. But this time, beyond the unpleasant sensationof the moment, it produced no effect upon her. Her whole mind was fullof something else; something which she had never heard before, and couldnever forget again; something which made this hard, dreary, practicalworld seem entirely changed to her, as though suddenly bathed in a floodof golden light. 

God loved her. This was what Agnes had heard. God, who could doeverything, who had all the universe at His command, loved her, the poororphan, the unlettered drudge; penniless, despised, unattractive--Godloved her, just as she was. She drank in the glad tidings, as a parchedsoil drinks the rain. 

But this was not all. God wanted her to love Him. He sought for herlove, He cared for it. Amid all the hearts laid at His feet, He wouldmiss hers if she did not give it. The thought came upon her like a newrevelation from Heaven, direct to herself. 

The preacher at the Cross that day was a Black Friar--a tall spare man, whom some might call gaunt and ungainly; a man of quick intelligence andradiant eyes, of earnest gesture and burning words. No idle monasticreveller this, but a man of one object, of one idea, full of zeal anddetermination. His years were a little over forty, and his name wasJohn Laurence. But of himself Agnes thought very little; her whole soulwas concentrated upon the message which he had brought her from God. God loved her! Since her mother died, she had been unloved. God lovedher! And she had never asked Him for His love--she had never loved Him. 

It was just the blessed fact itself which filled the heart, and mind, and soul of Agnes Stone. As to how it had come about, she had verylittle idea. She had not heard enough of the Friar's sermon to win anyclear notion on that point; it was enough for her that it was so. 

It never occurred to her to doubt the fact, and demand vouchers. Itnever occurred to her to suppose that her own hard lot was anycontradiction to the theory. And it never occurred to her to imagine, as some do, that God's love led to no result; that He could love, andnot care; that He could love, and not be ready to save. Human love wasbetter than that. The mother who, alone of all creatures, so far as sheknew, had ever loved Agnes Stone, had shown her love by always caring, by always shielding from danger where it lay in her power. And surelythe Fountain could be no weaker than the stream; the love of a weak, fallen, fallible human creature must be less, not more, than the love ofHim who is, and who was, and who is to come; who is the same yesterday, and to-day, and for ever. 

"Hie thee down this minute, thou good-for-nothing hussy!" thundered thevoice of Mistress Winter up the garret stairs, as Agnes was hastilyresuming her working garb. "I'll warrant thou didst ne'er set the foulclothes a-soaking as I bade thee ere thou wentest forth to take thypleasure, and left me a-slaving hither! Get thee to thy work, baggage!Thou art worth but one half as many pence as there be shillings in agroat! [A fourpenny-piece. ] I'll learn thee to gad hearing ofsermons!"

"I set the clothes a-soaking ere I went forth, Mistress, " said Agnes, coming quickly down stairs, and setting to work on the first thing shesaw to need doing. 

"Marry come up!" ejaculated Mistress Winter, looking at her. "Goodlack! hast met with a fortune dropped from the clouds, that thou art allof a grin o' mirth?"

"I met with nought save that I went for, " replied the girl quietly. Butit struck her that the comparison of "a fortune dropped from the clouds"was a singularly happy one. 

"Lack-a-daisy!" cried Dorothy. "The Friar must have told some merrytale belike. Prithee, give us the same, Agnes. "

"Methinks it were scantly so merry for you, Mistress Doll, " answeredAgnes rather keenly. The stranger must not intermeddle with her joy. She held her new treasure with a tight, jealous grasp. Not yet had shelearned that the living water flows the fuller for every streamlet thatit fills; that the true riches are heaped the higher, the more lavish isthe hand that transmits them. 

"Hold thy silly tongue!" cried Mistress Winter, turning sharply roundupon her daughter. "It were jolly work to fall of idle tale-telling, when all the work in the house gapeth for to be done!--Thou weary, dreary jade! what art thou after now? (Agnes was hastily mending a rentin the curtain. ) To fall to dainty stitchery, like a gentlewoman born, when every one of the trenchers lacketh scraping, and not the touch of amop have the walls felt this morrow! Who dost look to, to slave forthee, prithee, my delicate-fingered damsel? Thou shouldst like well, Ireckon, to have a serving-maid o' thy heels, for to 'tend to all matterthat was not sweet enough for thy high degree! _I_ go not about tosweep up the dirt off thy shoes, and so I tell thee plainly!"

Certainly there was not often any want of perspicuity in MistressWinter's admonitions, though there might occasionally be a little lackof elegance and gentleness. But plainly told or not, Agnes remainedsilent, scraped the wooden trenchers, a process which answered to thewashing of earthenware, and duly mopped the walls, and to the best ofher power fulfilled the hard pleasure of her superior. 

And here let us leave her for a moment, while we take a glance at theouter world, to discover where we are in the stream of time, and whatsort of an England it is into which we have entered. 

The day, the festival of Corpus Christi, is the first of June, 1553. King Edward the Sixth is on the throne--a white-faced, grave, reservedboy of fifteen years, whose life is to close about five weeksthereafter. But beside the throne, and on it in all but name--his handfirmly grasping the reins of power, his voice the living law of theState--stands John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland; a man whosesteel-blue eyes are as cold as his heart, and whose one aim in everyaction of his life is the welfare and aggrandisement of John Dudley. Heprofesses himself a Lutheran: at heart, if he care at all for religionof any kind, he is a Papist. But it will not be of service to JohnDudley at the present moment to confess that little fact to the world. Grouped around these two are men of all types--Cranmer, Archbishop ofCanterbury, true Nature's gentleman, leal-hearted Gospeller, delicate inmind, clear in intellect, only not able, having done all, to stand;Ridley, Bishop of London, whose firm, intelligent, clear-cut featuresare an index to his character--perhaps a shade too severe, yet as severeto himself as any other; Hugh Latimer, blunt, warm-hearted old man, whocalls a spade a spade in the most uncompromising manner, and spares notvice, though it flaunt its satin robes in royal halls; William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, the mean-spirited time-server who would cry long lifeto a dozen rival monarchs in as many minutes, so long as he thought itwould advance his own interests; Henry Grey, Duke of Suffolk, who spendshis life in a fog of uncertainty, wherein the most misty object is hisown mind; William Paulet, Marquis of Winchester, who always remembershis motto, "I bend, but break not;" Richard Lord Rich, thesensual-faced, comfortable-looking, stony-hearted man who pulled off hisgown the better to rack Anne Askew, of old time; and, behind them all, one of whom they all think but little--a young man of short stature, with good forehead, and small, wizened features--Mr Secretary Cecil, some day to be known as the great Earl of Burleigh, who holds in hisclever hands, as he sits in the background with his silent face, thestrings that move most of these puppets, and pulls them without thepuppets knowing it, until, on the accession of Mary, the Tower gateswill be opened, and Stephen Gardiner will walk forth, to take the reinsinto his hands, and to steep England in blood. 

Of public events, there have been few since the general confiscation ofchurch plate in the preceding month. 

The Londoners, of whom our friends at Mistress Winter's form a part, aredivided in opinion concerning this step; but neither party has been toomuch distressed to observe the usual dance round the Strand maypole, onthe site of which Saint Mary-le-Strand will presently be built. Atpresent, and for those five weeks yet to come, the march of events isdull and sleepy. It will be sufficiently lively and startling to pleasethe most sensational, before many days of July have run out. 

The Bible is now open in every parish church, chained to a desk, so thatany one who pleases may read. The entire service is conducted inEnglish. The roods and images have been pulled down; candles, ashes, and palms are laid aside; "the wolves are kept close" in Tower and Fleetand Marshalsea; masses, public and private, are contraband articles; themarriage of priests is freely allowed; the altar has been replaced bythe table. It is still illegal to eat flesh in Lent; but this is ratherwith a view to encourage the fish trade than with any religious object. 

To turn to minor matters, such as costume and customs, we findGovernment does not disdain to occupy itself in the regulation of theformer, by making stringent sumptuary laws, and effectually securingtheir observance by heavy fines. The gentlemen dress in the Blue-Coatstyle, occasionally varying it by a short tunic-like coat instead of thelong gown, and surmounting it by a low flat cap, which the noblesornament by an ostrich feather. The ladies array themselves in longdresses, full of plaits, and often stiff as crinoline--plain for thecommonalty, but heavily laden with embroidery, and deeply edged withfur, in the case of the aristocracy. Both sexes, if aspiring tofashion, puff and slash their attire in all directions. The ruff, shortly to become so fashionable, is only just creeping into notice, andas yet contents itself with very modest dimensions. 

Needles are precious articles, of which she is a rich woman whopossesses more than two or three. Glass bottles are unknown, and theirplace is supplied by those of leather, wood, or stone. Wooden bowls andtrenchers for the poor, gold and silver plate for the rich, make up forthe want of china. The fuel is chiefly wood, coal being consideredunhealthy. Every now and then Government takes alarm at the prodigioussize to which the metropolis is growing, and an Act is passed torestrain further building within a given distance from the City walls. Country gentlemen receive peremptory orders to reside on their estates, and not to visit London except by licence; for the authorities areafraid lest the influx of visitors should cause famine and pestilence. There is no drainage; for every householder pours his slops into thestreet, with a warning shout, that the passengers below may run out ofthe way. There are few watches, and fewer carriages; no cabs, nopolice, no post-office; no potatoes, tea, coffee, newspapers, brownpaper, copper coinage, streetlamps, shawls, muslin or cotton goods. Butthere is at times the dreaded plague, which decimates wherever it comes;the terrible frequency of capital punishment for comparatively trivialoffences; the pleasant probability of meeting with a few highwaymen inevery country journey; the paucity of roads, and the extreme roughnessof such as do exist; a lamentable lack of education, even in the higherclasses, hardly atoned for by the exceptional learning of one here andthere; and (though the list might be greatly enlarged) last, not least, the constant presence of vermin of the most objectionable sort, fromwhich neither palace nor cottage is exempt. This, then, was the Englandof 1553. 

CHAPTER TWO. 

FATHER DAN. 

 "Fasting is all very well for those Who have to contend with invisible foes: But I am quite sure that it does not agree With a quiet, peaceable man like me. "

 _Longfellow_. 

Fortunately for Agnes Stone, she was too low down in the world for manythings to affect her which sorely troubled the occupants of the upperstrata. Sumptuary laws were of no consequence to a woman whose bestgown was patched with pieces of different colours, and who had not ahood in her possession; taxes and subsidies, though they might pressheavily on the rich, were no concern of hers, for she did not own apenny; while no want, however complete, of letters, books, andnewspapers, distressed the mind of one who had never learned thealphabet. 

Mistress Winter dwelt in Cowbridge Street, otherwise Cow Lane; now thesite of crowded City thoroughfares, but then a quiet, pleasant, suburbanlane, the calm of which was chiefly broken by the presence, onmarket-days, of numbers of the animal whence the street took its name, caused by the close proximity of Smithfield. Green fields lay at theback of the houses, through which, on its way to the Thames, ran thelittle Fleet River, anciently known as the River of the Wells; beyond ittowered the Bishop of Ely's Palace, with its extensive walled garden, famous for strawberries; to the left was the pleasant and healthyvillage of Clerkenwell, whither the Londoners were wont to stroll onsummer evenings, to drink milk at the country inn, and gossip with eachother round the holy well. On the right hand, between Cow Lane and theThames, lay the open, airy suburbs of Fleet and Temple, and the royalPalace of Bridewell, with its grounds. In front, Hosier Lane and CockLane gave access to Smithfield, beyond which was the sumptuous but nowdissolved Priory of Saint Bartholomew, the once royal domain of LittleBritain, and the walls and gates of the great city, with the grand towerof Saint Paul's Cathedral visible in the distance, over the low roofs ofthe surrounding houses. 

The locality of Cow Lane was far from being a low neighbourhood, thoughits name was not particularly aristocratic in sound. In the old daysbefore the dissolution, which Agnes could just remember, the Prior ofSempringham had his town house in Cow Lane; and the Earl of Bath livedon the further side of the Fleet River, with Furnival's Inn beyond, theresidence of the Barons Furnival, now merged in the Earldom ofShrewsbury. Mistress Winter lived in the last house at the north end ofthe lane, next to Cow Cross, and almost in the country. There is noneed to name her neighbours, with two exceptions, since these only areconcerned in the story. But in Cow Lane every body knew every bodyelse's business; and the mistress at the Fetterlock could not put on anew ribbon without the chambermaid at the Black Lion being aware of it. Do not rush to the conclusion, gentle modern reader, that Cow Lane wasfull of inns or public-houses. Streets were not numbered in those days;and in order to effect the necessary distinction between one house andanother, every man hung out his sign, selecting a silent woman [Note 1], a blue cow, a griffin, or a rose, according as his fancy led him. Sign-painting must have been a profitable trade at that time, and a verynecessary one, when scarcely one man in twenty knew his alphabet; andthe cardinal figures were cabalistic signs to common eyes. 

The two families previously alluded to lived at the southern end of CowLane, and their respective names were Flint and Marvell. Mistress Flintwas a cheerful, good-tempered woman, with whom life went easily, and whohad a large family of sons and daughters, the youngest but one, littleWill, being a special favourite with Agnes. The Marvells were veryquiet people, who kept their opinions and feelings to themselves; thoughtheir son Christie, a mischievous lad of some twelve years, was renownedin Cow Lane for the exact opposite. 

The day was drawing towards evening, when Agnes, as she turned roundfrom emptying a pail of dirty water into the common sewer of Cow Lane, detected the burly figure of Father Dan, the Cordelier Friar, who wasMistress Winter's family confessor, coming up from Seacoal Lane. Notwithout some fears of his errand, she waited till he came near, and thenhumbly louted--the ancient English reverence, now conventionallysupposed to be restricted to charity children. 

"Christ save all here!" said the priest, holding up three fingers in thestyle of benediction peculiar to his Order. 

Taking no further notice of Agnes, he marched within, to be cordiallywelcomed, and his blessing begged, by Mistress Winter and Dorothy; forJoan was gone to see the bear-baiting in Southwark. 

Father Dan was a priest of the popular type--florid, fat, and jovial. His penances were light and easy to those who had it in their power toask him to dinner, or to make gifts to his Order. It might be that theywere all the harder to those from whom such favours were not expected. 

The Cordelier took his seat at the supper-table just laid by Dorothy, this being an easy and dainty style of work in which that young ladycondescended to employ her delicate hands. Mistress Winter was busilyoccupied with a skillet containing some savoury compound, and theFriar's eyes twinkled with expectant gastronomic delight as he watchedthe proceedings of his hostess. Supper being at last ready, the threeprepared to do justice to it, while Agnes waited upon them. A goldenflood of buttered eggs was poured upon the dish in front of the Friar, acherry pie stood before Dorothy, while Mistress Winter, her sleevesrolled up, and her widow's barb [Note 2] laid aside because of the heat, was energetically attacking some ribs of beef. 

"Had Joan no purpose to be back for supper, Doll?" demanded her mother. 

"Nay, " said Dorothy; "Mall Whitelock bade her to supper in Long Lane. Iheard them discoursing of the same. "

"And what news abroad, Father?" asked Mistress Winter. "Pray you, giveme leave to help you to another shive of the beef. Agnes, thou lither[wicked] jade, whither hast set the mustard?"

Father Dan's news was of a minute type. He was no intellectualphilosopher, no profound conspirator; he was indeed slightly interestedin the advancement of the Church, and much more deeply so in that of hisown particular Order; but beyond this, his mind was one of those whichdwell rather on the game season than the government of the country, andwas likely to feel more pleasure in an enormous gooseberry, or a calfwith two heads, than in the outbreak of a European war, or the discoveryof an unknown continent. The great subject in his mind at the momentwas starch. Somebody--Father Dan regretted that he was not able to namehim--had discovered the means of manufacturing a precious liquid, whichwould impart various colours, and indescribable powers of standingalone, to any texture of linen, lawn, or lace. 

"Good heart! what labour it shall save!" cried lazy Dorothy--who didassist in the more delicate parts of the household washing, but shirkedas much of it as she could. 

"Ay, and set you off, belike, Mistress Doll, " added the complimentaryFriar. "As for us, poor followers of Saint Francis, no linen allowethus our Rule, so that little of the new matter is like to come our way. They of Saint Dominic shall cheapen well the same [buy plenty of it], Ireckon, " he added, with a contemptuous curl of his lip, intended for therival Order. 

"But lo' you, there is another wonder abroad, as I do hear tell, "remarked Mistress Winter, "and 'tis certain matter the which, beingtaken--Agnes, thou dolt! what hast done wi' the salad?--being takenhendily [gently, delicately] off the top of ale when 'tis a-making, shall raise bread all-to [almost] as well as sour dough. I know notwhat folk call it. --Thou idle, gaping dizzard [fool]! and I have to askthee yet again what is come of aught, it shall be with mine hand aboutthine ears! Find a spoon this minute!"

"Ha!" said Father Dan, helping himself to sack [Note 3], which had beenbrought out specially to do him honour. "_Yeast_ is it I have heard thesame called. 'Tis said the bread is better tasted therewith, ratherthan sour dough. "

"Pray you, good Father, to eat of this salad, " entreated his hostess. "I had it of one of my Lord of Ely his gardeners; and there is thereinthe new endive, and the Italian parsley, that be no common matter. "

That the Cordelier was by no means indifferent to the good things ofthis life might be seen in his face, as he drew the wooden salad bowl alittle nearer. 

"Have you beheld the strange bird that Mistress Flint hath had sent toher over seas?" inquired he. "I do hear that great lords and ladieshave kept such like these fifty years or so; but never saw I one thereofaforetime. 'Tis bright yellow of plumage, and singeth all one as alark: they do call his name canary. "

"Nay, forsooth, I never see aught that should do me a pleasure!" saidMistress Winter crustily. "Gossip Flint might have told me so much. --Take that, thou lither hussy! I'll learn thee to let fall the knives!"

And on the ear of the unfortunate Agnes, as she was stooping to recoverthe dropped knife, came Mistress Winter's hand, with sufficientheaviness to make her grow white and totter ere she could recover herbalance. 

Father Dan took no notice. He could not have afforded to quarrel withMistress Winter, especially now when priests of the old style were at adiscount; and in his eyes such creatures as Agnes were made to be beatenand abused. He merely saw in his hostess a notable housewife, and inAgnes a kind of animated machine, with just soul enough to be kept tothe duty of confession, and require a careless absolution, three timesin the year. Such people had no business, in Father Dan's eyes, to havethoughts or feelings of any sort. They were sent into the world to mopand cook and serve their betters. Of course, when the animated machinesdid take to thinking for themselves, and to showing that they had doneso, the Cordelier regarded it as most awkward and inconvenient--a pieceof insubordinate presumption that must be stamped out at once, and notsuffered to infect others. 

After further conversation in the same style, being unable to go oneating and drinking for ever, Father Dan rose to depart. It was notconfession-time, and on all other occasions Father Dan's pastoral visitscame very much under the head of revelling. There was not a syllable ofreligious conversation; that was considered peculiar to theconfessional. 

Mistress Winter and Dorothy, after a little needlework and some morescolding of Agnes, tramped upstairs to bed; and Joan, coming in half anhour later, excessively cross after her day's pleasuring, followed theexample. Having put away the supper things, and laid every thing inreadiness for the morrow's work. Agnes stood for a moment before shetoo lay down on her hard pallet in the one chamber above that served allfour as bedroom. Through the uncurtained window high up in the room theJune stars looked down upon her. She had no notion of prayer, excepttelling beads to Latin Paters and Aves; but the instinct of the awakenedspirit rose in something like it. 

"God, Thou lovest me!" she said in her heart. He was there, somewherebeyond those stars. He would know what she was thinking. "I know butlittle of Thee; I desire to know more. Thou, who lovest me, tell someone to teach me!"

It would have astonished her to be told that such unuttered longings forthe knowledge of God could be of the nature of prayer. Brought up inintense formalism, it never occurred to her that it was possible to praywithout an image, a crucifix, or a pair of beads. She crept to her poorstraw pallet, and lay down. But the latest thought in her heart, ereshe dropped asleep, was, "God loves me; God will take care of me, andteach me. " She would have been startled to hear that this was faith. Faith, to her, meant relying on the priest, and obeying the Church. Butwas there no whisper--unheard even by herself--

"O woman, great is thy faith: be it unto thee even as thou wilt?"

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Note 1. This, I am sorry to say, was a lady without a head. Itprobably indicated the residence of an old bachelor. 

Note 2. The barb was a plaiting of white linen, which was fastened atthe chin, and entirely covered the neck. 

Note 3. Sack appears to have been a general name for white wine, especially the sweeter kinds. 

CHAPTER THREE. 

MAKING PROGRESS. 

 "I care not how lone in this world I may be, So long as the Master remembereth me. "

 _Helen Monro_. 

"So sure as our sweet Lady, Saint Mary, worketh miracles at Walsingham, never was poor woman so be-plagued as I, with an ill, ne'er-do-well, good-for-nought, thankless hussy, picked up out of the mire in thegutter! Where be thy wits, thou gadabout? Didst leave them at theCross yester-morrow? Go thither and seek for them! for ne'er a barleycrust shalt thou break this even in this house, or my name is not MarthaWinter!"

And, snatching up a broom, Mistress Winter hunted Agnes out of doors, and slammed the door behind her. 

It was not altogether a new thing for Agnes to be turned out into thestreet for the night, and Mistress Winter reserved it as her mosttremendous penalty. Perhaps, had she known how Agnes regarded it, shemight have invented a new one. These occasions were her times ofrecreation, when she usually took refuge with good-natured MistressFlint, who was always ready to give Agnes a supper and a share of hergirls' bed. A few hours in the cheerful company of the Flints was areal refreshment to the hard-worked and ever-abused drudge. But thistime she did not at once seek Mistress Flint. She walked, as MistressWinter had amiably suggested, straight to the now deserted Cross, andsat down on one of its stone steps. It would not be dark yet foranother hour, and until the gathering dusk warned her to return, Agnesmeant to stay there. She was feeling very sad and perplexed. The gloryin which the world had been steeped only yesterday had grown pale andgrey. The cares of the world had come in. Poor Agnes had set out thatmorning with a firm determination to serve God throughout the day. Heridea of service consisted in the ceaseless mental repetition of forms ofprayer. Busy with her Aves and Paternosters, she had forgotten to shutthe oven door, and a baking of bread had been spoiled. She sat nowmournfully wondering how any one in her position could serve God. Ifsuch mischances as this were always to happen, she could never getthrough her work. And the work must be done. Mistress Winter was oneof the last people in the world to permit religion to take precedence ofhousewifery. How then was poor Agnes ever to "make her salvation" atall?

The mistake was natural enough. All her life she had walked in the mistof self-righteousness; her teachers had carefully led her into it. Starting from the idea that man had to merit God's favour, was it anywonder that, when told that God loved her already, she still fanciedthat, in order to retain that love, she must do something to deserve it?The new piece was sewn on the old garment, and the rent was made worse. 

But now, must she give up the glad thought of being loved? If servingGod, as she understood that service, made her neglect her every-dayduties, what then? How was she ever to serve God? It was a misfortunefor Agnes that she had heard only half of the Friar's sermon. The otherhalf would have removed her difficulties. 

She had reached this point in her perplexed thoughts, when she wasstartled by a voice inquiring--

"What aileth thee, my daughter?"

Agnes looked up, and beheld the same dark shining eyes which had flasheddown upon her from the Cross yesterday morning. 

"I scantly can tell, " she said, speaking out her thoughts. "It seemethnot worth the while. "

"What seemeth thus?" asked the Friar. 

"Living, " said the girl quietly. There was no bitterness in her tone, hardly even weariness; it was simply hopeless. 

The Friar remained silent for a moment, and Agnes spoke again. 

"Father, " she faltered, in a low, shy voice, "I heard you preach hereyester-morrow. "

"I brought thee glad tidings, " was the significant answer. 

The tears sprang to her eyes. "O Father!" she said, "I thought them soglad--that God loved me, and would have me for to love Him; but now 'tisall to no good. I cannot serve God. "

"What letteth?"

"That I am in the world, and must needs there abide. "

"What for no? Serve God in the world. "

"Good Father, if you did but know, you should not say the same!" saidAgnes in the same hopeless tone in which she had spoken before. 

"If I knew but what?"

In answer, Agnes told him her simple story; unavoidably revealing in itthe hardships of her lot. "You must needs see, good Father, " sheconcluded, "that I cannot serve God and do Mistress Winter's bidding. "

"I see no such a thing, good daughter, " replied the Friar. "Dost thinkthe serving of God to lie in the saying of Paternosters? It is thineheart that He would have. Put thine heart in thy labour, and give Himboth together. "

"But how so, Father?" inquired Agnes in an astonished tone. "I pray youtell me how I shall give to God the baking of bread?"

"Who giveth thee thy daily bread?"

"That, no doubt, our Lord doth. "

"Yet He giveth the same by means. He giveth it through the farmer, themiller, and the baker. It falleth not straight down from Heaven. Whenthou art the bakester, art not thou God's servant to give daily bread?Then thy work should be good and perfect, for He is perfect. By theservant do men judge of the master; and if thy work is to be offeredunto God, it must be the best thou canst do. Think of this the nexttime thou art at work, and I warrant thee not to _forget_ the oven door. But again: Who hath set thee thy work? When this hard mistress ofthine betook thee to her house, did not God see it? did not He order it?If so be, then every her order to thee (that is not sinful, understandthou) is God's order. Seek then, in the doing thereof, not to pleaseher, but Him. "

"O Father, if I could do that thing!"

"Child, when the Master went home for a season, and left His lodginghere below, He appointed `to every man his work. ' Some of us have hardwork: let us press on with it cheerfully. If we be His, it is _His_work. He knoweth every burden that we bear, and how hard it presseth, and how sore weary are His child's shoulders. Did He bear no burdensHimself in the carpenter's workshop at Nazareth; yea, and up the steepof Calvary? Let Him have thy best work. He hath given thee His best. "

Never before, nor in so short a time, had so many new ideas beensuggested to the mind of Agnes Stone. The very notion of Christ'ssympathy with men was something strange to her. She had been taught toregard Mary as the tender human sympathiser, and to look upon Christ inone of two lights--either as the helpless Infant in the arms of themother, or as the stern Judge who required to be softened by Mary'smerciful intercession. But the one gush of confidence over, she wasdoubly shy. She shrank from clothing her vague thoughts with preciseand distinct language. 

"I would I might alway confess unto you, Father, " she said gratefully, rising from her hard seat "I would have thee confess unto a better thanI, my daughter, " was the priest's answer. "There is no confessor liketo the great Confessor of God. Christ shall make never a blunder; andHe beareth no tales. Thine innermost heart's secrets be as safe withHim as with thyself. "

"But must I not confess to a priest?" demanded Agnes in a surprisedtone. 

"There is one Priest, my daughter, " said the Friar. "And `because Hecontinueth ever, unchangeable hath He the priesthood. ' There can benone other. "

This was another new idea to Agnes--if possible, more strange than theformer. She ventured a faint protest which showed the nature of herthoughts. 

"But He, that is the Judge at the doomsday! how could such as I e'erconfess to Him?"

A smile--which was sad, not mirthful--parted the grave lips of the BlackFriar. 

"Child!" he answered, "there is no man so lowly, there is no man soloving, as the Man Christ Jesus. "

Agnes was so deep in thought that she did not hear his retreating steps. She looked up with a further remark on her lips, and found that he wasgone. 

It was nearly dark now, and there was only just time to reach the Citygate before the hour when it would be closed. Agnes hurried on quickly, passed out of Newgate, and, afraid of being benighted, almost ran upGiltspur Street to the south end of Cow Lane. A hasty rap on MistressFlint's door brought little Will to open it. 

"Good lack!" said the child. "Mother, here is Mistress Agnes Stone. "

"What, Agnes!" cried Mistress Flint's cheery voice from within. "Comein, dear heart, and welcome. What news to-night, trow?"

"The old news, my mistress, " said Agnes, smiling, "that here is asupperless maid bereft of lodgment, come to see if your heart be as fullof compassion as aforetime. "

"Lack-a-daisy! hath Gossip Winter turned thee forth? Well, thank thesaints, there is room to spare for thee here. Supper will be ready eremany minutes, I guess. Prithee take hold o' th' other end of Helen'swork, and it shall be all the sooner. "

Helen Flint, who was busy at the fire, welcomed the offered help with abright smile like her mother's, and set Agnes to work at once. Thelatter was beginning to find herself very hungry, and Mistress Flinttreated her guest to considerably better fare than Mistress Winter didher drudge. There were comparatively few of the household at home tosupper; for the party consisted only of Mr and Mrs Flint, twodaughters, Helen and Anne, and the little boys, Will and Dickon. 

"What news abroad, Goodman?" demanded Mistress Flint, when her curiositygot the better of her hunger. 

"Why, that 'tis like to rain, " returned her husband, a quiet, unobtrusive man, with a good deal of dry humour. 

"That I wist aforetime, " retorted she; "for no sooner set I my foot outof the door this morrow than I well-nigh stepped of a black snail. "

"I reckon, " observed Mr Flint, calmly cutting into a pasty, "that blacksnails be some whither when there is no wet at hand. "

"Gramercy, nay!" cried unphilosophical Mistress Flint. 

"Oh, so?" said he. "Fall they from the sky, trow, or grow up out o' th'ground?"

"Dear heart [darling, beloved one], Jack Flint! how can I tell?"answered his wife. 

"Then, dear heart, Mall Flint!" responded he, imitating her, "I'd leavebe till I so could. "

Mistress Flint laughed; for nothing ever disturbed her temper, and thebanter was as good-humoured as possible. 

"Well, for sure!" said she. "Is there ne'er a man put in the pillory, nor a woman whipped at the cart-tail, nor so much as a strange fish goneby London Bridge? Ha, Nan! yonder's a stranger in the bars. Hastethee, see what manner of man. "

Anne left the form on which she was sitting, and peered intently intothe grate. 

"'Tis a dark man, Mother, " said she, after careful investigation. 

"Is he nigh at hand?" inquired Mistress Flint anxiously. 

"I trow so, " replied Anne, still occupied with the bars, "and reasonablerich to boot. "

"Marry, yonder's a jolly hearing!" said her mother. 

"How so, " asked Mr Flint, pursing up his lips, "without he make us agift of his riches?"

"Dear heart alive!" suddenly ejaculated Mistress Flint, turning round onHelen. "How many a score o' times must I tell thee, Nell, that to laythy knife and spoon the one across the other is the unluckiest thing inall this world, saving only the breaking of a steel glass[looking-glass], and a winding-sheet in the candle? Lay them straightalong this minute, child! Dear, dear; but to think of it!"

Helen, in some perturbation, altered her knife and spoon to the requiredpositions. 

"Now, Agnes, dear heart, prithee get some flesh o' thy bones!" saidMistress Flint, returning to her usual cheery manner. "Good lack! Ilove not to see a maid so like to a scarecrow as thou. Come now, another shive of mutton? well, then, a piece o' th' pasty--do! Eh, ingood sooth, thou mayest well look white. Now, Will and Dickon, lads, 'tis time ye were abed. "

Will and Dickon, thus addressed, promptly knelt down, one on each sideof his mother, and Will proceeded to gabble over his prayers, followedby Dickon with articulate sounds which had no other merit than that ofbearing some resemblance to the words in question. 

The boys commenced by crossing themselves, then they raced through thePaternoster, the Angelical Salutation, and the Creed, all in Latin; ofcourse without the faintest idea of any meaning. They then repeated ashort prayer in English, entreating the Virgin, their guardian angels, and their patron saints, to protect them during the night. This done, Will rattled off half a dozen lines (carefully emphasising theinsignificant words), which alone of all the proceeding had eitherinterest or meaning in his eyes. 

 "Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, Bless the bed that I lie on: Four corners to my bed, Four angels at their head-- One to read, and one to write, And two to guard my bed at night. "

"Good lads!" said Mistress Flint, as she rose and restored the crucifixwhich she had been holding before the boys to its usual place. 

"Mother!" said Will, who was inconveniently intelligent, "who beMatthew, Mark, Luke, and John? Doth it mean Luke Dobbs, and Father?"

Mr Flint indulged himself in a quiet laugh. 

"Nay, dear heart!" answered his mother. "Those be the holy Apostles, that writ the Evangels. "

"What be the Evangels, Mother?"

"Did ever one see such a lad to put questions?" demanded Mistress Flint. "Why, child, they be writ in the great Bible, that lieth chained in theMinster. "

"What be they about, Mother?"

"Come, lad, if I tarry to answer all thy talk, thou shalt not be abedthis even, " responded Mistress Flint discreetly; for this was a querywhich she would have found it hard to answer; and with a playful show ofperemptoriness, she drove Will and Dickon upstairs to the bedchamber, inwhich slept the five boys of the family. 

There was a minute's silence, only broken by the movements of Helen andAnne, who were putting away the bowls, jugs, and trenchers which hadbeen used at supper, when suddenly Mr Flint said--to nobody inparticular--

"What _be_ they about?"

His daughters looked up, and then resumed their occupation, with a shakeof the head from Anne, and a little laugh from Helen. 

"Methinks, Master, " said Agnes rather diffidently, "'tis about God, andHis love to men. "

"What thereabout?" replied he, continuing to look into the fire. 

"Why, Master, " said Agnes, "surely you do wit better than I. "

"Well, I wit nought thereabout, nor never want, " said Anne a littlepettishly. "'Twill be time enough when I have the years o' my grandame, I guess, to make me crabbed and gloomsome. "

Agnes looked at her in amazement. 

"Nan, " said her father, "I heard thee this morrow a-singing of alove-song. "

"Well, so may you yet again, " said she, laughing. 

"That made thee not gloomsome, trow?" he asked. 

"Never a whit! how should it?" replied Anne, still laughing. 

"Let be! but 'tis queer, " said he, rising. "Man's love is merry gear;but God's love is crabbed stuff. 'Tis a strange world, my maids. "

Both Helen and Anne broke into a peal of laughter; but Mr Flint wasgrave enough. He walked through the kitchen, and out at the front door, without saying more. 

"What hath come o'er Father of late?" said Helen. "He is fallen to askas queer questions as Will. "

"What know I?" replied Anne, "or care, for the matter of that. Come, Nell, let us sing a bit, to cheer us!"

It struck Agnes that there was not much want of cheer in that house; butHelen readily responded to her sister's wish, and they struck up apopular song. 

 "The hunt is up, the hunt is up, The hunt is up and away, And Harry our King is gone hunting, To bring his deer to bay. 

 "The east is bright with morning light, And darkness it is fled, And the merry horn wakes up the morn To leave his idle bed. 

 "Behold the skies with golden dyes Are glowing all around, The grass is green, and so are the treen, All laughing at the sound. "

The sisters sang well, and Agnes enjoyed the music. This song wasfollowed by others, and Mistress Flint, coming down, joined in; and theeldest son, Ned, made his appearance and did the same, till there wasalmost a concert. At last Mistress Flint stopped the harmony, bydeclaring that she could not keep awake five minutes longer; and allparties made the best of their way to bed. 

Mistress Winter was found, on the following morning, to have recoveredas much of her temper as she was usually in the habit of recovering. That Joan had lost hers was nothing new; it was rarely the case thatboth mother and daughter were in an amiable mood together. The formerreceived Agnes with her customary amenities, merely suggesting, withpleasantry of her own kind, that of course 'twould be too heavy a toilfor her gracious madamship to carry the water-pails to Horsepool--thespring in West Smithfield which supplied Cow Lane--and that so soon asshe could hear tell of a gentlewoman lacking of a service, she wouldengage her at ten pound by the month to wait of her worshipfulness. Agnes made no answer in words; she only took up the pails quietly andwent out. As she came up to Horsepool, she spied her friend MistressFlint, bent on a similar errand, coming up Cock Lane. 

"Dear heart, Agnes!" cried the latter. "Is there none save thee to bearthose heavy pails of water? Methinks yon lazy Joan might lift one, andbe none the worsen. She hath the strength of a horse, and thou barelyso much as a robin. "

Agnes smiled her thanks for her friend's sympathy, as she let down thewater-pails. 

"I am used to the same, Mistress Flint, I thank you. "

"Go to, --wert thou at the Cross t' other morrow? Methought I saw thyface in the throng. "

A light broke over the face, but Agnes only said, "Ay. "

"How liked thee yon Friar's discourse?"

"It liked me well. "

"Marry, thus said Cicely Marvell, that dwelleth by me. But for me, Isaw none so much therein to make ado o'er. `God loveth men'--ay, to besure He doth so: and `we should love God'--why, of course we so should, and do. Forsooth, what then, I pray you?"

"Why, then, much comfort, as meseemeth, " answered Agnes. 

"Comfort!" repeated Mrs Flint, looking at her. "Ay, poor soul, I daresay thou hast need. But I lack no comfort at this present, the blessedSacrament be thanked! I have enough and to spare. "

And, half laughing, with a farewell nod, Mrs Flint took up her fullpail, and trudged away. With some surprise Agnes realised that to thischeerful, healthy, prosperous woman, the ray of light which was makingher whole soul glad, was not worth opening the windows to behold; thewine of Paradise which brimmed her cup with joy, was only common water. Perhaps, before that light could make a happy heart glad, other lightsmust be put out; before the water could be changed to wine, otherconduits must run dry. It was well for Agnes Stone that she had nothingwherewith to quench her thirst but the cup of salvation, and no light toshine upon her pathway but the light of life. 

CHAPTER FOUR. 

THE ROOT OF THE MATTER. 

 "My Christ He is the Heaven of Heavens-- My Christ what shall I call? My Christ is first, my Christ is last, My Christ is all in all. "

 _John Mason_. 

As Agnes toiled home with her weary burden, she met her own specialfavourite, little Will. 

"Look you, Mistress Agnes!" cried little Will, triumphantly holding uphis horn-book. 

"I can say all my Christ-Cross-Row [alphabet]--every letter!"

"Dear heart!" returned Agnes, sympathising in her little friend'spleasure. 

"And as to-morrow I am to join the letters!" exclaimed little Willagain, in high exultation. 

"I trust thou wilt be a good lad, Will, and apply thee diligently. "

"Oh, ay, " said Will, dismissing that part of the question somewhatcurtly. "And look you, I met, an half-hour gone, with the Black Friarthat preached at the Cross th' other morrow; and he saw my horn-book, and asked at me if I knew the same. And when I said I so did, what didhe, think you, but sat him down of a stone, and would needs have me forto say it all o'er unto him. And I made but one only blunder; I said, `Q, S, R, ' in the stead of `Q, R, S. ' And he strake mine head, and saidI was a good lad, and he would I should go on with my learning till Imight read in the great Bible that lieth chained in the Minster. "

"Well-a-day! did he so?" responded Agnes. 

"Ay, so did he. But wot you what Christie Marvell saith? He saith 'tisrare evil doing that any save a priest should read in yon big book, andhe hath heard his father for to say the same. And he saith old FatherDan, the Cordelier, that is alway up and down hereabout, he said untohim that he would not for no money that he should learn to read theEvangel, for that it should do him a mischief. What think you, MistressAgnes?"

"Methinks, Will, thou shalt do well to give good heed unto the BlackFriar, and to thy master at the school, and leave Christie Marvell a-bewith his idle talk. "

"Nay, go to, Mistress Agnes! 'tis Father Dan's talk. "

"Then tarry till Father Dan tell thee so much himself. It may well bethat Christie took not his words rightly. "

"Ay, " said the child, doubtfully. "But what manner of mischief, thinkyou, meant he? Should it cast a spell on me, or give me the ague?"

Little Will, as we have already seen, was the child of a superstitiousmother. To hear the tap of a death-watch was sufficient to makeMistress Flint lose a night's sleep; and a person who disbelieved infairies she would have considered next door to a reprobate. But Agneswas remarkably free from such ideas for her time, when few were entirelydevoid of them; and she laughed at little Will's fancy. 

"Well, " said he, "any way, when I can read in the great Bible, MistressAgnes, then will I read unto you, and you shall come to the Minster andhear me. Christie's mother saith there be right pretty storiestherein. "

Like many another in those days, into the household of Henry and CicelyMarvell, the Gospel had brought not peace, but a sword. The husband, astern, morose man, was fondly attached to the beggarly elements of Romanceremonials; while the wife had received and hidden the Word in herheart, and though too much afraid of her husband to venture far, contrived now and then to drop a word for Christ's Gospel. Christie, the troublesome boy, cared for none of these things, and made game ofthe views of each parent in turn. 

Agnes smilingly bade good-bye to her ambitious little friend Will, forthey had now reached Mistress Winter's door. A scolding awaited her, asusual, first for "dawdling, " and then for spilling a few drops of wateron the brick floor as she set down the heavy pails. But Agnes scarcelyheeded it, for her mind was full of a new project. It would be sometime before little Will could read, and longer still before he could seeover the Minster desk, where the great Bible lay chained. But whyshould she wait for that? She dimly remembered, in long past days, whenher aunt was living, having several times gone with her on Sundayafternoons to vespers in the Cathedral, and heard some one reading atthe desk in the nave. Then she had not cared to listen. Why should shenot go to hear it now?

Of political events Agnes knew little, and thought less. She couldbarely have told who was on the throne, had she been asked. She hadwatched alike tumult and pageant without any intelligent notion of whatwas passing. Nor had she any idea that during those past days, whensuch things had no interest for her, the opportunity of using them hadbeen passing away; and that in a very few weeks the public reading ofthe Bible would be perilous to those who had the courage to dare it. Imprisonment would soon await any layman who should dare to read toanother the Word of Life. 

It often occurred that projects had to dwell in Agnes's mind for sometime before she had an opportunity to put them into execution. Thatsuch should be the case with this one gave her no surprise. Generallyspeaking, after mass on Sunday, Joan and Dorothy donned their finestclothes, and went out on a merry-making expedition, while MistressWinter, also in grand array, preferred to entertain her neighbours athome. She considered Agnes on these occasions as one too many, andusually contrived to send her on some errand to a distance; but now andthen, when no errand was forthcoming, she had the Sunday afternoon toherself. Five Sundays passed after the project had taken shape in hermind, and no leisure had yet come to Agnes. The Saturday arrived, theeve of the sixth Sunday, and she was still in expectation of fulfillingher hopes in some happy future. The hope was communicated to CicelyMarvell, whom Agnes met in returning from the pump, with certainty ofsympathy on her part. 

The full pails were only just set down on the kitchen floor, when inbustled Mistress Flint, with a dish-cloth in her hand, which she had notwaited to lay down, so eager was she to utter what she came to say. 

"Go to, Gossip Winter! Heard you the news?"

"News, gramercy! Who e'er hath the grace to tell me a shred thereof?"returned Mistress Winter crustily. "What now, Gossip?"

"Forsooth, the King's Grace is departed. "

"Alack the day! Who saith it?"

"Marry, my Lord Mayor himself hath proclaimed it at the Cross, and asMonday are my Lords of the Council to ride unto the Tower for to salutethe new Queen. "

"The new Queen! Who is she, belike?" demanded Mistress Winter, who didnot usually trouble her head with politics. She was standing by thefire with a frying-pan in her hand, arrested in her occupation bysurprise and curiosity, as Mistress Flint had been in hers. 

"Why, what think you? Folk say that heard the same, that the King'sHighness hath left the Crown by will to his cousin, my Lady Jane Dudley, and hath put by his own sisters; and she shall be proclaimed asto-morrow in Cheapside. "

"Dear heart alive!" cried Mistress Winter. "And what say my Ladies theKing's sisters, that be thus left out in the cold?"

"That is as it may be, " replied Mistress Flint mysteriously. "My goodman saith, if the Lady Mary suffer all tamely, then is she not the maidhe took her to be. "

"Lack-a-day! but I do verily hope siege shall be ne'er laid to London!It should go ill with us that dwell in the outskirts. "

"You say well, Gossip, in very deed. The blessed saints have a care ofus! as metrusteth they shall. "

"Not they belike!" growled Mistress Winter, resuming her suspendedproceedings with the frying-pan. "They shall be every one a-looking outfor the Lady Jane. "

Mistress Flint came nearer, and replied in a mysterious whisper. 

"Scantly so, as methinks, Gossip, when she is of the new learning, iffolk speak sooth touching her. The saints and angels shall trouble themrare little about her. Trust me, they shall go with the Lady Mary, every man of them. "

"Say you so?" demanded Mistress Winter. "Why, then shall the oldlearning come in again, an' she win. "

"Ay, I warrant you!" responded her neighbour. 

Mistress Winter fried her rashers with a meditative face. 

"Doll!" said she, when Mistress Flint and her dish-cloth had departed, "whither is become Saint Thomas of Canterbury?"

"Go to! what wis I?" returned Dorothy. "He was cast with yon old lumberin the back attic, when King Edward's Grace come in. He hath been o' nocount this great while. "

"Fetch him forth, " said Mistress Winter; "and, Agnes, do thou cleansehim well. If my Lady Jane win, why, 'tis but that we love not to haveno dirt in the house: but if my Lady Mary, then shall he go to thegilder, and I will set him of an high place, for to be seen. Haste theeabout it. "

Half an hour later, Agnes (to whom Dorothy deputed the dusty search)came down from the attic, carrying a battered wooden doll on a stand, which had once been gaudily painted, but was now worn and soiled, deprived of an arm, and gashed in sundry places, having been used as achopping-block for a short time during the palmy days of theReformation. 

"He'll lack a new nose, " remarked Mistress Winter, thoughtfullyconsidering the poor ill-used article. "And an arm must he have, and beall fresh painted and gilt, belike. Dear heart! it shall be costlymatter! Howbeit, we must keep up with the times, if we would swim andnot sink. "

Keeping up with the times is a very costly business. It costs many mentheir fortunes, many their reputations, and some their souls. Yet menand women are always to be found who will pay the full price, ratherthan miss doing it. 

The struggle was sharp, but short. On the tenth of July, Lady Jane madeher queenly entry into the Tower, in anticipation of that coronationwhich was never to be hers in this world; and on the twentieth, her ninedays' reign was over, and Mary was universally acknowledged Queen ofEngland. The first important prisoner made was the Duke ofNorthumberland, hurled down just as he touched the glittering prize tothe winning of which he had given his life; the second was BishopRidley. Events followed each other with startling rapidity. The LadyElizabeth, with her customary sagacity, kept quiet in the backgrounduntil the succession of her sister was assured, and then came openly toLondon to meet the Queen. Peers were sent to the Tower in a longprocession. Bonner was restored to the See of London, Gardiner sworn ofthe Council, Norfolk and Tunstal released from prison. The Queen madeher triumphal entry into her metropolis, and the new order of things wassecured beyond a doubt. 

Business was very brisk, for some weeks afterwards, with the carver andgilder at the bottom of Hosier Lane. Quantities of idols, thrown sixyears before to the moles and to the bats, were now searched for, mended, cleaned, regilt, and set up in elevated niches. Every houseshowed at least one, except where those few dwelt who counted not theirlives dear unto them for the Master's sake. Henry Marvell went to theexpense of a new Virgin, which he set up on high in his kitchen; butCicely did not put her hand to the accursed thing, and quietly ignoredits existence. Christie, as usual, made himself generally disagreeable, by low reverences to the image in the presence of his mother, and makingfaces at it in that of his father--a state of things which lasted untilhe was well beaten by the latter, after which occurrence he reserved hisgrimaces for other company. 

Mistress Flint was entirely indifferent to the question; but since everybody else was setting up an idol, she followed in the crowd. If MrFlint cared, he kept his own counsel. Little Dickon clapped his handsat the pretty colours and bright gilding; and Will innocently asked, "Mother, wherefore had we ne'er Saint Christopher aforetime?"

"Come now, be a good lad, and run to Gossip Hickman for a candle!" washis mother's convincing answer. 

But this is anticipating, and we must retrace our steps to that sixthSunday for which Agnes was waiting in patient hope. Very anxiously shewatched to see whether, when dinner was over, she would be despatched toAldgate or Bermondsey. But it happened at last as she desired; therewas nowhere to send her. Mistress Winter, in her usual consideratestyle of language, gave Agnes to understand that she had no wish to seeher again before dark; and, clad in the old patched serge which was herSunday dress, the poor drudge crept timidly into Saint Paul's Cathedral. 

From the Lady Chapel, soft and low, came the chant of the Virgin'sLitany. The fashionable people, in rich attire, were promenading up anddown the aisle known as "Paul's Walk. " In the side chapels a fewworshippers lingered before the shrines; and round a lectern, in onecorner of the nave, were gathered a little knot of men and women, waiting there in the almost forlorn hope that some priest, more zealousthan the rest, might come up and read to them. They could not nowexpect any layman to have the courage to do so. Agnes joined thisgroup. 

"I misdoubt there'll be no reading this day, " said a grey-headed man. 

"Ne'er a priest in Paul's careth to do the same, " responded aforlorn-looking woman. "They be an idle set of wine-bibbers, every manJack of them. "

"Hush thee, Goody!" whispered a second woman, giving a friendly push tothe first. "Keep a civil tongue in thine head, prithee, as whatso thythoughts be. "

"Thoughts make no noise, " said the old man, smiling grimly. 

All at once there was a little stir among the group, as the tall, gauntfigure of the Black Friar was seen climbing the steps of the desk. 

"Brethren!" said the voice which Agnes so well remembered, "let us readtogether the word of God. "

And, beginning just where he had opened the book, he read to them thestory of the raising of Lazarus. He gave no word of comment till hereached the end; then he shut the book and spoke to them. 

"Brethren!" said the ringing voice, "this day is come Christ unto you, that He may awake you out of sleep. And if ye have not heretofore heardHis voice, your sleep, like Lazarus, is that of very death. Now, O yedead, hear the voice of the Son of God, and live. No man cometh untothe Father but by Him. Ye must come at God neither by mass, nor bypenance, nor by confessing, nor by alms-giving, but alonely by Christ. And him that cometh will Christ in nowise cast out. No thief will Heturn away; no murderer shall hear that he hath overmuch sinned forpardon; no poor soul shall be denied the unsearchable riches; no wearyheart shall seek for rest and find none. Yea, He is become Christ--thatis, God and man together--for this very thing, that He might give untoevery one of you that will have them, His pardon and His peace. Comeye, every one of you, this day, and put this Christ unto the test. "

Without another word the Black Friar descended from the desk, and passedalong the nave to the western door with long, rapid strides. And Agneswent home with her heart full. 

Full--with what strange and new thoughts! No masses, no penances, noconfessions, no alms-givings, to be the means of reconciliation withGod; but only Christ. And was it possible that the Friar meant oneother thing which, he had not said--no intercession of saints? IfChrist were so ready to receive and bless all who would come--if He wereHimself the Mediator for man with God--could He need a mediator in Histurn?

Yet if not, thought Agnes with a feeling of sudden terror as thesupposition came to her, what became of the intercession of Mary? Shewho was held up as the Lady of Sorrows--just as Isis, and Cybele, andHertha had been before her, but of that Agnes knew nothing--she who waspictured by the Church as the fountain of mercy and compassion--themaiden who could sympathise with the griefs of womanhood, the mother whohad influence with, yea, authority over, the divine Son--what place didFriar Laurence find for her in his teaching? The mere imagination of areligion without Mary, was like the thought of chaos. Hitherto she hadbeen the motive-power of all piety to Agnes Stone. A sermon without ourLady! It was shocking even to think of it. 

Had Agnes been in the regular habit of attendance at Saint Paul's Cross, she would have heard many such sermons during the reign of Edward theSixth. But Mistress Winter's disapprobation, combined with her ownindifference, had been enough to keep her away, and the half-discourseof John Laurence at the Cross had been the only sermon she remembered tohave heard during the five years of her residence with that delectabledame. Many thoughts, therefore, now familiar to the church-goingpublic, were quite new to her. 

If she could but once again come across Friar Laurence!

CHAPTER FIVE. 

AGNES IS ASKED A QUESTION. 

 "Whate'er I say, whate'er I syng, Whate'er I do, that hart shall se, That I shall serue with hart lovyng That lovyng hart that lovyth me. "

Few things are more touching in their way than the fragment of papercontaining the poem from which the motto to this chapter is a quotation. Among the dusty business manuscripts of the Dean and Chapter ofCanterbury, in the oldest division, relating to the affairs of thePriory of Christ Church, were found by the Historical Commission twosongs, scribbled on scraps of paper. One was a love-song of the commontype, such as, allowing for difference of diction, might be had in anysecond-rate music-shop of the present day. But the other was of a verydifferent and far higher order. It was the cry of the immured birdwhich has been forced from its nest in the greenwood, and for which lifehas no other attraction than to sit mournfully at the door of the cage, looking out to the fair fields, and the blue sky in which it shallstretch its wings no more. None but God will ever know the name or thestory of that poor heart-weary monk, torn from all that he loved onearth, who thus "pressed his soul on paper, " one hundred years beforethe dissolution of the monasteries. We can only hope that through thesuperincumbent wood, hay, stubble, he dug down to the one Foundation andwas safe: that through the dead words of the Latin services he heard theLiving Voice calling to all the weary and heavy-laden, and that he toocame and found rest. 

But to turn to our story. 

The days rolled slowly on, undistinguishable from one another save bythe practical divisions of baking-day, washing-day, brewing-day, and soforth; and, certainly, not distinguished by any increase of comfort inthe outward surroundings of Agnes's lot. She was trying to do her workheartily, as to the Lord; but it did seem to her that the harder shetried, the harder Mistress Winter was to please; the crosser was Joan, the more satirical was Dorothy. The only sunshine of her life was onthose precious Sunday afternoons, when always the tall gaunt figuremight be seen ascending the desk in the nave of Saint Paul's, and, afterthe reading from Scripture, came a few pithy, fervent words, which Agnestreasured up as very gems. But by-and-by, another gleam of sunlightbegan to creep into her life. 

It was again Sunday afternoon, and the reading in Saint Paul's was overfor that day. But it was too soon to go back to the bosom of thatuncongenial household which Agnes called home; for Mistress Winter wasgenerally extra cross--and the ordinary exhibition was enough withoutthe extra--if Agnes presented herself before she was expected. The nowdeserted steps of the Cross were the only place where she could sit; andaccordingly she took refuge there. Not many minutes were over, when sherecognised the dark figure of Friar Laurence passing through thechurchyard with his usual rapid step. All at once a thought seemed tostrike him. He paused, turned, and came straight up to the place whereAgnes was seated. 

"And how is it with thee, my daughter?" he demanded. 

"Well, Father; and I thank you, " said she. "Verily, touching outwardthings, as aforetime; but touching the inward, methinks the good Lordlearneth me somewhat. "

"Be thou an apt scholar, " said he. 

Agnes grew desperate, and resolved to plunge into the matter. She wasafraid lest he should leave her, with one of his usual rapid movements, before she had got to know what she wanted. 

"Father!" she said hastily, crimsoning as she spoke, "pray you, give meleave to demand a thing of you. "

"Ask thy will, my daughter. "

"Pray you, tell me of your grace, wherefore in your goodly discoursesyou make at all no mention of our Lady?"

The Friar sat down on the steps, when he was asked that question. 

"What wouldst thou have me for to say of her?"

"Nay, Father!" returned Agnes, humbly. "You be a learned priest, and Ibut an ignorant maiden; but having alway heard them that did preachsermons to make much of our Lady, methought I would fain wit, an' Imight ask it at you, wherefore you make thus little. "

"My child!" answered the Friar quietly, "who died on the rood for thee?"

"Jesus Christ our Lord, " responded Agnes readily. 

"What! not Saint Mary?"

"Certes, nay, Father, as methinks. "

"And who is it that pleadeth with God for thee?"

"You have told me, Father, our Lord Christ is He. Yet the folk sayalway, that our Lady doth entreat our Lord for to hear our prayers. "

"Child!" asked the Black Friar, "did Christ die for thee against Hiswill?"

"I would humbly think, not so, Father, " answered Agnes meekly, "sith Heneeded not to have so done at all without it were His good pleasure. "

"Right!" was the rejoinder. "It was by reason that God the Father lovedthee, that He gave Christ to die for thee; it was by reason that Christloved thee, that He bare for thee the pain and shame of the bittercross. Tell me, is there in this world any that thou lovest?"

Agnes hesitated. It seemed something new and strange to think that shecould love, or could be loved, since the death of her mother. But shethought, and said, that she loved little Will Flint. 

"Tell me, then, " pursued her teacher, "if this little lad were in somesore trouble, and that thou couldst quickly ease him thereof, should heneed for to run home and fetch his mother to entreat thee?"

"Surely, nay!" responded Agnes. "I would do the same incontinent[immediately], of mine own compassion, and the more if he should ask it. I would never tarry for his mother!"

"My daughter, is thy love so much better than His that died for us?Should Christ tarry till His mother pray Him to be thine help, when ofHimself He loveth thee?"

"But, Father--I pray you pardon me if I speak foolishly, in mineunwisdom--how then needeth a mediator at all, if God the Father be soloving unto men?"

"God is a King, whose law thou hast broken. He is all perfect;therefore must His justice be perfect, no less than His mercy. Alawgiver that were all justice should be a scourge unto men; but alawgiver that were all mercy should be as good as no law. God hathappointed His Son to be thy Surety; and by reason that He is thy Surety, He is become thine Advocate. He hath said in His Word that the Son isthe Advocate with the Father; but of an advocate with the Son never aword saith He. Wherefore God saw fit to appoint a Mediator, He knoweth, not I. I am content that having thus decreed, He hath Himself providedthe same. "

Agnes looked up, after a moment's thought, with an expression of fearand trouble on her white face. 

"But what then of our Lady?"

"Wherefore should there be aught beyond what God hath told us?" repliedFriar Laurence. "She was `highly favoured' and `blessed among women, 'in that she was the mother of the Saviour. Must she needs _be_ theSaviour to boot?"

"But we must worship her, trow?"

"Must we so? `Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and Him only shaltthou serve. ' Let us hold by God's Word, my daughter. "

"Father, I wis so little thereof! nought at all but what I do hear ofyou, " said Agnes with a sigh. 

"Then, my child, " he replied gently, "list thou the better. And here isa word for thee, and for all other in thy place: `If any man do desireto do God's will, he shall know whether doctrine be truth or no. ' Keepthat desire ever sharp on the whetstone of prayer. Then, surely as Godis in Heaven, thou shalt know. "

The next minute he was gone. 

"Agnes, sweet-heart!" demanded Dorothy that evening, in the sugary stylewhich she only used when she was in a particularly tormenting mood, "prithee do me to wit of the name of thy dear friend, Master BlackFriar? I beheld him and thee in so sweet converse at the Cross, itcaused me to sigh that I had no such a friend as he. I pray theelovingly of his goodly name?"

The answers which Dorothy usually received from Agnes to questions ofthis kind were as short as civility permitted. 

"Master John Laurence, " said she. 

"And how long hast been of his cognisance, sweeting?" demanded Dorothy, with more honey on her tongue than ever. 

"I have wist him some six weeks, " said Agnes. 

"Six weeks! woe worth the day!" cried Dorothy, putting on an aspect ofsentimental sorrow. "And thou never spakest word, when thou wist howdear all we do love thee, and the least we might do for joy of thyfinding a new friend were to have the great bell rung at Paul's! Agnes, my fairest one, this is to entreat us but evil. "

Agnes held her peace. She never felt any doubt of the exceedingly lowprice to be set upon Dorothy's affections towards her. 

"Is he a priest, darling?" inquired Dorothy in her most coaxing tone. 

"Ay, " replied Agnes as curtly as before. 

"Good lack, how delightsome!" exclaimed Dorothy, clasping her hands inmock rapture. "Do, of thy sweet gentlehood, bring me of his cognisance. But to think what it were to have a priest thy friend, and alway getabsolution without no trouble at all!"

But about the last thing which Agnes had any intention of doing was tointroduce Dorothy to John Laurence. 

After that interview at the Cross, Agnes often met the Black Friar. Sometimes he passed her with a simple blessing in answer to herreverence; but more frequently he stopped her, and inquired into herspiritual welfare. She had many a difficulty in which to ask hiscounsel; many a trouble in which it was a relief to seek (and always tofind) his sympathy. He was the only friend she had who spoke thelanguage of Canaan. And it was far less as a priest than as a friendthat Agnes regarded him. He was as different from old Father Dan, theCordelier, as Mistress Flint differed from Mistress Winter. Agnes neverknew, when preparing for one of those abhorred periodical interviewswith the Cordelier, what he might say to her, or rather, what he mightnot say. She shrank with horror from his inquisitive questioning, andnot much less from his petty humiliating penances. Father Dan's remedyfor angry words was to fast for a week on bread and water; for pride, tolick a cross in the dust of the church floor; for envy and covetousness, the administration of a cat-o'-nine-tails on the shoulders. The BlackFriar, on the contrary, led Agnes out of herself altogether. He hadonly one topic, of infinite variety, for it was Jesus Christ. Only oncehad Agnes asked him whether he would recommend her to administer "thediscipline" to herself, as a cure for discontent and murmuring. 

"If thy shoulders be discontented, why, by all means, " answered FriarLaurence, with his grave smile; "but if it be thine heart thatmurmureth, wherefore chastise thy shoulders?"

Agnes never put the question again, and never had recourse to thediscipline. Of fasting, poor girl, she had already too much for herbodily profit, without any adventitious use of it. And when she beganto pray in reality, the rosary was very soon dropped. When a man'sheart is in earnest, to keep count of his words is not possible. 

Meanwhile, in the outer world, the downward progress was very rapid. One after another the Protestant Bishops were committed to prison, andthe chief preachers shared their fate. The first mass was sung at SaintBartholomew's on the eleventh of August, when the people were ready totear the officiating priest in pieces; but by the twenty-fourth of thesame month it was heard in other churches in London, and the hearerswere becoming reconciled to the innovation. The once powerful Duke ofNorthumberland was beheaded on Tower Hill, notwithstanding hisprofession of Popery at the last hour; the married priests weredeprived; the French Protestant residents were banished; the altar wasreplaced in Saint Paul's; the Latin services, processions, palms, ashes, candles, holy bread, holy water, and all the rest of the rubbish sweptaway at the Reformation, came back one by one. That portion of thepopulace which had no particular religion was well pleased enough withthese changes. The shows and the music were agreeable to them, and theGospel sermons which they displaced had not been agreeable. 

Some tell us in the present day that young people must be attracted tochurch, and that if music and pageant be not given them, theirattendance is not likely to be secured. But what have we gained by thusgoing down to the Philistines to sharpen our weapons? Are these youngpeople attracted to any thing but the music and the pageant? They arequite clever enough to realise the inconsistency of the man who servesthem with bread in the pulpit, while he hands out husks from thechancel. 

How many of us mean what we say, when the familiar words fall from ourlips, "I believe in the Holy Ghost"? Should we think it necessary, ifwe really did so, to add all these condiments and spices to the pureBread of Life? Would it not be easier to discern the real flavour ofthe heavenly ambrosia, if we might have it served without Italiancookery?

And is there to be no thought taken for those who are won to Christalready? to whom He is in Himself the all-sufficient attraction, andthese veils and gewgaws are but annoyances, or at least superfluities?Where is the building up of the saints, the edifying of the Body ofChrist? Once was it said to Peter, "Feed My lambs;" but twice "Feed Mysheep. " How is it that so many are satisfied with a state of things inwhich the sheep of Christ are starved and disgusted for the sake of thelambs, or in many cases rather for the sake of those who are not in thefold at all?

In February, 1554, a great commotion was caused in the City and suburbsby the insurrection of Wyatt, which had for its object to arrest theQueen's projected marriage with Prince Philip of Spain. The Londonersdid not show themselves particularly valiant on this occasion, and thedoughty Doctor Weston--one of the most active and prominent of thePopish clergy--sang mass to them with a full suit of armour under hisvestments. The Duke of Suffolk, whose sad fate it was to be perpetuallygetting himself into trouble in the present, for fear of calamitieswhich might never occur in the future, ran away in terror lest he shouldbe suspected of complicity with the rebellion; a proceeding which ofcourse roused suspicion instantly, and sealed not only his own fate, butthat of his daughter, Lady Jane Grey. The latter was beheaded on thetwelfth of February, the former on the twenty-third. For weeks theprisons were full, and the gallows perpetually at work. The Londonerswere in so excited and frightened a state--is it any marvel?--that whenthe phenomena of a mock sun and an inverted rainbow occurred on thefifteenth, they were terrified beyond measure. There was enough toterrify them on the earth, without troubling themselves about the sky. No man's property, liberty, or life was safe for a moment unless he werea devout servant of holy Church; and even in that case he held them by afrail tenure, for private spite might accuse him of heresy, and then forhim there was little hope of mercy. One after another, the few who hadhitherto remained staunch either fled from England, fell from the faith, or suffered at the stake. 

These being the awkward circumstances of the case, Mistress Winterthought it desirable not only to gild Saint Thomas, but to put on acloak of piety. The garment was cheap. It was not difficult to attendevensong as well as matins, and that every day instead of once in theweek; the drama performed in the Cathedral was very pretty, the musicpleasant to hear, the scent of the incense agreeable. It was easy to beextremely cordial to Father Dan, and to express intense subservience tohis orders. This kind of religion was no inconvenient bridler of thetongue, nor did it in the least interfere with the pride of the naturalheart. Humiliation is one thing, and humility is quite another. 

Dorothy began seriously to consider whether she should take the veil. Her disposition was a mixture of the satirical and the sentimental. There would be a good deal of _eclat_ about the proceeding. It waspleasant to be regarded as holier than other people. Nevertheless therewere drawbacks; for Dorothy was not fond of hard scrubbing, and wasuncommonly fond of venison and barberry pie. And she had a suspicionthat rather more scrubbing than venison generally fell to the lot of theholy sisters of Saint Clare. But the idea of the implicit obedience toauthority which would in that case be required of her decided Dorothy toremain "in the world. " She thought there was more hope of managing ahusband than a lady abbess. 

Nearly two years had passed away since Agnes had first heard FriarLaurence preach at Saint Paul's Cross, and once more Corpus Christi hadcome round. Since that time she had grown much in the spiritual life, though she had received no outward help beyond those rare Sundayreadings, and her occasional interviews with the Friar. Though CorpusChristi was still "uncertainly" kept, it naturally fell in with MistressWinter's new policy of veneered piety to be exceedingly respectful toall fasts and festivals. Accordingly she gave a grand banquet to somedozen acquaintances, and sent Agnes about her business. There waslikely to be reading on a holy day, and Agnes bent her steps towards theCathedral; but finding when she reached it that it was a little tooearly, she sat down on the steps of the Cross to wait. There was no oneabout; for most of those who cared to keep the feast did not care tohear sermons or Bible-readings; and Agnes was thinking so intently ashardly to be conscious whether she was alone or not. 

"Good morrow, friend!" said a voice beside her; and John Laurence satdown a little way from her on the steps. 

"Good morrow, Father, " answered Agnes. 

"Agnes, I would seek thy counsel. "

Agnes looked up in astonishment. He seek her counsel! Was it not shewho had always sought his?

"Good lack, Father!" she exclaimed in her surprise. 

John Laurence leaned his head thoughtfully on his hand, and made nofurther communication for some seconds. 

"I know a Black Friar, Agnes, " he said, speaking slowly, as if weighingeach word, "who seeth no cause, neither in God's Word, neither in commonreason, wherefore priests should not be wedded men, as thou wist thatmany, these ten years past, have been. But he is yet loth to break hismind unto the maid, seeing that many perils do now seem to lie in theway of wedded priests, and he cannot tell if it were well done or no, that he should speak unto her. If penalty fell on him, being thus wed, it should not leave her scatheless. Tell me, now, how thinkest thou?--should he do well to break his mind, or no? A maid may judge betterthan a man how a maid should take it. "

"I would think, Father, " answered the astonished Agnes, "that a maidwhich did truly love any man should not suffer uncertain sorrow to standbetwixt her and him. "

"Yet how, if it were certain?"

"Nay, nor so neither. "

"Go to! Put it this case were thine own. Shouldst thou be afeared towed with a priest?"

Agnes did not quite like such a home question. Yet she replied calmly, without any idea of the other question which was coming. 

"Methinks, no; not if I truly loved him. "

"And couldst thou truly love--_me_, Agnes?"

For an instant Agnes gave no answer. She had as little expected to havethat question asked her as she had expected to be created a duchess. 

"Say sooth, if thou shouldst be feared, " said John Laurence; and thefaint suspicion of pain in his tone unloosed her lips at once. 

Afraid! Afraid to leave all her dreary past behind her, and to begin anew life, with her cup of gladness full to the very brim? John Laurencewas satisfied with his answer. But, for the first time, not one word ofreading or comment reached Agnes's mind in an intelligible form. 

"May be, my gracious Lady, your good Ladyship should like your palfreycalled!" were the words that greeted Agnes when she made herreappearance in Mistress Winter's kitchen, having certainly been moreforgetful than usual of the flight of time. "Or, may be, it mightplease your honourableness to turn your goodly eyes upon the clock, andbehold whether it be meet time for a decent maid to come home of afeast-day even? By my troth, I would wager thou hadst been toWestminster and hadst danced a galliardo in the Queen's Grace's hall, did I not know that none with 's eyes in 's head should e'er so much aslook on thee. Thou idle doltish gadabout! Dost think I keep thee inboard and lodgment and raiment for to go a-gossiping with every idlecompanion thou mayest meet? Whither hast been, thou dawdlesome patch?Up to no good, I warrant thee!"

"I have been to Paul's, Mistress, an' it like you, " was all that Agnesanswered. 

"Soothly, it liketh me well, sweeting! Alisting some fat pickpursefriar, with his oily words, belike?"

"I have been a-talking with a friend, " said Agnes boldly. 

"Marry come up! So my sweet young damosel hath made friends, quotha!Prithee, was it my Lady's Grace of Suffolk thou wentest forth to see, ormy Lady of Norfolk, trow? Did she give thee a ride o' her velvetpillion, bestudded with gold?"

Agnes thought it would be best to get it over. The storm which mustcome might as well fall soon as late. She stood up, and looked theterrible Mistress Winter in the face. 

"Please it you, Mistress Winter, I am handfast to wedlock; and he thatshall be mine husband it is that I have talked withal this even. "

And having so spoken, Agnes waited quietly for the tempest. 

CHAPTER SIX. 

THE SHADOW BEFORE. 

 "Oh for the faith to grasp Heaven's bright For Ever, Amid the shadows of earth's Little While!"

 _Jane Crewdson_. 

Sheer amazement kept Mistress Winter silent for one moment after Agneshad made her startling revelation. That her bondslave should have daredto dream of freedom was almost too preposterous for belief. And she waspowerless to stop this most insubordinate proceeding; for, neveranticipating such a calamity, and not fond of spending money, except onherself and her daughters, she had not, as she might have done, boundAgnes her apprentice. But after that minute of astonished silence, athunderstorm such as even Agnes had never before experienced, burst uponher devoted head. If Mistress Winter might be believed, no suchinstance of rebellion, perversity, ingratitude, and all imaginablewickedness, had ever before occurred since Adam and Eve quittedParadise. Agnes was asked to what she expected to come in this life, and where she expected to go after it. When Mistress Winter becameweary of scolding, which was not soon, Joan took up the tale, and whenshe was tired Dorothy succeeded, and as all were gifted withconsiderable powers of speech, the ball was kept going until bedtime. Then Agnes was allowed to creep to her coarse rug and bundle of straw, feeling herself in peace at last. 

Thenceforward there was not much peace left, at least in the day-time. Having been interrogated as to the name and calling of her suitor, Agneswas at once dubbed Madam Dominic, my Lady's Grace of Blackfriars, andvarious similar titles. Dorothy, clasping her hands in mock rapture, falsely averred that she had foreseen this delightful ending to thestory, when she caught sight of Agnes and Friar Laurence talking at theCross; and proceeded to give an ironical description of the Friar'spersonal charms, sufficiently spiced to be very amusing to her motherand sister, and just sufficiently seasoned with truth to be exceedinglygalling to Agnes. Henceforth she took every opportunity to playill-natured practical jokes on the latter. It was not likely that Agneswould particularly enjoy having shreds of dirty flannel and linen flunginto her lap, with a tittering remark that they would enrich hertrousseau; nor feeling, when she sat at needlework, a rotten egg gentlybroken over her head, with the bland intimation that it was to dress herhair for the wedding; nor the presentation, in solemn form, of torn andfaded ribbons, accompanied by the information that they would become hersweetly on her bridal. Of all approach to wedding attire poor Agnes wasdevoid. She had but two gowns in the world--the washed-out linenbed-gown and stuff petticoat in which her work was generally done, andthe well-patched serge which replaced it upon holy days. But Agnes boreall these outrages with a patience born of long practice, and nourishedby glad hope. It was now May, and it had been agreed with John Laurencethat the twenty-ninth of the following March was to set her free. 

They would gladly have made arrangements for an earlier date, had itbeen possible. But John Laurence was not much richer than Agnesherself, and they had to wait till he thought that he could reasonablyafford to marry. Beside this, it was a most perilous time for a priestto think of wedlock. Things might change. Hope told that "flatteringtale" which she is so fond of recapitulating to young people--often mostunjustifiably. Who could tell what might happen, if they waited?

Meanwhile, what was happening was not particularly cheering, at least tothe apprehension of the Gospellers. Wyatt's insurrection had been putdown, and its leader beheaded; and its fruitlessness was shown by thesetting out of the Queen's envoys to escort Philip to England, whileWyatt yet lay in prison waiting for his trial. The Princess Elizabeth, sent to the Tower in March, on charge of complicity in Wyatt's evildeeds--who will ever know whether it was true?--had been released (atPhilip's request, it was said) a few days before Corpus Christi. Cranmer, Ridley, and Latimer lay imprisoned at Oxford, and undersentence of death. Nearly every day somebody was exhibited in thepillory--women as well as men--the most frequent charge being, as itappears in the diary of that comical speller, Mr Henry Machyn--"spekyngyll of good Qwen Mare. " The difficulty which presents itself to thepresent generation is, how else her subjects could well speak of herproceedings. However, they could have held their peace. Probably thediscreet portion of the community did so. 

It may seem a little strange, on the surface, when one considers how itwas that the reign of Mary was felt so galling, that the accession ofElizabeth was welcomed with such a fever of delight and triumph, such asense of relief and freedom, as was undoubtedly the case--and yet thatmen bore the former and made no sign, waited for the latter withindescribable longing, but without any attempt to bring it about. Perhaps we must attribute this partly to that law-abiding instinctinherent in the ordinary Englishman: yet I think still more to the factthat as a rule, at all times, in all respects, the majority of thenation are indifferent. There were men who died at the stake in defenceof the free Gospel. There were men who kindled those fires, and stampedout the truth, so far as in them lay. But these, even when puttogether, were still a minority. The majority were the watchers whostood round the stake, and who cared nothing for the cause on eitherside--who went to see a martyrdom as a Spaniard goes to see abull-fight, with neither sympathy nor enmity towards the martyr. Ofcourse, these would be, as to religious profession, what they found itto their own interest that they should be. The most popular and crowdedof all the Seven Churches is the Church of Laodicea. 

"_Because_ thou art lukewarm. . . I will spue thee out of My mouth. "

It was not without some difficulty that Agnes contrived to enjoy anoccasional, and always short, interview with her betrothed. Suchinterviews were generally followed by forced audiences of Dorothy, whoprofessed an entirely hypocritical interest in the progress of thelove-match, and did her best to make Agnes recount what her lover hadsaid to her. Agnes, however, was wise enough to keep out of the traplaid for her, and Dorothy took little by her motion. 

Sometimes the lovers met for a few minutes before or after the readingin the Cathedral; sometimes there could be a few words as Agnes carriedher pails to and from the Horsepool; once or twice, when Mistress Winterhad barred the door on her for misdemeanour, they walked to some quietnook in the fields near Clerkenwell, refreshing themselves with converseon the one grand subject nearest to both hearts--nearer even than eachother. But the readings in the Cathedral were becoming much fewer thanof old. It was a perilous thing to do now, and John Laurence was amarked man. Not that he feared danger: his motto was that of the oldFrench knight--"Fais ce que dois, advienne que pourra!" But his brotherclergy were afraid lest it should be known that such compromisingproceedings as regular Scripture lessons were permitted at Saint Paul's. Some from dislike of the Bible-reading, a few from honest kindlyfeeling towards the reader, managed to take care that the lectern wasotherwise occupied, during the hour which alone John Laurence couldusually spare from other duties. 

At last King Philip landed in England, and his meeting and marriage withthe Queen took place at Winchester. The City and suburbs blazed withbonfires, and rang with bells; the _Te Deum_ was chanted in everychurch; the utmost delight had to be felt, or at any rate professed, byall who did not wish to be reported as disaffected persons. On thetwelfth of August, the royal bride and bridegroom made their state entryinto London. A heretic had been burnt at Uxbridge four days previous. 

Every house in Cow Lane, imitating every other street in London, pouredforth its members to see the procession. The good folks locked theirdoors, and left their houses to take care of themselves. Agnes, wholiked a pretty sight as well as other people, had taken her stand withthe crowd, and was looking out with interest as the first of theadvancing horsemen who opened the procession became visible, whensuddenly she felt a hand upon her own. She looked up into the welcomeface of John Laurence. 

"Art come to see the sight, John?" she asked with a smile. 

"I am come to see two sights, " said he, returning it, --but his smileswere always grave. "To wit, the King's and Queen's Graces of the onehand, and Agnes Stone of the other. Hast a mind for a walk toward theClerks' Well, when all be gone by?"

"With a very good will, " she answered. 

But the pageant was coming past now, and they exchanged the use of theirtongues for that of their eyes. It was entirely equestrian, and cameover London Bridge, from Suffolk Place, where the King and Queen hadpassed the night. Our friends were not prepossessed by the royalbridegroom, whose low stature, want of beauty, and gloomy expression, struck them in the same light that they did most Englishmen, as denotingneither grace nor graciousness. Only two persons are recorded ever tohave loved Philip--Queen Mary herself, and her successor, the fair andsagacious Elizabeth of France. 

Just opposite the place where Agnes and the Friar stood was anallegorical group, of which one painted figure, supposed to be Henry theEighth, was holding out to the Queen an open Bible, inscribed with thewords _Verbum Dei_. But before night a warning had been conveyed to theauthorities that the Queen was offended with this representation of herfather, and the Bible was painted out so hastily that the hand of thefigure was partly obliterated with it. 

When the pageant had gone by, and the crowd had sufficiently dispersed, John Laurence and Agnes set out for their walk to Clerkenwell. Theyfound a shady field, in a corner of which they sat down, and the Friardrew from his pocket a Latin Psalter, --the only form of the Bible withwhich it was then safe to be caught. From this he read to Agnes thehundred and seventh Psalm, translating it as he went on into the onlytongue she knew. 

"And He led them forth by the right way, that they might go to the Cityof Habitation. "

He paused at that seventh verse, and half closing the book, sat lookingthoughtfully into the blue heaven. 

Very vaguely did Agnes enter into his deeper thoughts. Her ideasconcerning public events, and possible future dangers, were of a verymisty description. She kept silent a moment. Then, when he did notspeak, she said--

"Well, John?"

"By the right way!" he said dreamily, rather as if speaking to himselfthan to her. "And He leads them, too, _inportum voluntatis eorum_--tothe haven of their desire. "

"That is, Heaven?" said Agnes questioningly. Her admiration for hisknowledge and wisdom was high. 

"That is Heaven, " he replied in the same tone as before. 

"John, what thinkest Heaven shall be like?"

"Like God!" said the Black Friar slowly. "Therefore, glorious--wonderful--perfect in every part--holy--satisfying. "

"And right fair and beauteous, doubtless, " she added, by way ofcompleting the picture. 

"That which is perfect must be fair, " said John Laurence. "He saith toHis Church, `Thou art all fair, My love, and a stain is not in thee. 'That is, to thee, and me, Agnes. "

"To _me_?" she repeated, in an awe-struck voice. "Nay, how so, trow? Iam all o'er a stain with my sins. "

The answer was in inspired words. "`For perfect wert thou, in My beautywhich I put upon thee, saith the Lord God. '"

Agnes sat still, trying to take in the idea. 

"Hear yet again another His saying to the Church: `Thou hast woundedMine heart, My sister-spouse; thou hast wounded Mine heart in one ofthine eyes, and in one chain of thy neck. ' Now what is the eye?--is itnot a member of the body? Doth not this learn us that every one ofChrist's members hath his proper and peculiar love of Him, that cannotbelong to any other? Yea, more; for the chain of the neck is not amember, but only the ornament of a member. Wherefore one grace--for theornaments of the soul be his graces--one grace of one Christian soul isenough to delight Christ's heart. "

Both were silent for a while, Agnes learning her new lesson. 

"Mine heart!" said John Laurence suddenly, "the right way at times lookslike the wrong. "

"What meanest thou, John?" said Agnes, looking into his face, andstartled by its expression of pain. 

"Dear heart, we know not what lieth afore us. We be so blind, Agnes!But He knows. It is enough, if we are ready to follow Him. Canst thoudare follow, as well through the flood and the fire as through theflowery mead?"

"I cannot tell, " she said tremulously. "I would try. "

"There be two staves to lean on in our weariness, " he said. "The one isfor earth: `Fear not, because I am with thee. ' And the other is ofHeaven, but gildeth earth with hope: `Where I am, there shall My servantbe. ' There must be glory and sweetness, where is Jesus Christ. "

Long years afterwards, Agnes recalled those words. 

CHAPTER SEVEN. 

SAD TIDINGS. 

 "But of all sad words by tongue or pen, The saddest are these--`It might have been!'"

Though the majority of the nation were comparatively indifferent to thereligious changes that had been effected, there were certain politicaloccurrences which they viewed with less equanimity. One of these wasthe vast number of Spaniards brought over by Philip. It was reckoned--doubtless with some exaggeration--that in September, 1554, threeSpaniards might be seen in London to every Englishman. The rumour ranthat five thousand more were on the way. The nation was both vexed andalarmed. Was England to be reduced, like the Netherlands, to thecondition of a mere outlying province of Spain?

Before eight weeks had run out from the day of Philip's arrival inLondon, his hand upon the reins was plainly visible. He had been heardto say that if he believed a member of his own body to be tainted withheresy, he would amputate it immediately and without remorse. TheGospellers were not left quite ignorant of what they might reasonablyexpect. 

It was on a quiet morning in October that Agnes was on her way toHorsepool, when she was overtaken by Cicely Marvell, carrying a yoke ofwater-pails like herself. 

"Good morrow, Mistress Marvell!" said the former. "Dear heart! but youlook something troubled belike. Is any sick with you?"

Cicely and Agnes were quite aware that their religious sentiments werealike. It is in the cloudy and dark day that those who fear the Lordspeak often one to another. 

"Heavy news, my maid!" said Cicely in a low voice, and shaking her head. "Yesternight sixty folk were arrest in London for reading of Lutheranbooks. "

"Poor folk, trow?"

"All manner, as I do hear. "

Neither high nor low, in those days, were safe, if suspicion of heresywere once roused against them. The higher class were the more likely tobe detected; yet there was a little more hesitation in bringing them tothe stake. But it was easy to see, then as now, that as a rule it wasthe poor of this world whom God had chosen to be rich in faith. Forevery rich man or titled lady who incurred bodily danger throughfaithfulness to the truth, there were at least fifty of those whom theworld regards as "nobody. "

There was a strange mixture of comedy and tragedy in the events of thosedays. The miracle-play alternated with the pillory, and the sight-seerswent from the burning of a heretic in the morning to see the newathletic games, introduced by the Spaniards, in the afternoon in PalaceYard. A grand tournament at Court preceded, and a bear-baitingfollowed, the humiliating spectacle of the Parliament of Englandkneeling at the feet of Cardinal Pole, and abjectly craving absolutionfrom Rome. One man--Sir Ralph Bagenall--stood out, and stood up, whenall his co-senators were thus prostrate in the dust. He was religiouslya Gallio, not a Gospeller; but he was politically a sturdy Englishman, and no coward. Strange to say, no harm came to him. Nay, is itstrange, when we read, "Them that honour Me, I will honour, " and"Whosoever shall lose his life for My sake and the Gospel's, the sameshall save it?"

There were no longer any sermons preached at the Cross that a Gospellercared to hear. One was forthcoming regularly every Sunday; but thepreachers were Pendleton the renegade, Feckenham the suave, or Gardinerthe man of blood. The uneasy feeling of a section at least of thepopulace was shown by frays at Charing Cross, incipient insurrections inSuffolk, assaults on priests at the altar, and unaccountableiconoclasms. The image of Becket was twice found broken by mysteriousmeans; and a cat, tonsured, and arrayed in miniature vestments, wasdiscovered hanging on the gallows in Cheapside, while the offer of alarge reward failed to reveal the offender. 

During this time, Mistress Winter's piety had been blooming in awonderful manner. She kept Saint Thomas of Canterbury on a small table, with a lamp burning before it, and every morning diligently courtesiedto this stock and stone. When her hands were not otherwise busied, arosary was pretty sure to be found in them, on which she recountedPaters and Aves with amazing celerity. The bitterness of her tonguekept pace with her show of religiousness. Ugly adjectives, and ugliersubstantives, were flung at Agnes all the day long, and whether shedeserved reproof or not appeared to make no difference. But thoughwords and even blows were not spared, Mistress Winter went no further. Agnes was much too useful to be denounced as a heretic, at least so longas she remained at her post in Cow Lane. She did all the unpleasantwork in the house, besides filling the convenient offices of a vent forJoan's temper, and a butt for Dorothy's ridicule. But though gettingrid of her was not to be thought of, words were cheap, however peppery, and a box on the ear was a great relief to the feelings of the giver--those of the recipient not being taken into account. So Agnes gotplenty of both. 

"Sweet-heart, how earnest by yonder black eye?" anxiously demanded JohnLaurence, on the last Sunday afternoon in January, when Agnes and hewere coming back from their favourite stroll towards Clerkenwell. 

"'Tis nought new, belike, " said she with a smile. 

"Please God, " returned he, "it shall be ancient matter and by-gone, verysoon. "

He stood still a moment, looking over the crowded chimneys of the City, just beyond the green field through which they were walking. 

"Doth the thought e'er come to thy mind, Agnes, " asked he, "how soon allthings shall be bygones? At the most afore many years, --yea, afore manydays, it may be, --thou and I shall be away hence from this world. Andeven this great city, that doth look thus firm and substantial, ere longshall not be left thereof one trace. Yea, heaven and earth shall passaway: but Christ's words shall not pass away. "

Agnes listened with interest, but gave no answer beyond a gesture ofassent. 

"I have fallen to think much of late, " said the Black Friar, "of oneword of His, --assuredly not to pass away, nor be forgotten--`Whosoevershall deny Me before men, him will I also deny before My Father which isin Heaven. ' Verily, it were awful matter, to draw down on a man's headthis public denying of Jesu Christ. "

"Dear heart!" said Agnes, at once sympathetically and deprecatingly. 

"Ah!" he replied, with a sigh of self-distrust: "hope is one matter, andbelief another. "

"Dost fear some ill work, trow?" she asked doubtfully. 

John Laurence did not answer at once. He spoke after a minute, dreamily, as if to himself; a habit to which Agnes was now quiteaccustomed. 

"`Be not afraid of them that kill the body, and after that have no morethat they can do. But I will forewarn you whom ye shall fear: Fear Him, which after that He hath killed hath power to cast into Hell. '"

The Friar walked on for a few seconds with his usual rapidity, and thensuddenly stopped again. 

"Men think lightly of these things, dear heart, " said he. "Most menhave a far greater care lest they break a limb, or lose an handful ofgold, than lest they be cast into Hell. Yet see thou how Christ tookthe same. And He knew, --as we cannot know, --what is Hell. "

"The good Lord keep us!" ejaculated Agnes fervently. 

"Amen!" responded the Black Friar. "`He shall keep the feet of Hissaints. ' It is not we that keep ourselves. 'Tis not we that hold Him, no more than the babe holdeth himself in his mother's arms. And themother were more like to leave the babe fall into the fire or the water, than He to loose hold upon His trustful child. "

He was trying to prepare her for what might come. But she was notprepared. 

Cold though it was, they had a pleasant walk that afternoon. The timeof release was drawing so near, that Agnes felt almost as bright andglad as if it were already come. At Cow Cross, her betrothed bade herfarewell, saying with his grave smile that he would not come further, lest it should cost her an extra taunt from Mistress Dorothy. 

Agnes was quite satisfied to be saved the small torment in question. She did not realise how soon the time might come when it would seem toher a lighter thing to endure Dorothy's ridicule for a calendar year, than to miss one glimpse of that face. 

We recognise such facts as these--when they come. 

The next day passed over uneventfully. The Tuesday morning rose, bright, clear, and frosty. Agnes was in spirits perfectly marvellous, considering what she had to endure. She was making melody in her heartas she carried her pails to the pump, thinking gladly how short her timeof trial was growing, and how bright her future would be. It matterednothing to her that she would have to work as hard as ever; nothing, that she must live in a single room of a crowded street in the heart ofthe City; nothing, that John Laurence was a worn, gaunt man of more thantwice her years, and utterly unattractive in the eyes of the world;nothing, that the day was bitterly cold, and her thin bed-gown a veryinsufficient protection. Everything was rose-colour to her. Had shenot Christ in Heaven, and one honest heart that loved her upon earth?

When Agnes came in sight of the pump, she perceived a little childsitting crouched upon the step of the trough, and evidently crying. Herheart was not hard to touch, and setting down her pails she laid herhand on the boy's shoulder. He had been too much absorbed in his griefto notice her approach, but when she spoke he looked up, showing the nowtear-stained face of little Will Flint. 

"Why, Will, my little lad!--what matter now?"

Will burst into a fresh paroxysm without answering. 

"Metrusteth thou hast not been an ill lad?"

Will shook his curly head. 

"Nay, what then? Is Mother sick?"

Another shake. 

"Come, tell me what it is. Mayhap we shall find some remedy. "

"O Mistress Agnes!" came with a multitude of sobs. 

"Nay, then, tell me now!" pleaded Agnes. 

"O Mistress Agnes, they have ta'en him!"

"Ta'en whom, my lad? Sure, thy little brother Dickon is not stoleaway?"

"No!" sobbed Will. "But, O Mistress!--they've ta'en him to yon uglyprison, afore those wicked folk, and they call him an here--heretic, andthey say he'll ne'er come out again--nay, never!"

This was manifestly something serious. 

"But ta'en whom, Will, dear?--not thy father?"

"Oh nay, nay!--the Black Friar. "

"What Black Friar, Will?" Agnes hardly knew her own voice. 

"Why, our Black Friar--Father Laurence. There was only one. "

For a minute there was dead silence in reply--a minute, during which therose-colour died out of sky and earth, and the glad music was changed tofuneral bells. Then Agnes rose from her stooping position. 

"There was only one!" she repeated, with a far-away look in her eyes, which were fixed on the tower of the Cathedral, but saw nothing. 

"He was so good to me and Dickon!" sobbed Will. 

"Child, wilt do thy best to find out whither they have ta'en him, andwhen he is to be had afore the Bishops, and then come and tell me?"

Will, occupied in rubbing his eyes with his small sleeve, nodded assent. Agnes filled her pails mechanically, and carried them home. The worldmust go on, if the sun would never rise any more for her. 

Early the next morning Will brought her news that the six prisoners, ofwhom John Laurence was one, had been taken to the Counter, and that onthe eighth of February they were to appear before Bishop Gardiner atWinchester Palace, Southwark. Knowing that Mistress Winter would soonhear of the arrest, if she had not already done so, Agnes made noattempt to conceal the news. She told it herself, and requestedpermission to go and hear the examination. 

"What, on a brewing-day!" cried Mistress Winter. "Good sooth, nay!They be right sure to be put by to another day. If that be not brewing, nor baking, nor cleaning, nor washing-day, may be thou canst be let gofor an half-hour then. "

"Prithee, Mistress Sacramentary, don thy velvet gown!" spitefully addedDorothy. 

The hall of the Bishop's Palace was crowded that morning. The sixprisoners were led out in order, according to their social rank:--first, William Hunter, the apprentice-boy of Brentford, only sixteen years ofage; then Thomas Tomkins, the weaver; Stephen Knight, the barber ofMaldon; William Pygot, the butcher of Braintree; John Laurence, theBlack Friar; lastly, Thomas Hawkes, the only one in the group who wrotehimself "gentleman. " They were such common, contemptible people, thatGardiner thought them beneath his august notice, and scornfully referredthem to Bonner's jurisdiction. They were marched at once to theConsistory sitting in Saint Paul's Chapter-House, whither the crowdfollowed. 

The Consistory demanded of the accused persons--

"Do ye believe that the body of Christ is in the Sacrament, without anysubstance of bread and wine remaining?"

The prisoners replied that this doctrine was not agreeable to Scripture. 

"Do ye believe that your parents, your sponsors, the King, Queen, nobility, clergy, and laity of the realm, believing this doctrine, weretrue and faithful Christians, or no?"

"If they so believed, " was the answer, "they were therein deceived. "

"Did ye, yourselves, in time past, truly believe the same, or no?"

They said, "Ay, heretofore; but not now. "

"Do ye believe that the Spirit of Christ has been, is, and will be, withthe Church, not suffering her to be deceived?"

"We do so believe, " replied the prisoners. 

"Have you, " pursued Bonner, "being infamed to me as heretics, not been agood space in my house, and been there fed, and instructed by thosedesirous of your soul's welfare--and yet you refuse this belief?"

The accused admitted all this. 

"Will ye now conform?"

"In no whit, until it be proved by Holy Scripture, " came the decisiveanswer. 

"If not, " demanded the Bishop, "what grounds have you to maintain youropinion? Who is of the same opinion? What conference have ye hadtherein with any? What comfort and relief had you from any, and theirnames and dwelling-places?" [Note 1. ]

This was a deliberate request that they would accuse their friends andteachers. But the prisoners did not respond. 

"We have no ground but the truth, " they said, "which we were taught byDoctor Taylor, of Hadleigh, and such other. "

Since Taylor of Hadleigh was already burnt to ashes, this admissioncould do him no harm. 

The accused persons were then remanded until nine o'clock the nextmorning, and advised in the meantime to "bethink them what they woulddo. "

It was Cicely Marvell who told all this in a low voice to Agnes Stone, as they stood together under a tree in the meadow behind Cow Lane. 

"Keep a good heart, dear maid!" said Cicely encouragingly. "May be itshall be better than we might fear. `The Lord is very pitiful, and oftender mercy. '"

But Agnes shook her head. To such a trial she at least anticipated noother end than death. Too well she knew that, like the Master whoseservant John Laurence was, "for envy they had delivered him. "

Perhaps, too, her spirituality was of a higher type than that of Cicely. She recognised that the Lord's tender mercy lies not in sparing pain toHis chosen, but in being with them when they pass through the purifyingwaters, and bearing them in His arms through the fire which is toconsume their earthliness, but not themselves. His is a love which willinflict the pain that is to purify, and tenderly comfort the sufferer ashe passes through it. 

Agnes hardly knew how she passed that Friday evening. Her usual dutieswere all done; but she went through them with eyes that saw not, withdeafened ears on which Mistress Winter's abuse fell pointless, for whichDorothy's sarcasms had no meaning. God was in Heaven, and John Laurenceand his persecutors were on earth: beyond this there was to her nobodyand nothing. The vexations for which she used to care were such mereinsignificant pin-pricks that it was impossible even to notice them now. 

So the Friday evening, and the sleepless night, wore away: and theSaturday morning broke. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Note 1. These questions, in point of wording, are very much condensed. 

CHAPTER EIGHT. 

THE CROWN OF LIFE. 

 "Welcome scaffold for precious Christ. "

 _Reverend James Renwick_. 

It so happened that the 9th of February, to which the prisoners had beenremanded, was not a day devoted to baking, brewing, cleaning, orwashing, in the household of Mistress Winter; who, not in complimentarylanguage, gave Agnes her permission to spend half-an-hour in theChapter-house. 

Already, before the sitting of the Consistory, Bishop Bonner had sent, first for Pygot and Knight, and afterwards for Tomkins and Hunter, intohis "great chamber, " and asked them if they were willing to recant. They all refused, "not being persuaded in their consciences" that thedoctrines propounded to them were true. These four were then broughtinto the Consistory, and a paper was offered them to sign, containing asynopsis of their belief. The statement appears to have been a fair andtrue definition of their creed, for all four attached their names to itwithout hesitation. 

It was just at this time that Agnes entered the Chapter-house, as theseprisoners were being removed, and John Laurence was brought forward. 

"Pray you, come hither to me, " said Bonner, with a show of friendliness, due to his prisoner's priesthood. 

Calmly enough, to outward show, Agnes looked on his face as he came upto the Bishop, --that face so plain and uncomely to other eyes, so dearand beautiful to hers. There would be time enough for weepinghereafter, in that dreary future, of which the vista seemed to stretchbefore her in illimitable desert: but now she could afford to lose notone of that yoke, no moment of the time permitted for gazing on thatface. She might never see him again until they should stand togetherbefore the throne of God. 

John Laurence answered every question asked of him calmly and firmly. He admitted that he was a priest, eighteen years in orders, and sometimea Black Friar professed. But Bonner's spies had told him more thanthis; and it was not his wont to omit the wringing of a heretic's heart. 

"Art thou not ensured unto a maid in way of marriage?"

"I am so, my Lord, " said John Laurence. 

"Didst thou truly propose to wed with her?"

"By God's leave, I did. "

And Agnes Stone, standing in the crowd, heard herself thus confessedbefore God and man--a confession which, she full well knew, stamped himwho made it, in the eyes of these his judges, with indelible disgrace. 

"And what is thine opinion on the Sacrament?" inquired Bonner in aconfidential manner. 

"It is a remembrance of Christ's body. "

"Then what sayest thou of them which believe, as we do, that it _is_Christ's body?"

"I say that they are deceived. "

"Thinkest thou that all do err which believe not as thou dost?" saidBonner with his usual bluster. 

"I do say so, my Lord, " was the determined answer. 

Once more the prisoners were remanded, but only until afternoon. Agnesdid not dare to stay. She had ascertained from Cicely Marvell, whom shesaw in the crowd, that prisoners' friends were often permitted afarewell interview between sentence and execution; and if she meant toapply for that, she must not risk Mistress Winter's anger by remainingnow. Cicely promised to bring her news of the sentence. 

"Lo' you now! here cometh my fair Lady Dominica!" was Dorothy'ssalutation, as Agnes re-entered the kitchen. "What news, sweet MistressBlackfriars? Is thy goodly sweet-heart consecrate Lord Bishop ofDuneery, or shall he but be Master Doctor Dean of Foolscap?"

Agnes vouchsafed no answer. 

"Woe betide us! here is Madam Gospeller hath lost her tongue!" criedDorothy. "Do but give me to wit, prithee, sweetest Sacramentary! Sodear love I all Black Friars, I may never sleep till I know. "

"They be yet again remanded, " replied Agnes dreamily. 

Though she felt sure what the end would be, it was impossible to realiseit. Surely all that was passing must be some dreadful dream, from whichshe would presently awake, perhaps in the little bed which used to behers in her aunt's pretty cottage, and find that all the past, for eightyears, had been a groundless vision. 

Yet Dorothy's torturing pin-pricks were real enough. All day long shepersisted in worrying Agnes by pretended sympathy--so patently pretendedthat it was excessively annoying. The towel was snatched from her asshe was washing her hands, with an entreaty that Dorothy might take thattrouble for her; the mop was hidden where she could not find it, with anassurance that it would but increase the bitterness of her sorrow todiscover it; invisible strings were stretched across the kitchen whereshe was sure to fall over them, --in order, as Dorothy tenderlyintimated, to turn her thoughts from the painful anxiety which she mustbe enduring. It seemed to Agnes as if night and certainty would nevercome. Yet how could she wish it, when she felt so sure what the awfulcertainty would be? The hours wore on; the dark came at last; and whenthe night had fairly set in, Cicely Marvell's soft tap was heard onMistress Winter's door. Agnes opened it herself. Dorothy had indeedrushed to do it, but fortunately Agnes contrived to reach it before her. It was evident that Cicely was loth to tell her terrible news, thoughDorothy begged her, over Agnes' shoulder, to relieve her heartrendingsuspense. Was it from one faint throb of womanly feeling in her usuallyhard heart, that Mistress Winter, in sharp tones, summoned Dorothywithin, and left Agnes to hear the news alone?

"Speak, Mistress Marvell, " said Agnes, in that preternaturally calmmanner which she had worn from the first. "It is death. "

"Ay, poor Agnes! It is death by fire. "

"And in the meantime?--"

"They lie in Newgate. He shall be taken to Colchester to suffer, beinghe was there born, the 28th of this March. "

"Then he dieth on the 29th?"

"E'en so. "

He was to die on the very day they had fixed for their marriage. To_what_ had Agnes been looking forward so joyfully during those pastweary months?

When the prisoners had reappeared before Bonner in the afternoon, theywere asked, for the last time, if they would recant their heresy. 

"We are not heretics, " they replied; "the contrary is heresy. "

Then, on these six contumacious men, was passed in due form the sentenceof death. 

Each was to suffer at the place of his birth: Thomas Tomkins inSmithfield, on the 16th of March; William Hunter, the poorapprentice-boy, at Brentford, on the twenty-sixth; William Pygot atBraintree, and Stephen Knight at Maldon, on the twenty-eighth. 

It was only one interview with the prisoner for which Agnes dared tohope, and she waited for it until the day before he was to be degradedfrom his priestly office. Mistress Winter's momentary sympathy, if ithad existed, was over, and she grumbled a good deal when Agnes preferredher request for a few hours' leave of absence. But she granted the boonat last. 

"It will be the last time, " said Agnes quietly. 

No more meetings at Paul's Cross, --no more summer walks toClerkenwell, --no more readings from the Cathedral lectern! Instead ofthat, for him the chariot of fire, and then the King's welcome home, thewhite robe, and the palm of victory, and the crown of life. And forher, --ah! what? It might be a forty years' wandering in the Wildernessof Sinai, with the River of Jordan at its close, ere she could come tothe shore of the Promised Land. Yet the Promised Land was sure, as wasthe Promiser. 

A strange specimen of human nature was Alexander, the keeper of Newgateprison: a man who could request Bishop Bonner to burn some more hereticsbecause the cells were inconveniently crowded, and then, after a goodsupper, sit down and play the fiddle. He was extremely fond of music, though it scarcely exercised a soothing influence in his exceedinglysavage breast. 

Happily for Agnes, this gentleman happened to be in a good temper whenshe presented herself at his gates. He admitted her into the greathall, and after a short delay took her down to the low damp cell wherecondemned prisoners were confined. There she found John Laurence. 

They were both very calm, --these two, to each of whom in that hour'slast meeting the bitterness of death was passing. Each tried to bebrave for the other's sake; each strengthened the other's hand in God. 

"This is scarce what we looked for, sweet-heart, " said the Black Friar. "We had gathered a fair dish of honey, but our good Master saw it shouldharm us, and appointed us in the stead thereof a dish of wormwood. Neither is all the honey gone from us, for it is sweet to suffer for Hissake. "

"I am glad thou hast stood firm, " said Agnes quietly. 

"Thou shalt have the bitterer portion, my poor heart! Yet it is for nolong season. We must meet soon, in our Father's House. "

"Truly. And the time may be very short, " she answered. 

"And canst thou give me up, mine Agnes, for Christ's sake? For markthou, that which is wrenched away is not given. "

She looked up with fixed, tearless eyes. 

"Ay, John. I can give thee up for Christ's sake. But I could not forany other. "

So they parted--for the last time. For when they should meet again inthe Father's House, they would part no more for ever. 

"Not for any other!" Is there no special tenderness in the heart of theloving Saviour, for those who have given up that one thing which wouldnot, could not, be resigned for any sake but His?

The next day there was the bitter mockery of degradation. Everyvestment of the priesthood was put upon the martyr; one by one they weretorn from him with curses. The crown of his head, where the tonsure hadbeen cut, was defaced; the anointed head and hands were roughly scraped, to deprive them of the sacred unction. But the unction from the HolyOne was beyond their reach. 

Then came the journey to Colchester, and, lastly, the _auto da fe_. "Not able to go, his legs sore worn with heavy irons, as also his bodyweakened by evil keeping, " John Laurence was borne in a chair to hischariot of fire. We are told that at this martyrdom there were seenlittle children running round the stake, crying, "Lord, strengthen Thyservant, and keep Thy promise!" God did keep His promise, andstrengthened His servant. 

It was soon over; and they had no more that they could do. 

There were martyr-crowns for such men as John Laurence. But were therenone for women such as Agnes Stone, whose martyrdom lasted, not an hour, but a lifetime, --who laid on the Lord's altar, not their lives, but allthat made life precious?

We are not told what became of her. Nor does it much matter. Ratherthan sketch a fancy future for such a life as hers, let us remember thetrue end, when that life was over. For three hundred years, more orless, these two, who gave each other up for Christ, have been given backby Christ to each other: together they have followed the Lambwhithersoever He goeth; the Lord has been their everlasting light, andthe days of their mourning have been ended.