E-text prepared by Martin Robb



FOR THE FAITH

A Story of the Young Pioneers of Reformation in Oxford

by

EVELYN EVERETT-GREEN







CONTENTS

   Chapter

          Note
       I: The House by the Bridge
      II: "Christian Brothers"
     III: A Neophyte
      IV: "Merrie May Day"
       V: Sweet Summertide
      VI: For Love and the Faith
     VII: In Peril
    VIII: The Fugitive
      IX: A Steadfast Spirit
       X: A Startling Apparition
      XI: Evil Tidings
     XII: "Brought Before Governors"
    XIII: In Prison
      XV: The Fire At Carfax
     XVI: "Reconciled"
    XVII: The Clemency Of The Cardinal
   XVIII: The Release
          Notes




Note

The story of these young pioneers of reformation in Oxford has been
told by many historians. But there are slight discrepancies in the
various accounts, and it is not quite clear who were the small
minority who refused the offered reconciliation, and stood firm to
the last. But there is no doubt that John Clarke, Henry Sumner, and
one other, whose name varies in the different accounts, died from
the effects of harsh imprisonment, unabsolved, and unreconciled to
the offended church, and that Clarke would probably have perished
at the stake had death not taken him from the hands of his
persecutors.

There is equally no doubt that Dalaber, Ferrar, Garret, and many
others "recanted," as it was called, and took part in the burning
of books at Carfax. But these men must not be too hastily condemned
as cowards and renegades. Garret, Ferrar, and several others died
for their faith in subsequent persecutions, whilst others rose to
eminence in the church, which was soon to be reformed and purified
of many of the errors against which these young men had protested.
It is probable, therefore, that they were persuaded by gentle
arguments to this act of submission. They were not in revolt
against their faith or the church, but only eager for greater
liberty of thought and judgment. Kindly persuasion and skilful
argument would have great effect, and the sense of isolation and
loss incurred by sentence of excommunication was such as to cause
acute suffering to the devout. There is no doubt that Wolsey won
over Thomas Garret by kindliness, and not by threats or penalties;
and it is to his honour, and to that of the authorities of Oxford,
that, after the first panic, they were wishful to treat the
culprits with gentleness, save those few who remained obstinate.
And even these were later on given back to their friends, although,
as it turned out; it was only to die.




Chapter I: The House by the Bridge


"Holy Church has never forbidden it," said John Clarke, with a very
intent look upon his thoughtful, scholar's face.

A young man who stood with his elbow on the mantelshelf, his eye
fixed eagerly on the speaker's face, here broke in with a quick
impetuosity of manner, which seemed in keeping with his restless,
mobile features, his flashing dark eyes, and the nervous motion of
his hands, which were never still long together.

"How do you mean? Never forbidden it! Why, then, is all this coil
which has set London aflame and lighted the fires of Paul's Yard
for the destruction of those very books?"

"I did not say that men had never forbidden the reading of the
Scriptures in the vulgar tongue by the unlettered. I said that Holy
Church herself had never issued such a mandate."

"Not by her Popes?" questioned the younger man hastily.

"A papal bull is not the voice of the Holy Catholic Church," spoke
Clarke, slowly and earnestly. "A Pope is not an apostle; though, as
a bishop, and a Bishop of Rome, he must be listened to with all
reverence. Apostles are not of man or by man, but sent direct by
God. Popes elected by cardinals (and too often amid flagrant
abuses) cannot truly be said to hold apostolic office direct from
the Lord. No, I cannot see that point as others do. But let that
pass. What I do maintain, and will hold to with certainty, is that
in this land the Catholic Church has never forbidden men to read
the Scriptures for themselves in any tongue that pleases them. I
have searched statutes and records without end, and held
disputations with many learned men, and never have I been proven to
be in the wrong."

"I trow you are right there, John Clarke," spoke a deep voice from
out the shadows of the room at the far end, away from the long,
mullioned window. "I have ever maintained that our Mother the Holy
Church is a far more merciful and gentle and tolerant mother than
those who seek to uphold her authority, and who use her name as a
cloak for much maliciousness and much ignorance."

Clarke turned swiftly upon the speaker, whose white head could be
plainly distinguished in the shadows of the panelled room. The
features, too, being finely cut, and of a clear, pallid tint, stood
out against the dark leather of the chair in which the speaker sat.
He was habited, although in his own house, in the academic gown to
which his long residence in Oxford had accustomed him. But it was
as a Doctor of the Faculty of Medicine that he had distinguished
himself; and although of late years he had done little in
practising amongst the sick, and spent his time mainly in the study
of his beloved Greek authors, yet his skill as a physician was held
in high repute, and there were many among the heads of colleges
who, when illness threatened them, invariably besought the help of
Dr. Langton in preference to that of any other leech in the place.
Moreover, there were many poor scholars and students, as well as
indigent townsfolk, who had good cause to bless his name; whilst
the faces of his two beautiful daughters were well known in many a
crowded lane and alley of the city, and they often went by the
sobriquet of "The two saints of Oxford."

This was in part, perhaps, due to their names. They were twin
girls, the only children of Dr. Langton, whose wife had died within
a year of their birth. He had called the one Frideswyde, after the
patron saint of Oxford, at whose shrine so many reputed miracles
had been wrought; and the other he named Magdalen, possibly because
he had been married in the church of St. Mary Magdalen, just
without the North Gate.

To their friends the twin sisters were known as Freda and Magda,
and they lived with their father in a quaint riverside house by
Miltham Bridge, where it crossed the Cherwell. This house was a
fragment of some ecclesiastical building now no longer in
existence, and although not extensive, was ample enough for the
needs of a small household, whilst the old garden and fish ponds,
the nut walk and sunny green lawn with its ancient sundial, were a
constant delight to the two girls, who were proud of the flowers
they could grow through the summer months, and were wont to declare
that their roses and lilies were the finest that could be seen in
all the neighbourhood of Oxford.

The room in which the little company was gathered together this
clear, bright April evening was the fragment of the old refectory,
and its groined and vaulted roof was beautifully traced, whilst the
long, mullioned window, on the wide cushioned seat on which the
sisters sat with arms entwined, listening breathlessly to the talk
of their elders, looked southward and westward over green
meadowlands and gleaming water channels to the low hills and
woodlands beyond.

Oxford in the sixteenth century was a notoriously unhealthy place,
swept by constant pestilences, which militated greatly against its
growth as a university; but no one could deny the peculiar charm of
its situation during the summer months, set in a zone of verdure,
amid waterways fringed with alder and willow, and gemmed by water
plants and masses of fritillary.

Besides the two sisters, their learned father, and the two young
men in the garb of students who had already spoken, there was a
third youth present, who looked slightly younger than the dark
faced, impetuous Anthony Dalaber, and he sat on the window seat
beside the daughters of the house, with the look of one who has the
right to claim intimacy. As a matter of fact, Hugh Fitzjames was
the cousin of these girls, and for many years had been a member of
Dr. Langton's household. Now he was living at St. Alban Hall, and
Dalaber was his most intimate friend and comrade, sharing the same
double chamber with him. It was this intimacy which bad first
brought Anthony Dalaber to the Bridge House; and having once come,
he came again and yet again, till he was regarded in the light of a
friend and comrade.

There was a very strong tie asserting itself amongst certain men of
varying ages and academic rank at Oxford at this time. Certain
publications of Martin Luther had found their way into the country,
despite the efforts of those in authority to cheek their
introduction and circulation. And with these books came also
portions of the Scriptures translated into English, which were as
eagerly bought and perused by vast numbers of persons.

Martin Luther was no timid writer. He denounced the corruptions he
had noted in the existing ordinances of the church with no
uncertain note. He exposed the abuses of pardons, pilgrimages, and
indulgences in language so scathing that it set on fire the hearts
of his readers. It seemed to show beyond dispute that in the
prevailing corruption, which had gradually sapped so much of the
true life and light from the Church Catholic, money was the ruling
power. Money could purchase masses to win souls from purgatory;
money could buy indulgences for sins committed; money could even
place unfit men of loose life in high ecclesiastical places. Money
was what the great ones of the church sought--money, not holiness,
not righteousness, not purity.

This was the teaching of Martin Luther; and many of those who read
had no means of knowing wherein he went too far, wherein he did
injustice to the leaven of righteousness still at work in the midst
of so much corruption, or to the holy lives of hundreds and
thousands of those he unsparingly condemned, who deplored the
corruption which prevailed only less earnestly than he did himself.
It was small wonder, then, that those in authority in this and
other lands sought by every means in their power to put down the
circulation of books which might have such mischievous results. And
as one of Martin Luther's main arguments was that if men only read
and studied the Scriptures for themselves in their own mother
tongue, whatever that tongue might be, they would have power to
judge for themselves how far the practice of the church differed
from apostolic precept and from the teachings of Christ, it was
thought equally advisable to keep out of the hands of the people
the translated Scriptures, which might produce such heterodox
changes in their minds; and all efforts were made in many quarters
to stamp out the spreading flames of heresy in the land.

Above all things, it was hoped that the leaven of these new and
dangerous opinions would not penetrate to the twin seats of
learning, the sister universities of Oxford and Cambridge.

Cardinal Wolsey had of late years been busy and enthusiastic over
his munificent gift of a new and larger college to Oxford than any
it had possessed before. To be sure, he did not find all the funds
for it out of his private purse. He swept away the small priory of
St. Frideswyde, finding homes for the prior and few monks, and
confiscating the revenues to his scheme; and other small religious
communities were treated in like manner, in order to contribute to
the expenses of the great undertaking. Now a fair building stood
upon the ancient site of the priory; and two years before, the
first canons of Cardinal College (as Christ Church used to be
called) were brought thither, and established in their new and most
commodious quarters. And amongst the first of these so-called
Canons or Senior Fellows of the Foundation was Master John Clarke,
a Master of Arts at Cambridge, who was also a student of divinity,
and qualifying for the priesthood. Wolsey had made a selection of
eight Cambridge students, of good repute for both learning and good
conduct, and had brought them to Oxford to number amongst his
senior fellows or canons; and so it had come about that Clarke and
several intimate associates of his had been translated from
Cambridge to Oxford, and were receiving the allowance and benefits
which accrued to all who were elected to the fellowships of
Cardinal College.

But though Wolsey had made all due inquiries as to the scholarship
and purity of life and conduct of those graduates selected for the
honour done them, he had shown himself somewhat careless perhaps in
the matter of their orthodoxy, or else he had taken it too much for
granted. For so it was that of the eight Cambridge men thus removed
to Oxford, six were distinctly "tainted" by the new opinions so
fast gaining ground in the country, and though still deeply
attached to the Holy Catholic Church, were beginning to revolt
against many of the abuses of the Papacy which had grown up within
that church, and were doing much to weaken her authority and bring
her into disrepute with thinking laymen--if not, indeed, with her
own more independent-minded priests.

John Clarke was a leading spirit amongst his fellows at Cardinal
College, as he had been at Cambridge amongst the graduates there.
It was not that he sought popularity, or made efforts to sway the
minds of those about him, but there was something in the
personality of the man which seemed magnetic in its properties; and
as a Regent Master in Arts, his lectures had attracted large
numbers of students, and whenever he had disputed in the schools,
even as quite a young man, there had always been an eager crowd to
listen to him.

Last summer an unwonted outbreak of sickness in Oxford had driven
many students away from the city to adjacent localities, where they
had pursued their studies as best they might; and at Poghley, where
some scholars had been staying, John Clarke had both preached and
held lectures which attracted much attention, and aroused
considerable excitement and speculation.

Dr. Langton had taken his two daughters to Poghley to be out of the
area of infection, and there the family had bettered their previous
slight acquaintance with Clarke and some of his friends. They had
Anthony Dalaber and Hugh Fitzjames in the same house where they
were lodging; and Clarke would come and go at will, therein growing
in intimacy with the learned physician, who delighted in the deep
scholarship and the original habit of thought which distinguished
the young man.

"If he live," he once said to his daughters, after a long evening,
in which the two had sat discoursing of men and books and the
topics of the day--"if he live, John Clarke will make a mark in the
university, if not in the world. I have seldom met a finer
intellect, seldom a man of such singleness of mind and purity of
spirit. Small wonder that students flock to his lectures and desire
to be taught of him. Heaven protect him from the perils which too
often threaten those who think too much for themselves, and who
overleap the barriers by which some would fence our souls about.
There are dangers as well as prizes for those about whom the world
speaks aloud."

Now the students had returned to Oxford, the sickness had abated,
and Dr. Langton had brought his daughters back to their beloved
home. But the visits of John Clarke still continued to be frequent.
It was but a short walk through the meadows from Cardinal College
to the Bridge House. On many a pleasant evening, his work being
done, the young master would sally forth to see his friends; and
one pair of soft eyes had learned to glow and sparkle at sight of
him, as his tall, slight figure in its dark gown was to be seen
approaching. Magdalen Langton, at least, never wearied of any
discussion which might take place in her presence, if John Clarke
were one of the disputants.

And, indeed, the beautiful sisters were themselves able to follow,
if not to take part in, most of the learned disquisitions which
took place at their home. Their father had educated them with the
greatest care, consoling himself for the early loss of his wife and
the lack of sons by superintending the education of his twin
daughters, and instructing them not only in such elementary matters
as reading and writing (often thought more than sufficient for a
woman's whole stock in trade of learning), but in the higher
branches of knowledge--in grammar, mathematics, and astronomy, as
well as in the Latin and French languages, and in that favourite
study of his, the Greek language, which had fallen so long into
disrepute in Oxford, and had only been revived with some difficulty
and no small opposition a few years previously.

But just latterly the talk at the Bridge House had concerned itself
less with learned matters of Greek and Roman lore, or the problems
of the heavenly bodies, than with those more personal and burning
questions of the day, which had set so many thinking men to work to
inquire of their own consciences how far they could approve the
action of church and state in refusing to allow men to think and
read for themselves, where their own salvation (as many argued) was
at stake.

It was not the first time that a little group of earnest thinkers
had been gathered together at Dr. Langton's house. The physician
was a person held in high esteem in Oxford. He took no open part
now in her counsels, he gave no lectures; he lived the life of a
recluse, highly esteemed and respected. He would have been a bold
man who would have spoken ill of him or his household, and
therefore it seemed to him that he could very well afford to take
the risk of receiving young men here, who desired to speak freely
amongst themselves and one another in places not so liable to be
dominated by listening ears as the rooms of the colleges and halls
whence they came.

Dr. Langton himself, being a man of liberal views and sound piety,
would very gladly have welcomed some reforms within the church,
which he, in common with all the early Reformers, loved and
venerated far more than modern-day Protestants fully understand.
They could not bear the thought that their Holy Mother was to be
despoiled, and the Body of Christ rent in pieces amongst them. No;
their earnest and ardent wish was that this purging of abuses, this
much-needed reformation, should come from within, should be carried
out by her own priests, headed up, if possible, by the Pope
himself. Such was the dream of many and many a devout and earnest
man at this time; and John Clarke's voice always softened with a
tender reverence as he spoke of the Holy Catholic Church.

So now his eyes lighted with a quick, responsive fire, as he turned
them upon his host.

"That is just what I am ever striving to maintain--that it is not
the church which is in fault, but those who use her name to enforce
edicts which she knows nothing of. 'Search the scriptures, for in
them ye have life,' spoke our Lord. 'Blessed is he that readeth the
words of the prophecy of this book,' wrote St. John in the latter
days. All men know that the Word of God is a lamp to the feet and a
light to the path. How shall we walk without that light to guide
us?"

"The church gives us the light," spoke Hugh Fitzjames softly.

Clarke turned upon him with a brilliant smile.

"She does, she does. She provides in her services that we shall be
enlightened by that light, that we shall be instructed and fed. We
have little or nothing to complain of in that respect. But there
are others--hundreds and thousands--who cannot share our
privileges, who do not understand the words they hear when they are
able to come to public worship. What is to be done for such? Are
their needs sufficiently considered? Who feeds those sheep and
lambs who have gone astray, or who are not able to approach to the
shepherd daily to be fed?"

"Many of such could not read the Scriptures, even were they placed
in their hands," remarked Fitzjames.

"True; and many might read them with blinded eyes, and interpret
them in ignorant fashion, and so the truth might become perverted.
Those are dangers which the church has seen, and has striven
against. I will not say that the danger may not be great. Holy
things are sometimes defiled by becoming too common. But has the
peril become so great that men are forced to use such methods as
those which London is shortly to witness?"

There was a glow in Clarke's eyes which the gathering gloom could
not hide. Magdalen seemed about to speak, but Dalaber was before
her.

"They say that the Tyndale translations are full of glaring errors,
and errors which feed the heresies of the Lollards, and are
directed against the Holy Church."

"That charge is not wholly without foundation," answered Clarke at
once, who as a scholar of the Greek language was well qualified to
give an opinion on that point. "And deeply do I grieve that such
things should be, for the errors cannot all have been through
accident or ignorance, but must have been inserted with a purpose;
and I hold that no man is guiltless who dares to tamper with the
Word of God, even though he think he may be doing God service
thereby. The Holy Spirit who inspired the sacred writers may be
trusted so to direct men's hearts and spirits that they may read
aright what He has written; and it is folly and presumption to
think that man may improve upon the Word of God."

"But there are errors in all versions of the Scriptures, are there
not--in all translations from the original tongue?"

Magdalen was now the speaker, and she looked earnestly at Clarke,
as though his words were words of the deepest wisdom, from which
there was no appeal.

"Errors in all--yes; but our Latin version is marvellously true to
the original, and when Wycliffe translated into English he was far
more correct than Tyndale has been. But it is the Tyndale
Testaments which have had so wide a sale of late in this country,
and which have set London in commotion--these and the writings of
Martin Luther, which the men from the Stillyard have brought up the
river in great quantities. But be the errors never so great, I call
it a shameful and a sinful thing, one that the Holy Church of olden
days would never have sanctioned--that the Word of God should be
publicly burnt, as an unholy and polluted thing, in presence of the
highest ecclesiastics of the land. In truth, I hold it a crime and
a sin. I would that such a scene might even now be averted."

"I should well like to see it!" spoke Dalaber, with that eager
impetuosity which characterized his movements. "I hate the thing
myself, yet I would fain see it, too. It would be something to
remember, something to speak of in future days, when, perchance,
the folly of it will be made manifest.

"Clarke, let us to London tomorrow! Easter is nigh at hand, and
your lectures have ceased for the present. Come with me, and let us
see this sight, and bring back word to our friends here how they
regard this matter in London. What do you say?"

Clarke's face was grave and thoughtful.

"I have some thoughts of visiting London myself during the next
week, but I had not thought to go to see the burning of books at
Paul's Cross."

"But that is what I wish to see!" cried Dalaber. "So, whether you
accompany me thither or not, at least let us travel to London
together, and quickly. It will be a thing to remember in days to
come; for verily I believe that the church will awaken soon, and
like a giant refreshed with wine will show what is in her, and will
gather her children about her as a hen gathers her chickens under
her wings, and will feed them, and care for them, and be as she has
been before to them, and that we shall see an end of the darkness
and indifference which has fallen like a pall upon this land."

Clarke rose with a smile, for the twilight was falling, and he
spoke his farewells to one after another of the doctor's family.

Magdalen's eyes looked longest into his, as his dwelt with a dreamy
softness upon her face.

"Are you really going to London? Will it be safe?"

"As safe as Oxford, sweet mistress. I apprehend no peril either
there or here. But at least I am a stranger there, whilst here any
man who asks may know the thing I believe. I am not afraid or
ashamed to speak the truth I hold."

Clarke and Dalaber went out together, and Magdalen turned anxiously
upon her father.

"What did he mean?"

Dr. Langton smiled, but he also sighed a little.

"Do not be fearful, my children; we know of no peril in the
present. But we may not hide our faces from the fact that in past
days this peril has threatened those who dare to speak and think
the thing they hold to be truth, when that opinion is not shared by
those in high places. Yet let us be thankful in that, for the
present time, no peril threatens either John Clarke and his friends
or Anthony Dalaber, their pupil."




Chapter II: "Christian Brothers"


"Freda, I am going to London with Master Clarke. We start at noon
today. We travel by road and river, and hope to accomplish our
journey in three days. You will wish me Godspeed ere I go?"

Freda, her hands full of golden king cups, the sunshine of the
morning lighting her fair face and deep, dark eyes, turned at the
sound of the voice beside her, and met the burning glance of
Anthony Dalaber.

"You go to see the burning of the books!" she said, speaking under
her breath. "O Anthony, how canst thou?--the Word of God!"

"Better they should burn the insentient books than the men who
preach the living Word!" spoke Anthony, suddenly putting out his
hands and clasping hers. "Freda, there have been men burnt alive
before this for speaking such words as we in Oxford whisper amongst
ourselves. If such a fate should befall some of us here--should
befall me--wouldst thou grieve for me?"

Her eyes dilated as she gazed at him.

"What are you saying?" she asked slowly. "Is there peril in this
journey? Is there peril menacing you here in Oxford?"

"There is ever peril where men dare to think for themselves and to
read forbidden books."

"Master Clarke says they are not forbidden of God or of His Holy
Church."

"That may be so; but they are forbidden by men who speak in the
name and power of the church," answered Anthony, "and with them
lies the issue of life and death for so many. Freda, what would you
do in my place? Would you forsake these paths which lead to peril,
or would you pursue them fearlessly to the end--even, if need be,
unto death?"

A sudden, intense light leaped into her eyes. She put forth her
hand, which she had withdrawn gently from his ardent clasp, and
laid it lightly upon his shoulder.

"It is not what I would do, what I would say, Anthony. The charge
is given by the Spirit of God: 'Be thou faithful unto death, and I
will give thee the crown of life.'"

He took her hand and kissed it passionately.

"That crown will I win, my Freda," he cried, "for I will be
faithful unto death!"

There was a curious mingling of tenderness and admiration in the
glance she bent upon him. He was a goodly youth to look at, tall
and strongly knit in figure, upright as a young spruce fir, with a
keen, dark-skinned face, square in outline and with a peculiar
mobility of expression. The eyes were black and sparkling, and the
thick, short, curling hair was sombre as the raven's wing. There
was no lack of intellect in the face, but the chief characteristic
was its eager intensity of ever-changing expression.

The girl facing him was as straight and almost as tall as he, but
slender and graceful as a young deer. Her hood had fallen back from
her chestnut locks, which glistened in the sunshine like burnished
copper. Her eyes were of a curious tawny tint, not unlike the
colour of her hair, and her complexion was delicately fair, just
tinged with rose colour at the cheeks, but of a creamy pallor
elsewhere. Her features were delicate and regular, and she, too,
was remarkable for the look of intellect in the broad brow and
deep, steadfast eyes.

Their expression at this moment, as they were fixed upon Dalaber,
was one which thrilled him to his heart's core.

He had been filled with a passion of self renunciation inspired by
her words. But as he gazed into her eyes, something more personal,
more human, sprang up within him. He put his lips once more to the
hand he held, and his voice shook as he said:

"Freda, I love thee! I love only thee!"

She did not answer. She did not withdraw her hand. Perhaps she had
known this thing before Dalaber spoke the words. She stood before
him, looking very earnestly and tenderly into his eyes. It was
scarcely the look of a young maiden who is being wooed by the man
she loves; and yet there was love in that unfaltering glance, and
his heart leapt up as he saw it.

"I ask nothing yet, Freda!" he cried--"at least, I ask only the
right to love thee! Let me continue to be thy friend, thy
companion, as before. Let me see thee and speak with thee as of
old. Be thou my star and my guardian angel. I ask no more. I am but
a poor student yet, but I will be more one day. Others have said so
beside myself. I will rise to fame and fortune. And thou--if thou
dost love me, even a little--thou wilt wait, and see what I can do
and dare for thy sweet sake!"

She smiled her full, gracious smile at him, and again laid a hand
upon his shoulder.

"Be ever true to thine own noblest self, Anthony Dalaber," she
answered, in her rich, musical tones--"be true to thy conscience
and to thy friends. Be steadfast and true; and that not for my
sake, but for His in whose holy name we are called, and to whose
service we are bound. Be faithful, be true; and whether for life or
for death, thy reward will be assured."

He gazed at her with a glow of rapture in his eyes.

"The reward of thy love?" he whispered breathlessly.

"That may well be," she answered; "but I was not thinking of that.
Fix thine eyes rather on that crown of life which shall be given
unto those who overcome."

"I will think of both," he answered, in an access of enthusiasm,
"for God is our Father; He loves us. I fear not to take all good at
His hand. Love to Him--love to thee--faithfulness to both. What
more can heart of man desire than such an object to strive after?"

His earnestness could not be mistaken. She caught the reflex of his
passionate devotion, and thrilled a little beneath his touch. He
felt it in a moment, and caught her hands again.

"Give me a word of hope!" he cried. "Ah, my beloved, wilt thou not
say that some day thou wilt love me?"

Freda was not one who would dally and trifle with her heart.

"In sooth, methinks I love thee now, Anthony. Nay, hear me a moment
longer. I love thee with a strong and sisterly love; but I would
know mine own heart better ere I promise more. We will be content
with this knowledge for the nonce. I shall watch thee, Anthony; I
shall hear of thee; I shall know what thou hast power to do and
dare. But now let us say farewell, for I must carry my flowers
within doors; and thou--it is time thou wert away. Thou hast a long
journey to prepare for."

And so, with one kiss, gravely given and taken, the lovers parted,
and Anthony went on his way as one who treads on air.

Some three days later, with eager eyes and bated breath, Anthony
Dalaber was following his friend John Clarke up the landing stairs
of a certain wharf in the city of London, and gazing earnestly
about him at the narrow, dark street in which he found himself,
where the shades of night seemed already to have fallen.

He knew whither they were bound--to the house of a priest, Thomas
Garret by name, well known to Clarke, and known by name to Dalaber,
too. He was one of the most active of the little band now engaged
in the perilous task of receiving and distributing the translated
Scriptures and the pamphlets issued by Martin Luther and other
reformers. He was an ex-fellow of Magdalen College, now a curate of
Allhallows, near Cheapside. Dalaber had often had a wish to see
this man, having heard of him in many quarters.

And now they stood knocking at the door of his house, which opened
only a few hundred paces from the riverside.

They had to wait some little time; but Clarke was not impatient,
though he gave a peculiar knock more than once upon the door.
Presently it was opened a very little way, and a voice asked:

"Who are you, and what is your errand?"

"Crede et manducasti [i]," spoke Clarke, in a low voice; and at
once the door was opened wider.

He stepped within, and Dalaber followed him. They found themselves
in a very narrow entry hall, and could only see in the gloom that a
serving man stood before them.

"Tell your master that John Clarke from Oxford has come to lodge
with him for a few nights, if he can give him house room."

The man vanished, but almost immediately reappeared and beckoned to
them to follow. He took them down some steps, lighting the way by a
lantern; and after they had descended some score they reached a
door, which he pushed open, revealing a roomy, cellar-like vault,
in which some half-dozen men were busily employed; but so scanty
was the illumination that Dalaber could not for the moment see upon
what task they were bent.

One figure detached itself from the rest and came forward. Dalaber
found himself gazing at a small, wiry-looking man in the frock of a
priest, whose head was slightly bald in addition to the tonsure,
and whose face was thin and lined, as though with vigils and
fasting and prayer. It was the face of an ascetic--thin featured
and thin lipped, pale almost to cadaverousness, but lighted as
though with a fire from within.

The extraordinary power of the shining eyes riveted Dalaber's gaze
from the first moment. Their glance was turned full upon him after
the priest had given greeting to Clarke, and the thin, resonant
voice asked quickly:

"Whom have you brought? Is he to be trusted?"

"To the death!" answered Dalaber, speaking for himself. "Try me,
and you shall see."

"It is my young friend, Anthony Dalaber," said Clarke, his hand
upon the youth's shoulder. "He is very earnest in the study of the
Scriptures and in the desire for a better state of things within
the church. Methinks he is stanch and true, else would I not have
brought him. As we journeyed hither I told him of the work of the
Association of Christian Brothers, and he would fain share their
toil and peril."

"Is that so?" asked the priest, again shooting a fiery glance
towards the young student. "Canst thou drink of the cup we may be
called upon to drink, and share the fiery baptism with which we may
be baptized withal?"

And Dalaber, his quick enthusiasm kindling to the spark which
seemed to leap towards him from the other, answered without a
moment's pause of hesitation, "I can."

Then Garret stretched forth his hand and took that of Dalaber in
the clasp of brotherhood, and Anthony felt the magnetic thrill
tingling through his whole frame.

"God be with you, my son, and keep you steadfast," said he; and the
other men, who had left their tasks and come forward to greet
Clarke and his companion, murmured a deep "amen."

Then all turned to the work in hand; and Dalaber saw that they were
engaged in hiding beneath the flagstones of the cellar, which had
carefully been removed for the purpose, a number of bales and
packets, whose contents could easily be guessed at. The earth from
beneath the stones had been hollowed out so as to receive these
packets in a number of deep cavities; and when the flags were
carefully replaced, and a little dirt and dust carefully sifted
over the floor, it would require a practised eye to discern the
hiding place. And hitherto it had passed undetected.

"We are hiding a number of books belonging to various brethren and
confederates," spoke Garret, as the task went on. "By a
providential warning our brother, Dr. Barnes, received timely
notice of visitation at his house, and the books were hurriedly
carried hither in the dead of night. You have heard, perhaps, of
his arrest?"

"No," answered Clarke; "we have but just arrived, and the last
fifteen miles we came by water in a wherry. The man knew naught of
the talk of the town, save that a great burning of books is to take
place on the morrow at Paul's Cross."

"Ay," spoke Garret, with a grim compression of the lips, "a mighty
burning of forbidden books will take place there. But mark, my
friends; had those books yonder been found in Dr. Barnes's house,
not books alone but the man himself would have been burnt upon the
morrow. The cardinal plainly told him so; and as it is, he has
signed a paper which they call a recantation of heresy. Let us not
judge him harshly. His friends pleaded, and his foes threatened,
and the flesh shrinks from the fiery trial. He will read this
confession or recantation tomorrow at St. Paul's, and help to fling
the precious books upon the devouring flames.

"Ah me! Let us not judge him! Judge nothing before the time, till
the Lord come. Oh, would that Ho would come Himself, to bring to an
end this dark night of persecution and terror, and take the kingdom
and the power and reign!"

And again the voices of the brethren answered, "Amen!"

"Are there any others who take part in this strange pageant on the
morrow?" asked Clarke, after a brief pause.

"Yes; five honest fellows from the Stillyard, who have been
detected in bringing books up the river and landing them. They are
condemned to appear tomorrow, and to assist in the holocaust with
their own hands. Being humbler men, they are dealt with more
lightly; and men all agree in this, that the cardinal would rather
persuade men to escape, and make the way easy for them to abjure
what he calls their errors, than drag them to the stake. But he
will not shrink from that last step, if he think the welfare of the
church demands it; and there are others who bear a yet more cruel
hatred towards all who would be free from the shackles of falsehood
and superstition. And much power belongs to them. God alone knows
what is coming upon this realm."

"But God does know; let that be enough!" spoke Clarke, with the
quick lighting of his clear blue eyes which gave him such power
over his hearers.

He and Garret were men of markedly contrasted types--the one all
fire, restlessness, energy; the other calm, contemplative,
intensely spiritual. Both were alike filled with a deep faith, a
deep zeal; one the man of action, the other the man of meditation
and devotion--yet deeply attached one to the other, as could be
seen by the way they looked and spoke.

"Ay, verily, let that be enough; let us remember that the day must
come that He who will come shall come, and shall not tarry. Let Him
judge; let Him make inquisition for blood. Let our care be that we
who are called and vowed to His service are found not called alone,
but chosen and found faithful."

The brethren, having finished their work, and replaced the
flagstones, spoke farewell, and departed one by one; but Clarke and
Dalaber remained with their host, and one man besides, whose face
was known to Anthony, and who also came from Oxford.

He was another of the cardinal's canons who had come from Cambridge
with Clarke, and his name was Henry Sumner. Evidently he too was of
the band of Christian Brothers; and in the long and earnest talk
which lasted far into the night, and to which Dalaber listened with
the keenest interest, he bore a share, although the chief speaker
was Garret, upon whose lips Dalaber hung with wrapt attention,
whilst Clarke's words fell softly like distilled dew, calming the
heart, and uplifting the spirit into heavenly regions of light and
peace.

Anthony Dalaber was the only one in that house who desired to
behold the spectacle upon the morrow. Garret's brow was dark, and
he spoke of passing the hours in fasting and prayer. Clarke had
friends he wished to visit in the city; but Dalaber's curiosity
burnt within him, and none dissuaded him from his plan. Indeed, it
was thought a pious act by the authorities to witness such a scene,
and might have been in one way advantageous to the young Oxford
graduate to be seen at such an exhibition, if any chanced to
observe him there. Not that Dalaber thought of this himself, but
the elder men did; and though they would not have sought to win
favour by such an act themselves, they were not sorry for a young
confederate to take advantage of the possibility of notice from
those in authority. It was wonderful how Argus-eyed and how long of
arm were the emissaries of the orthodox party in the church in
those times.

It seemed to Anthony himself as though all London were astir, and
moving towards old St. Paul's, as he threaded the narrow streets
towards the stately edifice. Although it wanted half an hour or
more to the time when the ceremony should commence--eight o'clock
in the morning the open place around the cathedral was packed when
Dalaber reached it, and only by the good nature of a citizen, who
took him into his house and let him view the scene from a window,
was he able to see what passed.

A high platform was erected by the great western doors of "Paul's
Walk" (some authorities say just within, and some just without the
building), where the cardinal's throne, draped with purple, had
been set, as well as seats for a great concourse of ecclesiastics
beside. Opposite this platform was another and far humbler
erection, evidently for the penitents; whilst over the north door,
the Rood of the Northern, as it was called, a great gilt crucifix
had been set up; and within the rails surrounding it burnt a fire,
round which fagots were set, and great baskets containing the
forbidden books, which were presently to be solemnly burnt.

As the great clock boomed out the hour of eight, two processions
simultaneously approached the platform. One swept out through the
cathedral doors in all the pomp of power and majesty, the cardinal
in scarlet robes, blazing with gems and gold, attended by
innumerable dignitaries--abbots and priors, bishops, deans,
doctors, and lesser clergy, shining in damask and satin, a right
goodly company. For a while all eyes were so fixed upon this
glittering array that there was scarce time to note the humble six,
in their penitential robes, bare-footed, and carrying tapers, who
appeared, attended by their jailers from the Fleet Prison, and were
set upon the opposite platform, full in view of all.

It was not Cardinal Wolsey, but Fisher, Bishop of Rochester, who
delivered to them a fiery oration, descanting to them on the
enormity of their offences, and calling upon them to abjure their
hateful heresy. His ringing voice carried all over the open space,
though Anthony Dalaber could only catch an occasional phrase here
and there, which perhaps was as well. But the reply, if reply there
were, from the penitents was quite inaudible, though Dr. Barnes was
believed to have spoken a solemn recantation in the name of the
six, and to declare that they only met the due reward of their
sins.

Then came the final ceremony, the pacing round and round the fire,
the casting into the flames, first the fagots, and then the books
put ready for the burning. The people held their breath whilst this
was being done; but had observant eyes been fixed upon many of the
faces of the crowd, they would have seen looks of fierce hatred
directed towards the spot where the powerful cardinal sat aloft,
whilst eager hands seemed ofttimes to be stretched out as though to
clutch at the precious books, now being ruthlessly consigned to the
flames.

At last Anthony Dalaber could stand it no longer. Hastily thanking
the honest citizen for the "goodly show" he had permitted him to
witness, he slipped down into the street, and pushed his way
through the throng anywhere, out of sight of the odious pageant of
intolerance and bigotry which he had been witnessing.

"Had it been Luther's books only, I could have stood it. He is a
man, and though a champion for truth, he may err, he does err. And
he speaks wild words which he contradicts himself. But the Word of
God! Oh, that is too much! To take it out of the hands of the poor
and needy, who hunger to be fed, and to cast it to be burnt like
the dung of the earth! Surely God will look down! Surely He will
punish! Oh, if I had wanted argument and reason for the step I will
take in the future, yonder spectacle would have been enough!"

For many hours he wandered through the streets and lanes of the
city, so intent on his own thoughts that he scarce noted the
buildings and fine sights he passed by. But his feet brought him
back to the spot of the morning's pageant, and towards evening he
found himself looking upon the ashes of what had been the books
brought with so much risk by the Hanse merchants and the Stillyard
men, and so eagerly desired by the poorer people of the city.

All the platforms had been removed. The crucifix no longer
glittered overhead, the doors of the cathedral were shut, and none
of the pomp of the morning could be seen here now. But several
humble persons were raking amid the ashes where the books had been
burnt, as though to see whether some poor fragments might not have
been left unconsumed; and when they failed to find even this--for
others had been before them, and the task of burning had probably
been well accomplished--they would put a handful of ashes into some
small receptacle, and slip it cautiously into pocket or pouch.

One man, seeing Dalaber's gaze fixed upon him, went up to him
almost defiantly and said:

"Are you spying upon us poor citizens, to whom is denied aught but
the ashes of the bread of life?"

Dalaber looked him full in the face, and spoke the words he had
heard from Clarke's lips the previous evening:

"Crede et manducasti."

Instantly the man's face changed. A light sprang into his eyes. He
looked round him cautiously, and said in a whisper:

"You are one of us!"

There was scarce a moment's pause before Dalaber replied:

"I am one of you--in heart and purpose, at least, if not in actual
fact."

He paced home through the streets in a tempest of conflicting
emotions. But his mind was made up. Come what might--peril,
suffering, or death--he had put his hand to the plough. He would
not look back.

"Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee the crown of
life."

He seemed to walk to the accompaniment of these words; and when he
reached Garret's house he went straight to the master, told his
story, and knelt suddenly down before him.

"Bless me, even me also, O my father!" he exclaimed, in a burst of
emotion to which his temperament made him subject, "for I would now
be admitted as member of the Association of Christian Brothers."




Chapter III: A Neophyte


"And the soul of Jonathan was knit to the soul of David, and he
loved him as his own soul."

These words often came into the mind of the priest, Thomas Garret,
during the three days which Anthony Dalaber spent at his house,
hard by the rushing river, in the city of London.

There were ten years in age between them. Dalaber was a youth who
had seen little of life beyond what he had learned in Oxford,
whereas Garret had already passed through strange and perilous
experiences. The one had so far lived amongst books, and with
youthful companions of his own standing; the other had been a
pioneer in one of the most dangerous movements of the day, and had
seen what such courses might well lead him to. Storm and stress had
been the portion of the one, a pleasant life of study and pleasure
that of the other. It was only during the past six months that
association with Clarke and some others of his way of thinking had
aroused in Dalaber's mind a sense of restless discontent with
existing ordinances, and a longing after purer, clearer light,
together with a distaste and ofttimes a disgust at what he saw of
corruption and simony amongst those who should have been the salt
of the earth.

Had it not been for the talks he had heard of late, in Dr.
Langton's house, he might have passed through his divinity studies
at Oxford as his brother had done before him, content to drift with
the stream, ignorant of the undercurrents which were already
disturbing its apparently tranquil surface, and ready in due course
to be consecrated to his office, and to take some benefice if he
could get it, and live and die as the average priest of those times
did, without troubling himself over the vexed questions of papal
encroachment and traffic in pardons and indulgences which were
setting Germany in a flame.

But he had been first aroused by seeing the light in Freda's eyes
as these questions had been discussed in the hearing of her and her
sister. From the first moment of his presentation to Dr. Langton's
family Dalaber had been strongly attracted by the beautiful
sisters, and especially by Freda, whose quick, responsive eagerness
and keen insight and discrimination made a deep impression upon
him. The soundness of her learning amazed him at the outset; for
her father would turn to her to verify some reference from his
costly manuscripts or learned tomes, and he soon saw that Latin and
Greek were to her as her mother tongue.

When she did join in the conversation respecting the interpretation
or translation of the Holy Scriptures, he had quickly noted that
her scholarship was far deeper than his own. He had been moved to a
vivid admiration at first, and then to something that was more than
admiration. And the birth and growth of his spiritual life he
traced directly to those impulses which had been aroused within him
as he had heard Freda Langton speak and argue and ask questions.

That was how it had started; but it was Clarke's teaching and
preaching which had completed the change in him from the careless
to the earnest student of theology. Clarke's spirituality and
purity of life, his singleness of aim, his earnest striving after a
standard of holiness seldom to be found even amongst those who
professed to practise the higher life, aroused the deep admiration
of the impulsive and warm-hearted Dalaber. He sought his rooms, he
loved to hear his discourses, he called himself his pupil and his
son, and was the most regular and enthusiastic attender of his
lectures and disputations.

And now he had taken a new and forward step. Suddenly he seemed to
have been launched upon a tide with which hitherto he had only
dallied and played. He was pushing out his bark into deeper waters,
and already felt as though the cables binding him to the shores of
safety and ease were completely parted.

It was in part due to the magnetic personality of Garret that this
thing had come to pass. When Dalaber left Oxford it was with no
idea that it would be a crisis in his life. He wished, out of
curiosity, to be present at the strange ceremony to be enacted in
St. Paul's Churchyard; and the knowledge that Clarke was going to
London for a week on some private business gave the finishing touch
to his resolution.

But it was not until he sat with Thomas Garret in his dark
lodgings, hearing the rush of the river beneath him, looking into
the fiery eyes of the priest, and hearing the fiery words which
fell from his lips, that Dalaber thoroughly understood to what he
had pledged himself when first he had uttered the fateful words, "I
will be a member of the Association of Christian Brothers."

True, Clarke had, on their way to town, spoken to him of a little
community, pledged to seek to distribute the life-giving Word of
God to those who were hungering for it, and to help each in his
measure to let the light, now shrouded beneath a mass of
observances which had lost their original meaning to the unlettered
people, shine out in its primitive brilliance and purity; but
Dalaber had only partially understood the significance of all this.

Clarke was the man of thought and devotion. His words uplifted the
hearts of his hearers into heavenly places, and seemed to create a
new and quickened spirituality within them. Garret was the man of
action. He was the true son of Luther. He loved to attack, to
upheave, to overthrow. Where Clarke spoke gently and lovingly of
the church, as their holy mother, whom they must love and cherish,
and seek to plead with as sons, that she might cleanse herself from
the defilement into which she had fallen, Garret attacked her as
the harlot, the false bride, the scarlet woman seated upon the
scarlet beast, and called down upon her and it alike the vials of
the wrath of Almighty God.

And the soul of Dalaber was stirred within him as he listened to
story after story, all illustrative of the corruption which had
crept within the fold of the church, and which was making even holy
things abhorrent to the hearts of men. He listened, and his heart
was hot as he heard; he caught the fire of Garret's enthusiasm, and
would then and there have cast adrift from his former life, thrown
over Oxford and his studies there--and flung himself heart and soul
into the movement now at work in the great, throbbing city, where,
for the first time, he found himself.

But when he spoke words such as these Garret smiled and shook his
head, though his eyes lighted with pleasure.

"Nay, my son; be not so hot and hasty. Seest thou not that in this
place our work for the time being is well-nigh stopped?

"Not for long," he added quickly, whilst the spark flew from his
eyes--"not for long, mind you, ye proud prelates and cardinal. The
fire you have lighted shall blaze in a fashion ye think not of. The
Word of God is a consuming fire. The sword of the Spirit, the Word
of God, pierces the heart and reins of man; and that sword hath
been wrested from the scabbard in which it has rusted so long, and
the shining of its fiery blade shall soon he seen of all men.

"No," added the priest, after a moment's pause to recover himself
and take up the thread of his discourse; "what was done at Paul's
Cross yesterday was but a check upon our work. The last convoy of
books has been burnt--all, save the few which we were able to save
and to bide beneath the cellar floor. The people have been cowed
for a moment, but it will not last. As soon seek to quench a fire
by pouring wax and oil upon it!"

"You will get more books, then? The work will not cease?"

"It will not cease. More books will come. Our brave Stillyard men
will not long be daunted. But we must act with care. For a time we
must remain quiet. We may not be reckless with the holy books,
which cost much in money and in blood--or may do, if we are rash or
careless. But nothing now can stop their entrance into a land where
men begin to desire earnestly to read them for themselves. Not all,
mind you. It is strange how careless and apathetic are the gentry
of the land--they that one would have thought to be most eager,
most forward. They stand aloof; and the richer of the trades'
guilds will have little to say to us. But amongst the poor and
unlettered do we find the light working; and in them are our
chiefest allies, our most earnest disciples."

"Yet we have many at Oxford, learned men and scholars, who would
gladly welcome changes and reforms in the church; and there are
many amongst the students eager after knowledge, and who long to
peruse the writings of Luther and Melancthon, and see these new
versions of the Scriptures."

"Ay, I know it. I was of Oxford myself. It is but a few years that
I left my lodging in Magdalen College. I love the place yet. The
leaven was working then. I know that it has worked more and more.
Our good friends Clarke and Sumner have told as much. Is not your
presence here a proof of it? Oh, there will be a work--a mighty
work--to do in Oxford yet; and you shall be one of those who shall
be foremost in it."

"I?" cried Dalaber, and his eyes glowed with the intensity of his
enthusiasm. "Would that I could think it!"

"It shall be so," answered Garret. "I read it in your face, I hear
it in your voice. The thought of peril and disgrace would not daunt
you. You would be faithful--even unto death. Is it not so?"

"I would!--I will!" cried Dalaber, stretching out his hand and
grasping that of Garret. "Only tell me wherein I can serve, and I
will not fail you."

"I cannot tell you yet, save in general terms; but the day will
come when you shall know. Oxford must have books. There will soon
be no doubt as to that. And when we have books to scatter and
distribute there, we want trusty men to receive and hide them, and
sell or give them with secrecy and dispatch. It is a task of no
small peril. Thou must understand that well, my son. It may bring
thee into sore straits--even to a fiery death. Thou must count the
cost ere thou dost pass thy word."

"I care nothing for the cost!" cried Dalaber, throwing back his
head. "What other men have done and dared I will do and dare. I
will be faithful--faithful unto death."

"I shall remember," answered Garret, with a smile upon his thin
ascetic face--"I shall remember; and the day will come--a day not
far distant, as I hope--when I shall come to thee and remind thee
of this promise."

"I shall not have forgotten," spoke Dalaber, holding out his hand;
"whenever the Brotherhood calls upon me it will find me ready."

There was silence for a while, and then Dalaber looked up and
asked:

"What of Clarke, and Sumner, and others there? Will they not help
also in the good work?"

"Yes; but in a different fashion," answered Garret. "It is not
given to all to serve alike. Those men who dwell within college
walls, overlooked by dean and warden, waited on by servants in
college livery, bound by certain oaths, and hemmed about by many
restrictions, cannot act as those can do who, like yourself, are
members of the university, but dwellers in small halls, and under
no such restraints. Clarke has done great service, and will do
more, by his teachings and preachings, which prepare the hearts of
men to receive the good seed, and awaken yearnings after a deeper,
purer, spiritual life than that which we see around us in those who
should be the bright and shining lights of the day. That is their
work, and right well do they perform their tasks. But to such as
you belongs the other and arduous labour of receiving and
distributing the forbidden books. When the time comes, wilt thou,
Anthony Dalaber, be ready?"

"I will," spoke the youth in earnest tones; and it was plain that
he spoke in all sincerity.

The position of students living in colleges and living in halls, as
they were called, was, as Garret had said, altogether different.
Graduates and undergraduates of the colleges which had sprung up
were fenced about with rules and restrictions which have been
modified rather than changed with the flight of time. But the hall
of olden Oxford was merely a sort of lodging house, generally kept
by a graduate or master, but not subject to any of the rules which
were binding upon those students who entered upon one of the
foundations. Indeed, the growth of colleges had been due in great
part to the desire on the part of far-seeing men and friends of
order as well as learning to curb the absolute and undesirable
freedom of the mass of students brought together at Oxford and
Cambridge, and in the middle ages living almost without discipline
or control, often indulging in open riots or acts of wholesale
insubordination.

Anthony Dalaber was not at present a member of any college, nor
even of one of the religious houses where students could lodge, and
where they lived beneath a sort of lesser control. He and Hugh
Fitzjames, both of them youths of limited means, shared a lodging
in a house called St. Alban Hall, and were free to come and go as
they pleased, none asking them wherefore or whither. He saw at once
that what would not be possible to a canon of Cardinal College
would be feasible enough to him and his friend, if Fitzjames should
sympathize with him in the matter. And, so far, he believed his
friend was with him, though without, perhaps, the same eager
enthusiasm.

When the visit to Garret came to an end, and Anthony Dalaber said
farewell to him at the water side, where a barge was to convey them
some distance up the river, the priest held his hands long and
earnestly, looking into his eyes with affectionate intensity, and
at the last he kissed him upon both cheeks and said: "God be with
thee, my young brother! May He keep thee firm and steadfast to the
last, whatever may befall!"

"I am very sure He will," answered Dalaber fervently. "I am yours,
and for the good cause, for life or death."

They parted then, and the voyage began; but little was spoken by
the travellers so long as they remained in the barge. Clarke seemed
to be thinking deeply, his eyes fixed earnestly upon Dalaber's face
from time to time; whilst the latter sat gazing behind him at the
city, sinking slowly away out of his sight, his eyes filled with
the light of a great and zealous purpose.

They left the water side in the afternoon, and walked towards a
certain village, and Clarke, turning towards his companion, said:

"I have promised to preach this evening in a certain house yonder.
I trow there will be no peril to me or to those who hear me. But of
that no man can be certain. What wilt thou do? Come with me, or
walk onwards and let us meet on the morrow?"

Dalaber hesitated no single moment; Clarke's preaching was one of
his keenest delights. And upon this evening he was moved beyond his
wont as the young master spoke from his heart to his listeners, not
striving to arouse their passions against tyranny or bigotry, but
rather seeking to urge them to patience, to that brotherly love
which endures all things and hopes all things, and turns to the
Almighty Father in never-ceasing faith and joy, imploring His help
to open the eyes of the blind, soften the hearts that are puffed
up, and cleanse the church, which must be made pure and holy as the
bride of Christ, for that heavenly marriage supper for which her
spouse is waiting.

Nothing was spoken which the orthodox could well complain of; yet
every listener knew that such a discourse would not have been
preached by any man not "tainted" with what was then called heresy.
But the hearts of the hearers burnt within them as they listened;
and when, after some further time spent in discussion and prayer,
the preacher and his companion found themselves alone for the night
in a comfortable bed chamber, Dalaber threw himself upon Clarke's
neck in an outburst of fervid enthusiasm.

"Oh, let me be ever your son and scholar," he cried, "for with you
are the words of life and light!"

Then the elder man looked at him with a great tenderness in his
eyes, but his voice was full of gravity and warning.

"Dalaber," he said, "you desire you know not what. And I fear
sometimes that you seek to take upon yourself more than you wot
of--more than you are able. My preaching is sweet unto you now, for
that no persecution is laid upon you. But the time will come--of
that I am well assured, and that period peradventure shortly--when,
if ye continue to live godly therein, God will lay upon you the
cross of persecution, to try whether you, as pure gold, can abide
the fire."

"I know it! I am ready!" cried Dalaber, with the characteristic
backward motion of his head. His face was like the face of a young
eagle. He was quivering from head to foot.

Clarke looked at him again with his fatherly smile, but there was
trouble also in his eyes.

"Be not over confident, my son; and seek not to take upon you more
than you are able to bear."

Dalaber understood instantly to what Clarke was alluding.

"I trust I have not done so. But men will be wanted. I am a
Christian Brother. I must not shrink. My word is passed. Not to
you, my master, alone, but to Master Garret also."

"To whom I did make you known," spoke Clarke, with a very slight
sigh. "My son, I would not speak one word to discourage your godly
zeal; but bethink you what this may mean. You shall (it may be) be
judged and called a heretic; you shall be abhorred of the world;
your own friends and kinsfolk shall forsake you; you shall be cast
into prison, and none shall dare to help you; you shall be accused
before bishops, to your reproach and shame, to the great sorrow of
all your friends and kindred. Then will ye wish ye had never known
this doctrine; then (it may be) ye will curse Clarke, and wish you
had never known him, because he hath brought you into all these
troubles."

But Dalaber could bear that word no longer; he flung himself at the
feet of his master, and the tears broke from his eyes.

"Nay, nay, speak not so, I beseech you; you cut me to the heart! I
boast not of myself as being wiser or braver or more steadfast than
other men; I only pray of you to try me. Send me not away. Let me
be pupil, and scholar, and son. I cannot turn back, even if I
would. My heart is in the good work. Let me follow in the path I
have chosen. I have put my hand to the plough; how can I turn
back?"

Clarke looked down upon the youth with a world of tender love in
his eyes, and raising him up in his arms he kissed him, the tears
standing on his own cheeks.

"The Lord God Almighty give you grace and steadfastness now and
ever," he said in a deep voice, full of feeling, "and from
henceforth and ever take me for your father in Christ, and I will
take you for my son!"

So the compact was sealed between the two; and when on the morrow
they took their way towards Oxford, the heart of Anthony Dalaber
was joyful within him, for he felt as though he had set his foot
upon the narrow path which leads to life everlasting, and he reeked
little of the thorns and briers which might beset the way,
confident that he would be given grace to overcome.

He was happier still when he was able to obtain the exclusive
companionship of Freda Langton in the sunny garden of the Bridge
House, and pour into her willing ears all the story of his visit
and its wonderful consequences. To Anthony Dalaber some sympathetic
confidante was almost a necessity of existence; and who so well
able to understand him as the girl he loved with every fibre of his
being, and who had almost promised him an answering love? There was
no peril to her in knowing these things. The day for making
rigorous inquisition in all directions had not yet come, and there
was no danger to himself in entrusting his safety to one as true
and stanch as this maiden.

Freda's sympathies from the outset had been with those independent
thinkers, who were in increasing peril of being branded as
heretics; and she listened with absorbing interest to the story of
the hidden books, the little band of Christian Brothers, the work
going on beneath their auspices, and the check temporarily put upon
it by the holocaust of books which Dalaber had witnessed at St.
Paul's.

"And you saw it--you saw them burn the books! You saw the great
cardinal sitting on his throne and watching! O Anthony, tell me,
what was he like?"

"His face I could not well see, I was too far away; but he walked
with stately mien, and his following was like that of royalty
itself. Such kingly pomp I have never witnessed before."

"And our Lord came meek and lowly, riding upon an ass, and had not
where to lay His head," breathed Freda softly. "Ah, ofttimes do I
wonder what He must think of all this, looking down from heaven,
where He sits expecting, till His enemies be made His footstool. I
wonder what yonder pageant looked like to Him--a prelate coming in
His place (as doubtless the cardinal would think) to judge those
whose crime has been the spreading abroad of the living Word, and
now watching the burning of countless books which contain that
living Word, and which might have brought joy and gladness to so
many. When I think of these things I could weep for these proud
men, who never weep for themselves. I can better understand the
words of Master Clarke when he says, 'Plead with your mother--plead
with her.'"

"We will plead. We have pleaded already; we will plead again and
yet again!" cried Dalaber, with a flash in his dark eyes. "But
methinks a time will come when the day of pleading will be past,
and the day of reckoning will come; and she will have to learn that
her children will not always suffer her impurities and abominations,
but that they will rise up and cleanse the sanctuary from the
filthiness wherewith it is defiled."

"Yet let them not cease to love her," spoke Freda gently, "for, as
Master Clarke truly says, we are all one body--the Body of Christ;
and if we have to war one with another, and rend that body for its
own healing, we must yet remember that we are all members one of
another even in our strife."

"It is a hard saying," spoke Dalaber, "yet I believe it is the
truth. God send us more men like John Clarke, to show us the way
through this tangle of perplexities!"




Chapter IV: "Merrie May Day"


"You will come and hear us sing our 'merrie katches' from the
tower, sweet ladies. They should sound sweetly this year, more
sweetly than ever, for we have improved in our methods, and our
boys have been better taught since Master Radley of Cardinal
College has given us his help; and he will come and sing with us,
and he hath a voice like a silver bell."

The speaker was Arthur Cole, a student of Magdalen College, who was
now a frequent visitor at the Bridge House. He was a young man of
good family and prospects, nearly related to one of the proctors of
the university. He had a good presence, an elegant figure, and was
master of many favourite sports and pastimes. He kept horses and
dogs and falcons, and had several servants lodging in the town to
look after these creatures, and to attend him when he sallied forth
in search of sport. Moreover, he had recently introduced into
Oxford the Italian game of "calcio" (of which more anon), and was
one of the most popular and important men of his college. He was
always dressed with great care and elegance, although he was no
fop; and he was so handsome and so merry withal that all who knew
him regarded him with favour, and his friendship was regarded as a
sort of passport to the best circle of university life.

Freda and Magdalen answered his appeal with smiling glances. They
were holding one of their little mimic courts in the garden by the
river. Their father had been reading and discoursing with sundry
students, who came to him for instruction more individual and
particular than could be given in the schools in the earlier part
of the day; and the young men before leaving always sought to gain
speech with the two fair sisters, who were generally at this hour
to be found in the garden.

Arthur Cole, Anthony Dalaber, and Hugh Fitzjames, their cousin, had
lingered to the last, and now were talking of the joustings and
merry makings of the approaching May Day, which was ushered in by
the melodious concert from the summit of Magdalen College tower.

In olden days this was not a sacred selection of hymns, but
madrigals, roundelays, and "merrie katches," as the old chroniclers
term them, sung by the boys maintained for the musical part of the
daily service, and by such singing men or musically inclined
students as were willing and able to help. Anthony Dalaber, who
possessed an excellent voice, which he often employed in the
service of Cardinal College Chapel, had been invited to assist this
year; and a new singing man from that college, Stephen Radley by
name, was considered a great acquisition.

This man had not long been in Oxford, and had been sent by the
cardinal himself on account of his remarkable voice. He did not
live in the college itself, but in a lodging near at hand, and
equally near to Magdalen College. Arthur Cole, foremost to discover
talent and appreciate it, and attracted by the fine presence and
muscular development of the singer, had struck up a friendship with
him, and Dalaber had followed his example in this.

"Radley will lead off the madrigal to springtide and love," he
cried, "which erstwhile has been spoiled for lack of a voice that
can be heard alone from such a height. I trow it will ring through
the soft air like a silver trumpet. You will be there to hear?" and
his eyes dwelt upon the face of Freda, whilst those of Arthur
rested more particularly upon that of Magdalen.

"Ah, yes, we shall certainly be there," they both answered; and
Freda added gaily, "Albeit ye begin the day somewhat early. But why
should we not be up with the sun on Merrie May Day?"

"Why not, indeed?" questioned Arthur eagerly, "for the day will
scarce be long enough for all there is to do. You will come to the
sports in the meadows later, fair maidens? And I have a favour to
ask of you twain. May I be bold enough to proffer it now?"

They looked at him with smiling, questioning eyes.

"A favour, fair sir?"

"Yes, truly; for I would ask of you to be witness to our contest of
calcio in yonder green meadow, and to present to the victors the
garlands of laurel and flowers which are to be their reward who
shall come off triumphant in the strife. No contest is so keenly
contested as that which is watched by the bright eyes of fair
ladies, and I would ask that ye be the queens of the strife, and
reward the victorious company with your own fair hands."

The girls assented gladly and gaily. They had heard much of this
newly-introduced game, and were curious to witness it. The more
ancient sports of quintain, on land and water, morris dancing,
quarterstaff, archery, and such like, were all familiar enough. But
calcio was something of a novelty; and to be chosen as the queens
of the contest was no small pleasure, and their eyes beamed with
gratification and delight.

Arthur Cole was equally pleased at having won their consent, and
told them how that a fine pavilion would be erected in the meadow,
where they and their friends could survey the scene at ease,
protected alike from the heat of the sun, or from falling showers,
should any betide. It was plain that this spectacle was to be on a
decidedly magnificent scale. Arthur Cole was said to have expended
much money upon the rich dresses of the players; now he spoke of a
pavilion for the selected bystanders. It promised to be quite a
fresh excitement for the university.

Dalaber and Cole went away together slightly later, and Hugh
Fitzjames remained to supper with his kinsfolks.

"Anthony has taken a mighty liking for yonder fine gentleman of
late," remarked the youth. "They are ever together now. Well, he
might do worse for a friend. Master Cole is one of the richest
students in Oxford."

"That is not what attracts Anthony, though," spoke Freda. "I think
it has been this new game, into which Anthony has thrown himself
with such zest. Perhaps it is good for him to have other things
than his books to think of. A short while back he was ever poring
over the written page and burning the midnight oil. You said so
yourself, Hugh."

"Yes, verily; and I have no quarrel with him for it. I think he is
safer playing calcio with Cole than for ever studying the books he
gets from Clarke and his friends, as he has been doing of late."

"Safer?" questioned Freda quickly; "how safer, Hugh?"

"Oh, well, you must know what Anthony is like by this time. He can
never take aught quietly as other men. There are scores here in
Oxford--I am one of them myself--who believe in liberty to think
and read what we will, and to judge for ourselves between man and
man, even when Holy Church herself is in the question. God can be
ill served in the church as well as the monarch on his throne. We
are not counted rebels and traitors because we condemn a minister
of state; why, then, are we to be counted heretics and the scum of
the earth because we see the evils and corruption in the lives of
cardinals and clergy?

"But to return to Dalaber. He is never content with just quiet
thinking and study; he is all in a flame, and must cry aloud from
the housetops, if it were not that he is restrained by others. He
came from London in a perfect ferment. I trembled to think what he
would do next. But as luck would have it, Cole got hold of him to
take a vacant place in his own band for calcio, and since then he
has been using his muscles rather than his brain, and an excellent
good thing, too. He is just the man to get into trouble with the
authorities, albeit he may not hold half the 'heresies' of others
who escape."

"It is his way to throw himself heart and soul into everything he
undertakes," spoke Freda, with a certain quiet satisfaction and
approval. "I think he never stops to count the cost, but tries to
see the right path, and to pursue it to the end."

"Yes, but he might sometimes show a little more discretion with his
zeal," answered Hugh, with a half laugh. "I have a great liking for
Anthony myself. No man could share his chamber and lack that. He is
the best of comrades, and he has fine qualities and plenty of
courage. But there are times when I fear he will be his own
undoing. When he disputes in the schools he will often tread
perilously near some 'pestilent heresy,' as the masters would deem
it, or show by some of his arguments that he has a dangerous
knowledge of forbidden books. Just now things are quiet in Oxford,
and not much notice is taken. But who knows how long the calm may
last? London has been set in a commotion of late, and is it likely
that Oxford will escape, with the cardinal's eyes fixed upon his
college here?"

"At least let us hope and pray that we may be spared persecution,"
spoke Magdalen gravely. "Yet truly I believe that were such
misfortune to befall us, Anthony Dalaber would be one of those who
would stand the test of his faith with constancy and courage."

"He would, up to a certain point, I doubt not," answered Hugh. "He
would go to the stake, I believe, without flinching, were he taken
and sent there straight. But if put in prison, and kept there long,
separated from his friends and teachers, and subjected to argument
and persuasion and specious promises, well, I know not how he would
stand that trial. Kindness and flattery might win him over, where
threats and cruelty failed."

Freda's face was gravely intent. She was conscious of a growing
interest in and affection for Anthony Dalaber since his own fervent
declaration of love towards herself. She had given him no definite
promise, but she felt that henceforth their lives must of necessity
be more or less linked together. She could not be indifferent to
aught that concerned him; the stability of his faith and of his
character must mean very much to her in the future.

But for the moment it was difficult to think of these things.
Joyous springtide was on the world; May Day, with all its gay
doings, was close at hand; and graver thoughts or anxious fears
alike seemed out of place.

The girls were up with the lark on May Day morning, donning their
holiday robes of white taffeta and spotless lawn, cunningly
embroidered by their own skilful fingers, Freda's in silver and
Magdalen's in gold thread. They each had girdles of silver and gold
cord respectively, and snowy headgear embroidered in like fashion.
They looked as fresh and as lovely as the morning itself, and their
father's eyes shone with loving pride as they presented themselves
before him.

"We grow young again in our children," he said, as they sallied
forth just as the east was growing rosy with the harbinger of dawn.

The dew lay thick upon the grass, whitening it with a glittering
mantle; but the paths were dry and firm, and the girls held up
their dainty draperies and tripped along so lightly that their
white leather embroidered shoes gathered no soil by the way. Then,
just as the clock of Cardinal College boomed out the hour, a chorus
of sweet, clear voices up high in the air broke into merry song,
just as the first early sunbeam struck across the sky, and lighted
up the group of singers half hidden behind the low battlements.

The meadows below were thronged with gownsmen from the various
colleges, as well as by crowds of townsfolk, all in holiday attire,
who had streamed out of the gates to hear the singing. Later in the
day there might probably be brawling and disputes betwixt the two
parties--"town and gown," as they were later dubbed. But the early
morning hour seemed to impose peace upon all spirits, and there was
no hooting or brawling or rioting of any kind; but a decorous
silence was observed, all faces being lifted upwards, as the sweet
strains came floating from above, seeming to welcome the dawning
day and the joyous season of sunshine and love.

"That must surely be Stephen Radley," spoke Freda in a whisper, as
one voice, more rich and mellow than the others, seemed to detach
itself and float upwards in a flood of melody. All eyes were fixed
aloft, all ears strained to catch the sounds. The power and
extraordinary sweetness of the voice held the multitude spellbound.

"The cardinal's new singing man!" was the whisper passed from mouth
to mouth; and when at length the singers emerged from the little
door at the base of the tower, there were many who crowded round
Radley to compliment him upon his wonderful performance.

It was quite a long time before the sisters caught sight of him,
and then he was walking arm-in-arm with Master Clarke, who,
catching sight of the little group, brought him straight up to them
and presented him.

Radley was dressed in academic garb, like all the members of the
university. He looked about five-and-twenty years old, was a tall
and finely proportioned man, deep chested and muscular, with a
gravely deferential manner that was pleasing and modest.

Arthur Cole and Anthony Dalaber came hastening up to join the
group, and presently it broke up somewhat, and thus Magdalen found
herself walking towards home with Clarke, whilst the others
followed as they chose, having been asked by Dr. Langton to partake
of a cold collation at his house, which had been carefully spread
overnight by the hands of the girls themselves.

"He has a wonderful voice," said Magdalen, with a slight backward
glance over her shoulder towards Radley; "who is he, and whence
does he come?"

"He sang as a boy in one of those grammar schools which the
cardinal is now interesting himself so much to promote. But when he
lost his boy's voice he was not able to remain at the school, and
has since been a servant in several great houses. He obtained a
position in the cardinal's house last year, and it was there that
the great man heard him singing over his work, and had him brought
before him. Finding that he had some learning, and was eager for
more, he decided to appoint him as singing man at his own college
here, and to let him continue his studies as well. I trow that he
would have willingly made him one of the petty canons, but Radley
declined that honour. He has no call to the priesthood, he says;
and in truth he has heard much in London of the Association of
Christian Brothers, and has read many of the forbidden books.

"Indeed, I think I may call him one of them. I am not afraid to
tell you this, Mistress Magdalen, for I know your heart is full of
sympathy for us, who are seekers after purer truth than we can
always find amongst those who are set to dispense it to us."

The girl's eyes were full of sympathy and earnest interest.

"Indeed, I would fain see all men longing after light and truth.
God is Light, and God is Truth; His Son came as the Light of the
world. He must desire all men to seek the Light. And if His church
does not shine with it as it should, men must needs try to add to
her light, each in his own measure."

Magdalen looked with the greater interest at Radley after having
heard what John Clarke spoke of him. He sat beside Dalaber at
table, and the two seemed on intimate terms.

Arthur Cole was beside her, and took up much of her attention. His
admiration was almost openly expressed, and the girl sometimes
blushed at his gallant compliments. She liked the gay-hearted young
man, but she was not so much attracted towards him as towards
Clarke and those more thoughtful spirits. Still, she was not proof
against the fascination of his courtly address, and she listened
with interest to his account of the game he had learned in Italy
and had introduced to England, and which bears so close a
resemblance to our modern game of football that it may well be
regarded as its parent.

This was the first regular match that had been played at Oxford,
and considerable excitement prevailed as to what it would be like,
and how the players would distinguish themselves.

The forenoon hours, however, were mainly given up to the usual
pastimes of May Day. Children decked with garlands and flowers
chose their queen, and crowned her amid the plaudits of the people.
Morris dancers footed it upon the green, and miracle plays were
enacted by wandering troops of mummers. There were booths set up,
where a sort of fair was held, and sweetmeats and drink dispensed.
An ox was being roasted whole in one place, where dinners were
served at midday, and trials of strength and skill went on
uninterruptedly in the wide meadows round the city, some being the
property of the town, and others of the university.

On the whole, however, the spirit of concord prevailed, and there
was less fighting and brawling than usual between the two parties;
and when, after the short pause for the midday repast, the students
and masters and all interested in the spectacle hastened to the
spot where the game of calcio was to be played, great numbers of
the townsfolk flocked there also, and were neither hustled nor
jeered by the gowned concourse in the inner circle.

There was something distinctly sumptuous in the pavilion which had
been raised for a certain number of spectators of the better class,
and there was quite a buzz and acclamation as the two beautiful
sisters were seen to ascend the few steps and take their places on
the centre seats, which had something of the aspect of a throne.
They were very well known in Oxford, not for their beauty alone,
but for their gentleness and charity, being always ready to succour
the sick and afflicted, and to visit with their own presence any
stricken houses where trouble of any kind had entered. So that not
only the gownsmen but the townsmen were ready to welcome them with
cheers, and to acclaim them eagerly as the queens of the day.

And now the players came streaming out from another pavilion on the
opposite side of the ground, and exclamations of wonder and
admiration arose at the picturesque magnificence of their dress.
Arthur Cole had had these garments fashioned in Italy and brought
over, and very gorgeous did he and his companions look.

The lower limbs of the players were encased in woven silk tights,
which were thick and strong and elastic. On their feet they wore
soft tanned shoes, made all in one piece and fitting closely to the
foot. They wore woven silk shirts of fine texture, and over these
belted tunics of rich brocade or embroidered linen or any other
costly and elastic material. Arthur Cole's own tunic (as captain of
his side) was of cloth of gold; whilst that of Dalaber was of white
and silver brocade, with silver lacings. The colours of the two
sides were displayed in the calzone or silk tights, these being
blue and white for Arthur's side, and red and white for Dalaber's.
They wore knitted silk caps upon their heads, white and blue or red
and blue according to their company, and long gauntlet gloves of
soft tanned skin, almost white in colour, and laced with the colour
appropriate to the player.

A murmur of admiration ran through the spectators as these tall,
lithe, muscular youths stepped forth into the bright sunshine of
the playing field; and soon all eyes were intently watching the
evolutions of the game, which was very much like that of our modern
football, though played with more grace and less of brute force and
violence.

Not a great many of the spectators understood the details of the
contest, but they cheered lustily when any side seemed to score an
advantage. The rainbow-hued living mass seemed to sway and melt and
break up into coloured spray, and join again and roll from side to
side like a living creature; and its evolutions were followed with
keenest interest by all spectators, and by cheering and shouts of
warning or encouragement from those who understood the game, and
knew which way the tide was turning.

At last the contest ended. Arthur Cole's side had come out
victorious in the struggle; but so gallant a stand had been made by
the other, that Anthony Dalaber was called up to receive a laurel
crown in token of his prowess and skill.

He looked very handsome as he stood before Freda, whilst she
lightly set the chaplet on his head, whence after a few moments he
removed it and laid it at her feet.

"That is the place where I would fain lay all my honours and all my
gains," he said in a low, passionate whisper, and she felt a wave
of hot blood rising in her cheek at his words and at the ardent
look in his eyes.

She could not doubt this man's love for her, and she wondered
whether it would compel her own love in return. A short while back
she had regarded him rather in the light of a comrade or brother;
but now she felt that a change had come over their relations, and
that he would not be satisfied with the sisterly affection of the
past. Had she more to give him? She scarcely knew herself as yet;
and still, as she revolved the matter in her mind, she felt more
and more convinced that without Anthony Dalaber her life would be
colourless and cold.

His eagerness brought an element into it which she could not well
spare. He was becoming a sort of necessity to her. She thought of
him almost constantly, yearned over him, desired above all things
to see him rise to the level of greatness in any trial which might
come upon him. If that were love, then surely she loved him.

The thought was not without a mingling of sweetness and pain. She
put it from her for the time being; but when the day was over, and
the sisters were alone together in their bed chamber, taking off
their finery and brushing out their long tresses of hair, it was
Magdalen's own words that brought the matter back, as she softly
kissed her sister, whispering:

"How Anthony loves you, Freda!"

"I truly think he does, Magda," answered she, taking her sister's
hands and leaning her brow against them. "In sooth he has told me
so; but at the first I thought perhaps it was but a passing
fancy--we have been so much together of late. Now I truly think
that he does care. Magda, what shall I say to him? He will not be
long in pressing for his answer."

"Does not your own heart tell you, Freda? Can we love and not know
it? Tell me that, for I too would fain know. There are so many
sorts of love. Can one always judge aright?"

"Dost thou feel that too, my Magda? Verily, I have thought that
Master Cole--"

Magda put her hand upon her sister's lips; her face was all one
great blush.

"Nay, nay; that is but fantasy. He has a kindly word for all who
please his eye. It may be one today and another tomorrow. He is a
pleasant comrade; but--"

"But not the man of thy choice, sweet sister?"

"How can I tell yet? We have not known him long time. And I love
better those who talk of higher things than games and songs and
pastimes. But the men of books and earnest thought are devoted so
oft to the church. And those who are left--one cannot tell. They
are brave and winsome and gay; but more than that is wanted in a
husband, Freda. Ah, it is hard for us maidens to know."

And sitting with arms entwined, the sisters spoke freely and fully
to each other of all the things that were in their hearts, and
prayed that they might be guided aright in matters which pertained
to the life they must look forward to living in the world.




Chapter V: Sweet Summertide


The months of May and June flew by as if on golden wings. The
youths of Oxford, engrossed in study and in merry pastimes, seemed
for a while to have cast away those graver thoughts which had been
stirring them of late; or at least, if the current still ran, it
seemed for the time being to run in silence. Perhaps the knowledge
that the cardinal had set himself to the task of nipping in the bud
the dangerous growth of incipient heresy alarmed some of the more
timid spirits; whilst others sought for truth and light as it was
to be found amongst their recognized preachers and teachers, and
were often surprised at the depth of spirituality and earnestness
which they found in men who were stanch to the core to the
traditions of the church, and held in abhorrence the very name and
thought of heresy.

Dr Langton's daughters heard little of the doings of the "Christian
Brethren" during these bright months. Anthony Dalaber was more
engrossed in his own studies and in his prowess at calcio (which
was the most fashionable game through that summer) than in the
religious movement which had occupied his mind before.

It was not that he had changed his opinions, or in any way drawn
back from his admiration for the men connected with this movement.
When he spoke of it sometimes with Freda his eyes would glow with
feeling, and all the old fervour and earnestness would come back
like a flood upon him; but there was nothing for the moment for him
to do. The importation of forbidden books into the country had been
temporarily checked by the vigilance of the cardinal and his
servants. The king was breaking a lance in argument with Martin
Luther, and men were watching the result with interest and
curiosity. And there was a certain awakening of spiritual light
within the church itself, and pure and enlightened spirits there
were making their voices heard; so that many (like John Clarke
himself) hoped and believed that the much-needed reformation and
purification would come from within, by her own act, rather than by
any warfare against her as from without.

So, as these happy summer days flew by, the clouds of anxiety and
apprehension seemed to disperse and roll away. The sisters were
living in a world that was something new to them. Womanhood was
awakening within them. They were learning something of its
sweetness, of its power, as also of its perplexities and pain.
There was no doubt whatever as to the fervency of Anthony Dalaber's
love for Freda; whilst Arthur Cole paid such marked attention to
Magdalen that she could not but believe him in earnest, albeit no
word of love had so far escaped his lips.

With July came a change in the situation. One of the many
pestilences so frequent in the country and so damaging to Oxford
broke out in the neighbourhood of Carfax. It had some of the
sweating-sickness symptoms, but was distinct from it in other
respects. For a while it did not penetrate into the colleges, and
the university authorities made strict rules for the undergraduates
and students, hoping that the scourge would confine itself to the
town and the families of the citizens. But it was impossible to
keep the clerks from wandering through the streets or entering
shops and taverns, and little by little cases of sickness appeared
first in the halls and then in the colleges, till it was evident
that the epidemic was to be a serious one.

From the first Clarke had busied himself in visiting and tending
the sick. He quitted for the time being his rooms in Cardinal
College, and lodged with Stephen Radley, who accompanied him on his
errands of mercy. Clarke was one of those men to be found in great
numbers in university communities who, whilst not yet in full
priest's orders, was qualifying for the priesthood, wore the
tonsure, and having passed his degree in arts, was preparing
himself in the schools of theology for the career to which he was
dedicated. All the canons of Cardinal College were supposed to
follow this course of training.

But it was not only amongst the men that self sacrifice and
devotion made itself manifest. Dr. Langton's two daughters were as
forward as any in the desire to help and tend the sick, and perform
such offices of pity and kindliness as lay within their power.
Their father did not oppose them, though he laid down certain
rules, which they dutifully obeyed, by which he hoped to guard them
from infection. For his part, he was always foremost in the fight
with disease and contagion, and wherever the need was sorest, there
was he to be found.

Thus it came about that John Clarke and Stephen Radley often found
themselves face to face with the fair girls, who came and went like
sisters of mercy amid the poor houses crowded together in the
low-lying lands without the city walls; and Anthony Dalaber,
flinging himself into the crusade with his accustomed energy, found
himself in almost constant attendance upon them, carrying out their
orders, assisting them in their labour of mercy, and growing more
ardently in love with his chosen mistress every day of his life.

But devoted workers did not always come through such an ordeal
unscathed; and Dr. Langton and John Clarke sickened of the
distemper almost at the same time. Neither was grievously ill; but
both were forced to give up all work, and lie quietly in bed,
suffering themselves to be tended by others.

Meantime there had been a very considerable exodus of students and
masters from the city, and for the time being all lectures were
suspended. There was small chance of any regular resumption of
study till the cool crispness of autumn should check and stamp out
the spread of this sickness.

It was at this juncture that Arthur Cole came forward with an offer
which sounded very pleasantly in the ears of those to whom it was
made. He came into the pleasant living room of the Bridge House
upon the first evening when Dr. Langton had been suffered to leave
his bed and lie for a while on the couch in this other and more
cheerful apartment. Magdalen had her lute in her hands, and had
been softly singing to him, when the sound of the opening door
brought her soft, sweet song to a close.

They welcomed their visitor cordially. He had been absent from
Oxford for a while, and they had not expected to see him.

"I have been away at Poghley," he explained, "whither I sent for
Dalaber to join me these last days. Did he tell you aught of it?"

"He came to bid us a farewell, though he said it would he a brief
one," answered Freda; "but he told us no more than that."

"I have come to tell the rest," answered Cole, with a smile. "They
tell me you were at Poghley last summer, so perchance you saw then
the old moated house which lies a few miles from the village? That
house is mine, though I have seldom visited it, and never dwelt
there till now. But it came into my mind that it would be a
pleasant place wherein to pass these next weeks, during which time
Oxford will be empty of her scholars and masters. But I love not
solitude, and I have gathered together a few congenial spirits.
Dalaber and Fitzjames are already there, making all ready, and
Radley will start tomorrow, taking Master Clarke in his charge,
since it is of all things needful for him to have a change of air
to restore him to health. He will be our chaplain, and edify us by
his discourses when he has recovered his health and strength. But
more than this: we want some man of learning and greater age and
standing to direct us in our studies; and it is my great hope that
you and your daughters will come and be my guests for a few
weeks--you, dear sir, to recover health in the purer air, and then,
when your strength permits it, be the director of our studies; and
these sweet ladies to enjoy the rest and ease which their recent
devoted labours render necessary, and to escape from the noxious
miasma now rising from these low lands round Oxford, which is
likely to cause the sickness here to increase."

The doctor's face lighted as Arthur proceeded to describe the
situation of the house and the arrangements he had made for his
guests. One wing would be set apart entirely for Dr. Langton and
his daughters, who could bring any servant of their own if they
desired it; he and his companions would occupy the other part of
the building; and it was for the family themselves to decide
whether they should be served with their meals in their own
apartments, or join the rest at table.

No epidemic sickness had ever appeared in the locality. The house
was situated on a rather high plain, though sheltered from the
winds, and partly surrounded by its own moat. The air was fine and
bracing. It would be likely to do good to those who had been
exposed to the contagion of sickness, and had been taxing their
strength in the good work of tending others.

It did not take much argument on Arthur's part to win the grateful
consent of Dr. Langton, and the bright eyes of the girls showed how
pleasant was the prospect to them. Their father, they were sure,
would greatly benefit by the removal to a healthier locality; and
though they would willingly have remained on, seeking, even without
his guidance, to alleviate the sufferings of the stricken, yet they
were both conscious that their energies were rather impaired by
watching and anxiety, and that they might in such case be in danger
of falling a prey to the sickness themselves.

A few days more and they found themselves established in their new
quarters, delighted with everything about them. The old, timbered
house was rambling and spacious, and the plenishings of their own
apartments seemed sumptuous to them; for those were not days of
great luxury in the matter of household furniture, and they had
never before seen such hangings, such mirrors, such multitude of
silver sconces for wax candles, such carpets and skins under foot,
such multiplicity of table appointments, or even such store of
books and manuscripts for their own and their father's delectation
and entertainment.

Anthony Dalaber was there to welcome them, Arthur having the good
taste to keep somewhat in the background; and he showed them
everything with pride and delight, praising his friend, and
foretelling the happiest of summer vacations and summer studies to
be carried on within these walls.

"We have Clarke and Radley and Sumner and Fitzjames here in the
house, and there are numbers of other clerks and students lodging
in and about the village. When your father is strong enough to
lecture and instruct us, he will have quite a gathering in the old
raftered refectory below, which I will show you anon. Then there
are gardens which will delight your hearts, and shady alleys where
bowls can be played, or where we can pace to and fro in pleasant
converse. Methinks it is worth all that hath gone before to find
such a haven of peace and rest at last."

Anthony looked as though he needed rest, as indeed was the case;
for he had toiled hard amongst the sick, and when Clarke fell ill,
had devoted himself to him day and night, with Radley for his
helper. But Radley had had a touch of the sickness himself, and had
been unable to do much, so that the bulk of the nursing and the
anxiety had fallen upon Dalaber.

"But he is better now--Master Clarke, I mean?" spoke Magdalen, with
anxious eyes.

"Verily yes; he is well-nigh himself again, only he hath the air of
one who is worn down with illness. He looks bent and white and
frail--he toiled so strenuously amongst the sick; and before that
he was studying almost night and day.

"But come below into the garden where he is; he will speak for
himself. I would that you should see the lilies there. They will
rejoice your heart."

It was a quaint old garden into which Anthony led them, full of the
scent of herbs and spices, rosemary, thyme, and sweetbrier. The
trim order of modern gardening was then unknown, and therefore not
missed; close-shaven turf was only to be found in the bowling
alleys, and lawns were not; but there was a wilderness beauty that
was full of charm in such a place as this, and the sisters looked
about them with eager eyes, rejoicing in the beauty before them,
and inhaling the pure freshness of the air after the heavy and
somewhat pestilential atmosphere in which they had lived.

Clarke was lying at ease on a bearskin against the turf wall of the
bowling alley, a book beside him, which he was not then reading.
His eyes lighted at sight of the sisters, and he would have risen,
but that they forestalled him, and sat beside him on the soft skin,
looking at him with friendly solicitude.

He would not talk of himself, but had a hundred things to tell them
of the place to which they had come. He inquired how Dr. Langton
had borne the journey, and hoped he might visit him later in the
day; and as they talked, they were joined by their host himself.
And presently he asked Magdalen to come with him and see his hives
of bees, for she was somewhat of a naturalist, and was eager to
study the habits and habitations of all living things.

"We are very grateful to you, fair sir," she said, "for this act of
kindness and hospitality to our dear father. I doubt not that he
will recover health and strength with great speed here in this
sweet place. It seems an abode of peace and harmony. I never saw a
house so beautiful."

"I am right glad it pleases you, sweet mistress," answered Arthur,
a very slight flush mounting to his cheek; "believe me, it is the
great hope of my heart that this place shall become dear to you,
and that you may find happiness therein."

"I thank you, sir," she answered, slightly turning her head away;
"your kindness is great, and that not to us alone, but also to
others. Our beloved Master Clarke hath the appearance of a man
sorely sick, and in need of long rest and refreshment. This he will
obtain here as he could not elsewhere. Those who regard his life as
a precious one will thank you also for that."

"Are you one of those, Mistress Magda?"

"Indeed, yes. We have known Master Clarke for some great while now,
and methinks he is one of God's saints upon earth--one of those who
will assuredly walk with Him in white, one of those who will be
faithful and will overcome."

Her face kindled, and Arthur, looking somewhat keenly at her, noted
a depth of expression in her eyes which no words of his had ever
prevailed to bring there.

"He is a notable man," he answered slowly, "and one who may have a
great future before him, if only he does not let it slip from him
by some indiscretion at the beginning."

"How mean you?" asked Magdalen, with quickly aroused interest.

"I mean that Master Clarke has been already noticed by the
cardinal. He was taken from Cambridge because of his good report as
to sobriety, learning, and godliness; and the cardinal will,
without doubt, keep an eye upon him, and when he has taken his
degrees in divinity, will promote him to some living or benefice
that will make him rich for life. But let him have a care; that is
what his friends would beg of him. Let him have a care that he be
not corrupted by new-fangled disputings and questionings, which
will benefit no man, and which are already disturbing the peace of
the realm and the unity of the church. I would have him beware of
these; touch not, taste not, handle not--that is my counsel to him.
And if any have influence with him to warn or counsel I would that
they should turn him away from such perilous paths, for if he tread
them they may lead him to trouble and ruin."

Magdalen made no direct reply, and Arthur, looking earnestly into
her face, became aware of its absorbed expression, and asked:

"Does this trouble you, sweet lady? Are you, too, aware of the
peril in which he and others may stand if they intermeddle too much
in forbidden matters?"

"Yes, I think I know somewhat of it; but what troubles me is that
these things should be forbidden. Why may not each man be free in
his own soul to read the Scriptures, and to seek to draw help, and
light, and comfort from them for himself?"

"Ah, dear lady, that is too big a question for my wits to grapple
with. I leave these matters to men who are capable of judging. All
I say is that the church holds enough for me, that I shall never
learn half she has to teach, and that within her fold is safety.
Outside pastures may be pleasant to the eye; but who knows what
ravening wolves may not be lurking there in the disguise of
harmless sheep? The devil himself can appear in the guise of an
angel of light; therefore it behoves us to walk with all wariness,
and to commit ourselves into the keeping of those whom God has set
over us in His Holy Church."

"Up to a certain point, yes," answered Magdalen earnestly; "hut
there be times when--when--Ah, I cannot find words to say all I
would. But methinks that, when such pure and stainless souls as
that of Master Clarke are seeking for light and life, they cannot
go far astray."

Arthur hoped and trusted such was the case, and he was regular in
his attendance whenever Clarke preached in the little chapel, or
gave lectures in some room of the house, to which many flocked.
Dalaber was never absent; all his old zeal and love kindled anew.
Several of the guests in that house, including Radley and
Fitzjames, often sat up far into the night reading the Scriptures
in their own language, and seeming to find new meaning in the fresh
rendering, which their familiarity with the original tongues
enabled them rightly to estimate.

Arthur Cole did not join these readings, though he did not
interfere with them. Once he said to Magdalen, with a certain
intonation of anxiety in his voice:

"I cannot see what they think they benefit thereby. Surely the
tongue in which the Scriptures were written must be the best to
study them in--for those who have learning to do so. Translators do
their best, but errors must creep in. For the ignorant and
unlettered we must translate, but why for such men as our friends
here?"

"But the ignorant and unlettered are forbidden to read or buy the
living Word?" said Magdalen quickly.

"Yes; because they would not understand, and would breed all sorts
of pestilent heresies. The Scriptures are not of private
interpretation. They must be taught by those appointed to that
work. I grant you willingly that much is needed in the church--men
able and willing for the task; but to put the Scriptures into the
hands of every clown and hind and shopman who asks for a copy--no;
there I say you do more hurt than good."

"Our friends here do not that," spoke Magdalen thoughtfully.

"No; if they did they would have to go elsewhere. I could not lend
my house for such a purpose. As it is--"

He stopped short, and the girl looked quickly at him.

"As it is what?" she asked.

"Ah, well, it is naught. I only meant to say that, if the cardinal
were aware of all that went on, even in his own college, he might
find fault with much, and make inquisition in many places that
would be perilous for many. But as things are I trow all is safe,
if they will be content to go no farther."

"You speak of the distribution of books to others?" asked Magdalen,
who, through Dalaber, had some knowledge of the work of the
Christian Brothers.

"Yes; that is a very perilous course to take, and I fear many are
disposed towards it. There is a man--his name is Garret; he was
once a scholar of my college--Magdalen; they say he is one of the
chiefest promoters of this dangerous traffic. I hope and trust he
will keep himself away from here--from Oxford. He is a dangerous
man, in that he works much upon the minds and feelings of others. I
trust and hope he will never appear in Oxford to carry on such work
as he has done in London. He has escaped hitherto; but if he
becomes more mischievous, no man may know how it will end."

"But you would not betray him!" cried Magdalen suddenly.

He looked at her in some surprise, and she coloured under his gaze.
She had not meant much by her words, but she saw that he fancied a
purpose in them.

"Mistress Magdalen," he asked suddenly, "what do you know of this
man and his work?"

"Very little; only what Anthony Dalaber and Master Clarke have
sometimes told us when these matters have been spoken of--no more
than you have told me yourself."

"But you have sympathy with him and his object?"

"Perhaps I have. In sooth, I scarce know how I feel about such
matters. I know there is peril. I love not disobedience, nor scorn
those set over us; but yet I feel for those who desire more, and
would fain drink of the water of life out of new cisterns. But what
I meant was that it grieved me that any should hold such men in
reprobation, or should betray them into the hands of their enemies,
should they be in any peril."

"It is what we are bidden to do sometimes," spoke Arthur gravely.

"I know; but I could not do it. I should shrink from any man who
could obey such a mandate as that."

He looked at her long and earnestly, then he turned and took her
hands in his, and stood facing her for a while in silence.

"And what would you do for the man who should, instead of
betraying, warn, such conspirators of their peril, should he know
that they stood in need of warning?"

She thrilled somewhat beneath his touch. There seemed a purpose in
his words. The colour rose in her face.

"I should look upon him as a friend. I should call him noble. I
should put my trust in him. Our Lord has promised His blessing to
the merciful. Surely He would count that an act of mercy which
should save those in peril from the hands of their foes."

She spoke with great earnestness and with kindling eyes. His clasp
upon her hands tightened.

"And what reward would you give to such a man?" he asked; but then,
seeming, as it were, to feel shame for these words, he added
hastily, "It is thus, sweet lady, with me. Mine uncle is the
proctor in Oxford--proctor for the south. Through him I ofttimes
glean news unknown to other students. If I should hear of any peril
menacing those who hold these new opinions, for which you, I can
see, have such tenderness, I will not fail to warn them of it. If I
know, they shall know likewise. Will that satisfy you?"

"It will," she answered, with a glance that thrilled him to his
heart's core. "I thank you from my soul."




Chapter VI: For Love and the Faith


"Yes, Anthony, I love thee, and one day I will be thy wife!"

The words seemed to set themselves to joyous music in the ears of
Anthony Dalaber as he hastened homeward through the miry and
darkening streets towards his lodging in St. Alban Hall. He trod on
air. He regarded neither the drizzling rain overhead nor the mire
and dirt of the unpaved streets.

He had come from Dr. Langton's house. He had heard Freda pronounce
these words, which made her all his own. For some months he had
been feeding on hope. He knew that she loved him up to a certain
point. But until today she had never openly declared herself. Today
he had ventured to plead his cause with a new fervour, and she had
given him the answer his heart so craved.

"I love thee, Anthony; one day I will be thy wife!"

He could have cried aloud in his joy and triumph.

"My wife, my wife, my wife! O blessed, blessed thought! For her
sake I will achieve all, I will dare all, I will win all. I have
talents--they have told me so; I will use them might and main to
win myself fame and renown. I have friends; they will help me. Has
not Cole spoken ofttimes of what he hoped to do for me in the
matter of some appointment later on, when my studies shall be
finished here? I have a modest fortune--not great wealth; but it
will suffice for the foundation on which to build. Oh yes, fortune
smiles sweetly and kindly upon me, and I will succeed for her sweet
sake as well as for mine own.

"My Freda! my star! my pearl amongst women! How can it be that she
loves me? Oh, it is a beautiful and gracious thing! And truly do I
believe that it is our faith which has drawn us together; for do we
not both believe in the right of free conscience for every man, and
the liberty to read for himself, and in his own tongue, the words
of the holy Book of Life? Do we not both long for the day when
greed and corruption shall be banished from the church we both
love, and she shall appear as a chaste virgin, without spot, or
wrinkle, or any such thing, meet for the royal Bridegroom who waits
for her, that He may present her spotless before His Father's
throne?"

Dalaber was quoting unconsciously from an address recently
delivered in Dr. Randall's house by Clarke to a select audience,
who loved to listen to his words of hope and devotion. Clarke's
spirit at such times would seem to soar into the heavenlies, and to
uplift thither the hearts of all who heard him. He spoke not of
strife and warfare; he railed not against the prevailing abuses, as
did others; he ever spoke of the church as the Holy Mother, the
beloved of the Lord, the spouse of Christ; and prayed to see her
purified and cleansed of all the defilement which had gathered upon
her during her pilgrimage in this world, after the departure of her
Lord into the heavens, that she might be fit and ready for her
espousals in the fulness of time, her eyes ever fixed upon her
living Head in the heavens, not upon earthly potentates or even
spiritual rulers on this earth, but ever waiting and watching for
His coming, who would raise her in glory and immortality to sit at
His right hand for evermore.

Anthony had heard this discourse, and had been fired by it, and had
seen how Freda's eyes kindled, and how her breath came and went in
the passion of her spiritual exaltation. They were drawn ever
closer and more closely together by their sympathy in these holy
hopes and aspirations, and her heart had gradually become his, she
hardly knew when or how.

But the troth plight had been given. Dalaber could have sung aloud
in the gladness of his heart. She was his own, his very own; and
what a life they would live together! No cloud should ever touch
their happiness, or mar their perfect concord. They were one in
body, soul, and spirit, and nothing could come between them since
they had so united their lives in one.

It was very dark as he turned at last into the familiar doorway,
and mounted the dim staircase towards his own room--the lodging he
and Hugh Fitzjames shared together. But just now Fitzjames was
absent, paying one of his frequent visits to the Langtons. Dalaber
had spoken to him there only a short while since, and he was
therefore surprised to see a line of light gleaming out from under
his door; for, since he was out, who else could be in possession of
his room?

Opening the door hastily, he uttered a cry of surprise and welcome,
and advanced with outstretched hands.

"Master Garret! You have come!"

The small, keen-faced priest with the eyes of fire came out of the
circle of lamplight and took the extended hands.

"I have come, Anthony Dalaber; I have come, as I said. Have you a
welcome for me, and for mine errand?"

"The best of welcomes," answered Dalaber, without a moment's
hesitation; "I welcome you for your own sake, and for that of the
cause in which we both desire to live, and, if need be, to die."

Yet even as he spoke the last word the young man's voice faltered
for a moment, and he felt a thrill of cold disquiet run, as it
were, through his frame. With Freda's kiss of love upon his lips,
how could he think of death? No; life and light and love should be
his portion. Did not fair fortune smile upon him with favouring
eyes?

The keen eyes of the elder man instantly detected that some inward
misgiving was possessing him. He spoke in his clear and cutting
tones, so curiously penetrating in their quality.

"You speak of death, and then you shudder. You are not prepared to
lay down your life in the cause?"

Dalaber was silent for a moment; a flood of recollection
overwhelmed him. He heard a sweet voice speaking to him; he heard
the very words used.

"Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of
life."

Suddenly he threw back his head and said:

"In a good and righteous cause I would face death gladly without
shrinking."

The keen, flashing eyes were fixed full upon his face. The clear
voice spoke on in terse, emphatic phrases.

"Be sure of thyself, Anthony Dalaber. Put not thy hand to the
plough only to turn back. So far thou art safe. But I have come to
do a work here that is charged with peril. Thou needest have no
hand in it. Say the word, and I go forth from thy lodging and
trouble thee no more. I ask nothing. I do but take thee at thy
word. If thy heart has failed or changed, only say so. One word is
enough. There are other spirits in Oxford strong enough to stand
the test. I came first to thee, Anthony, because I love thee as
mine own soul. But I ask nothing of thee. There is peril in
harbouring such an one as I. Send me forth, and I will go. So wilt
thou be more safe."

But even as Garret spoke all the old sense of fascination which
this man had exercised upon him in London returned in full force
upon Dalaber. The brilliant eyes held him by their spell, the
fighting instinct rose hot within him. His heart had been full of
thoughts of love and human bliss; now there arose a sense of coming
battle, and the lust of fighting which is in every human heart, and
which, in a righteous cause, may be even a God-like attribute,
flamed up within him, and he cried aloud:

"I am on the Lord's side. Shall I fear what flesh can do unto me? I
will go forth in the strength of the Lord. I fear not. I will be
true, even unto death."

There was no quavering in his voice now. His face was aglow with
the passion of his earnestness.

Next moment Garret was in the midst of one of his fiery orations. A
fresh batch of pamphlets had come over from Germany. They exposed
new and wholesale corruptions which prevailed in the papal court,
and which roused the bitterest indignation amongst those who were
banded together to uphold righteousness and purity. Unlike men of
Clarke's calibre of mind, and full of the zeal which in later times
blazed out in the movement of the Reformation, Garret could not
regard the Catholic Church in its true and universal aspect,
embracing all Christian men in its fold--the one body of which
Christ is the head. He looked upon it as a corrupt organization of
man's devising, a hierarchy of ambitious and scheming men, who,
having lost hold of the truth, require to be scathingly denounced
and their iniquity exposed; whilst those who thus held her in
abhorrence heard the voice of the Spirit in their hearts saying,
"Come out of her, my people, that ye be not partaker of her
plagues."

The mystical unity of the Catholic Church was a thing understood by
few in those days. The one party held themselves the true church,
and anathematized their baptized and Christian brethren as heretics
and outcasts; whilst, as a natural outcome of such a state of
affairs, these outcasts themselves were disposed to repudiate the
very name of Catholic. And to this very day, in spite of the light
which has come to men, and the better understanding with regard to
Christian unity, Romanists arrogate that title exclusively to
themselves, whilst others in Protestant sections of the church
accord them the name willingly, and repudiate it for themselves,
with no sense of the anomaly of such repudiation.

But in these days there had been no open split between camp and
camp in the Church Catholic, though daily it was growing more and
more patent to men that if the abuses and corruptions within the
fold were not rectified, some drastic attack from without must of
necessity take place.

Garret was a man of action and a man of fire. He had pored over
treatises, penned fiery diatribes, leagued himself with the
oppressed, watched the movement of revolt from superstition and
idolatry with the keenest interest. He was in danger, like so many
pioneers and so many reformers, of being carried away by his own
vehemence. He saw the idolatry of the Mass, but he was losing sight
of the worship which underlay that weight of ceremonial and
observance. Like the people who witnessed the office, the mass of
symbolism and the confusion of it blinded his eyes to the truth and
beauty of the underlying reality. He was a devout believer in all
primitive truth; he had been, and in a sense still was, a devout
priest; but he was becoming an Ishmaelite amongst those of his own
calling.

He alarmed them by his lack of discretion, by his fierce attacks.
He did not stop to persuade. He launched his thunderbolts very much
after the same fashion as Luther himself; and the timid and
wavering drew back from him in alarm and dismay, fearful whither he
would carry them next.

And having, in a sense, made London too hot to hold him, he had
left at the entreaty of the brethren themselves, and was now
arrived at Oxford--his former alma mater--ready to embark upon a
similar crusade there. Here he had some friends and confederates,
and he hoped soon to make more. He knew that there were many
amongst the students and masters eager to read the forbidden books,
and to judge for themselves the nature of the controversy raging in
other countries. But the work of distribution was attended with
many and great dangers; and this visit was of a preliminary
character, with a view to ascertaining where and with whom his
stores of books (now secreted in a house in Abingdon) might be
smuggled into the city and hidden there. And in Anthony Dalaber he
found an eager and daring confederate, whose soul, being stirred to
its depths by what he heard, was willing to go all lengths to
assist in the forbidden traffic.

As the weeks flew by Dalaber grew more and more eager in his
task--the more so as he became better acquainted with other red-hot
spirits amongst the graduates and undergraduates, and heard more
and more heated disquisition and controversy. Sometimes a dozen or
more such spirits would assemble in his rooms to hear Garret hold
forth upon the themes so near to their hearts; and they would sit
far into the night listening to his fiery orations, and seeming
each time to gain stronger convictions, and resolve to hold more
resolutely to the code of liberty which they had embraced.

Somewhat apart from these excitable youths, yet in much sympathy
with them, was a little band who met regularly, and had done so all
through the winter months, in Clarke's rooms in Cardinal College,
to listen to his readings and expositions of the holy Scriptures,
and to discuss afterwards such matters as the readings had
suggested. That there was peril even in such gatherings as these
Clarke very well knew; but he earnestly warned all who asked leave
to attend them of that possible peril, and some drew back
faint-hearted. Still he always had as many as his room could well
hold; and Dalaber was one of the most regular and eager of his
pupils, and one most forward to speak in discussion.

The doctrine of transubstantiation was one of those which was
troubling the minds of the seekers after truth.

"How can that wafer of bread and that wine in the cup become actual
flesh and blood?" spoke Anthony once, with eager insistence, when
in one of the readings the story of the Lord's passion had been
read from end to end.

And he began to quote words from Luther and others bearing on the
subject, whilst the students hung upon his words, and listened
breathless, with a mingling of admiration and fear. For was not
this, indeed, heresy of a terrible kind?

Clarke listened, too, very quietly and intently, and then took up
the word.

"Our blessed Lord cannot lie, nor yet deceive; and He said, 'This
is my body this is my blood.' And St. Paul rebuked the early
Christians, because in partaking of the holy sacrament they did not
discern the Lord's body. And how could they discern what was not
present? Nay, let us devoutly and thankfully believe and know that
we do in very truth partake of the Lord's body, but in a spiritual
mystery, higher and holier than any visible miracle would be. The
very essence of a sacrament is that it be spiritual and
invisible--the visible symbol of the invisible reality. Real and
corporate flesh and blood is sacrifice, not sacrament; but the true
spiritual presence of the Lord's body is never absent in His holy
rite. Let us, in all holiness and meekness of spirit, discern the
Lord's body, and thankfully receive it. And instead of seeking
words and formulas in which to express heavenly mysteries, which
tongue of man can never utter, nor heart of man comprehend, let us
seek for the guiding of the Spirit into all truth, that we may
dwell in unity and love with all men, loving even where we see not
alike, obeying in as far as we may in sincerity of heart those who
are over us in the Lord, seeking the good and not the evil, and
praying that the Lord Himself will quickly come to lead and guide
His holy church into all the fulness of His own perfect stature."

This inculcation of obedience, which was one of Clarke's favourite
maxims to his hearers, was by no means palatable to Dalaber, who
had launched upon a crusade very contrary to all the commands of
the authorities. His heart always kindled at the fervour and beauty
of Clarke's teachings; but he was more disposed to a belligerent
than a submissive attitude, and in that the influence of Garret was
plainly to be felt. Garret was greatly in favour of Clarke's
influence over the students--he considered that he paved the way
with them, as he himself would be unable to do; but he also held
that the young canon did not go far enough, and that more was
wanted than he was disposed to teach. He was not in favour of too
great insistence upon obedience. He thought that the world and the
church had had somewhat too much of that. He was a hot advocate of
the new doctrine that every man should think and judge for himself.
And Dalaber's nature was one very ready to imbibe such teaching.

Clarke, though he believed that the more the Scriptures were read
and understood by the people, the more would light pour into the
church, was not one of those who was ready to conceal and
distribute the forbidden books, whether words of holy Scripture or
the writings of the Reformers upon them and upon controverted
subjects and church abuses. He held that his own position as a
canon forbade this action on his part, and he was also of opinion
that there was danger in the too great independence of thought
which these writings might engender amongst the unlearned and the
hot-headed of the land. He loved to read and discourse upon holy
things with men whose hearts were attuned to thoughts of devotion;
but he was not one who would willingly stir up strife in the fold,
and he clung earnestly to the hope that the church herself would
awaken from her sleep and cleanse herself of her many impurities.

Yet he was a greater power than he guessed in Oxford, for he was
regarded as somewhat of a saint by those who knew him; and of late
the attention of the heads of the university had become attracted
towards him. Quite unaware of this, he pursued the even tenor of
his way, seeking to inspire devotion and love of purity and truth
in all with whom he came into contact, but never overstepping the
written or unwritten laws of the college, save perhaps that he knew
something of the spread of heretical books and doctrines without
betraying his knowledge to those in authority.

So the winter weeks flew by; and Dalaber, divided between his hours
of bliss and love with Freda (to whom he told everything, and whose
sympathies were all astir in the cause to which he was pledged) and
his perilous work with Garret, whose visits to Oxford from Abingdon
and other places were made in a more or less secret fashion,
scarcely heeded the flight of time. He was taken out of himself by
the excitement of the flying hours. He knew he was doing perilous
work; but he knew that Freda's sympathy was with him, and that she
regarded him as a hero in a noble cause. That was enough to keep
him steadfast and fearless, even if the magnetic personality of
Garret had not been so often brought to bear upon him. Whenever
Garret was in Oxford---and now he was more and more often there,
for he had quite a following in the place eager to hear more from
him and receive fresh books--he stayed either with Dalaber, or with
Radley, the singing man; and in both their lodgings were
cleverly-concealed hiding-places, where books could be stowed, that
would defy all search, save that of the most stringent kind.

February had come, with its promise of hope, and springtide, and
the longer daylight, so dear to the heart of students. Garret had
recently appeared once more in Oxford, and was meeting almost daily
with the confraternity there. He had brought a fresh consignment of
books, some of which he lodged with Dalaber, and some with Radley,
as was his wont. There were stolen meetings held in many places,
but most often at those two lodgings; and the little band seemed
growing in strength daily, when a sudden tempest broke upon it,
falling like a bolt from the blue.

A meeting at Radley's house had broken up. Dalaber and Garret
walked homewards in the dusk towards their quarters in St. Alban
Hall. When Garret was in Oxford, Fitzjames gave up his share of
Dalaber's lodging to him, and betook himself elsewhere; but when
they reached the room they found somebody sitting there awaiting
them in the dusk, and Dalaber hailed him as Fitzjames.

But as the stranger rose he saw that he had been mistaken. It was
Arthur Cole, and his face was grave as he quietly closed the door.

"I have come to warn you, Master Garret," he said in a low voice.
"Your doings in this place have become known, and have betrayed
your whereabouts. Cardinal Wolsey himself has sent down a mandate
for your arrest. The Dean of Cardinal College is even now in
conference with the Commissary of the University and with Dr.
London of New College. You know very well what mercy you are like
to meet with if you fall into their hands."

Dalaber started and changed colour; but Garret had been a hunted
man before this, and received the news quietly.

"They know I am in Oxford, then. Do they know where I may be
found?" he asked quietly enough.

"Not yet. They are about to put the proctors on the scent. Tonight
you are safe, but early on the morrow inquisition and search will
commence. You will be speedily discovered and arrested if you are
not far enough away by that time.

"Be warned, Master Garret. You are reckoned as a mischievous man.
The cardinal is not cruel, but some of his colleagues and
subordinates are. Men have been burnt at the stake before this for
offences lighter than yours, for you not only hold heretical
doctrines yourself, but you seek to spread them broadcast
throughout the land. That is not an offence easily passed over."

Dalaber felt as though a cold stream of water were running down his
back. His vivid imagination grasped in a moment all the fearful
possibilities of the case, and he felt his knees fail for a moment
under him. Yet it was not for himself he feared at that moment. He
scarcely realized that this tracking down of Garret might lead to
revelations which would be damaging to himself. His fears and his
tremors were all for his friend--that friend standing motionless
beside him as though lost in thought.

"You hold me a heretic, too, Master Cole?"

"I do," answered the young man at once, and without hesitation.

"And yet you come and warn me--a step that might cost you dear were
it known to the authorities."

"Yes," answered Cole quietly; "I come to warn you, and that for two
reasons, neither of which is sympathy with the cause you advocate.
I warn you because you are a graduate of Magdalen College, and I
had some knowledge of you in the past, and received some kindness
at your hands long since, when I was a youthful clerk and you a
regent master; and also because I have a great friendship for
Dalaber here, and for Clarke, and for others known to you, and who
would suffer grief, and fall perhaps into some peril were you to be
taken. Also, I hold that it is ofttimes right to succour the weak
against the strong, and I love not persecution in any form, though
the contumacious and recalcitrant have to be sternly dealt with. So
fare you well, and get you gone quickly, for after this night there
will be no safety for you in Oxford."

With that Cole turned to depart; but he laid a hand on Dalaber's
arm, and the latter, understanding the hint, went with him down the
staircase, where they paused in the darkness.

"Have a care, Anthony, have a care," spoke Cole with energy. "I
know not as yet whether you be suspected or not; but, truly, you
have shown yourself something reckless in these matters, and there
must be many in the place who could betray to the proctors your
dealings with Garret. Send him forth without delay. Let there be no
dallying or tarrying. Look well to it; and if you have any
forbidden books, let them be instantly destroyed. Keep nothing that
can be used as evidence against you, for I verily believe there
will be close and strict search and inquest made, in accordance
with the cardinal's mandate. I only hope and trust that our worthy
friend Clarke may not fall into the hands of the bloodhounds, keen
on the scent of heresy."

"God forbid!" cried Anthony quickly.

"God forbid indeed! But there is no knowing. He may be in peril,
and others, too. But let there be an end tonight of all dallying
with dangerous persons. Send Garret away forthwith, burn your
books, and settle once more to your rightful studies. You have
played with fire something too long, Anthony; let there be an end
of it forthwith, lest the fire leap upon you in a fashion you think
not of."




Chapter VII: In Peril


Dalaber stood a moment as though turned to stone as the full import
of these words flashed into his mind. Again he was conscious of the
sensation as though cold water were being poured upon him. He found
himself shuddering strongly, and stepped out into the street to
breathe the freshness of the air. Almost at the moment two of his
comrades and confederates, Udel and Diet by name, both of Corpus
Christi College, chanced to come along the street, and Dalaber,
catching each by an arm, drew them into the shelter of the doorway,
and whispered to them the peril in which they all stood more or
less involved.

If an inquiry were set on foot none could say where it would cease,
or who might be suspected. It was evident that Garret himself stood
in imminent peril, and that to get him safely away from the city
was the first duty incumbent upon them. As soon as ever the gates
of the town were opened on the morrow he ought to start away to
some place of safety.

But where could such a place be found? The three young men went
upstairs to Dalaber's lodging, where Garret was standing by the
darkening window, lost in thought.

"Yes, I must go," he said, in answer to their words. "I am no
longer safe here, and for the sake of the cause I must needs hide
myself awhile. And yet I sometimes think it might come as well soon
as late, if come it must. And surely that will be the end. I have
felt it for long."

"What end?" asked Dalaber, with a little shudder.

"Martyrdom," answered Garret, a quick flash in his eye, which the
light, just kindled, seemed to reflect back. "I shall die for the
faith at last. I know it, I feel it. And there be moments when I
could wish that that day had come, and that I might take the crown
which is promised to those who are faithful to the death. Yet
something tells me again that this day has not yet come, that the
Lord has other work for me to do. Therefore I will fly, and that
speedily. Yet whither shall I go? There are many places closed to
me already, and I shall be searched for far and wide."

Anthony stood hesitating, his hand upon a piece of paper; and then,
as if making up his mind, he spoke eagerly and rapidly.

"Master Garret, I have here a letter written to me by my brother,
who is priest of a parish in Dorsetshire; Stalbridge is the name of
the place. But a week since, a clerk coming hither from those parts
brought to me a letter from him, which I have here in mine hand;
and as you will see, he earnestly begs me to find for him here in
Oxford a suitable man to act as his curate. Now, if you were to
change your name and go to him with a letter from me, no doubt he
would incontinently receive you into his house and give you good
welcome; and there you could lie hid and unsuspected till the tide
of pursuit was over, after which you could make excuse to leave him
again, and go back to where you will."

Garret seemed to be turning the matter over in his mind, whilst the
other two students appeared to think this just the opportunity
desired, and eagerly bade Dalaber commence the letter of
introduction, whilst they offered to pack up some clothes and
provision for the traveller.

"What manner of man is this brother of thine, Anthony?" asked
Garret. "Doth he belong to us of the brethren?"

A slight flush rose to Dalaber's cheek, which else was unwontedly
pale.

"Alas, no! He has no knowledge of those things which we prize.
There is the trouble. He is a rank Papist. But yet he has a kind
heart, and there would surely be no need to speak of such matters
with him. You would have your duties to do, as in London, in church
and parish. It may be that the Lord would send you thither to sow
fresh seed by the wayside."

"If I thought that--" began Garret, with kindling eyes.

"And wherefore not?" questioned the other two eagerly; "it may even
be the Lord's way of spreading the truth. Nay, Master Garret, do
not hesitate or tarry. The danger is too sore and pressing, and
this is, as it were, an open door of escape. Let us garb you
something differently, give you a new name, which Anthony will
write in his letter; the letter you will bear upon your person; and
then, when you are once beyond the reach of pursuit, you can travel
easily and pleasantly, sure that you will be believed, by token of
the missive you bear to Master Dalaber of Stalbridge."

Garret's face was very set and thoughtful.

"Well, I will do it; I will try it," he answered. "It may be that
it comes from the Lord. I like it not altogether; but it may be I
have work to do for Him there. At least I will not tarry here,
where I may be a source of peril to others. So, with the first of
the morning light, I will go forth, and get me well on my way to
the south ere the hue and cry begin."

There was no sleep that night in Anthony Dalaber's lodging. The
news spread through the little brotherhood that Garret was in
peril, that he was about to leave Oxford; and all through the night
furtive visits were being paid him by those who desired his
blessing, and to wish him well on his way.

As for Dalaber, he wrote his letter with a shaking hand,
recommending his friend, one Edmund Thompson, as a curate to help
his brother in his parish. Yet all the while he felt a strange
sinking at heart which he could not explain or account for. And
when, in the grey light of the dawn, he said adieu to his friend,
and saw him vanish through the just opened gate and out into the
dim murk of the frosty morning, there came over his ardent and
impulsive spirit a strange sense of desolation and sinking; and
when he returned to his chill and lonely rooms, the first thing he
did was to fling himself upon his bed and break into tearless sobs,
the revenge of an exhausted nature.

"Cui bono? cui bono?" was the voiceless cry of his heart, and at
that moment it seemed as if everything were slipping away, even the
faith and the love which had upheld him for so long.

Sleep surprised him as he thus lay, and he slept deeply for some
hours, awaking somewhat refreshed, but full of anxious fears, both
for the safety of his friend and for his own future.

It was scarcely possible, he argued, that, should Garret's
movements be inquired into by the proctors and others, he could
fail to fall under suspicion, as, having been much in his company,
he would be doubtless suspected, and perhaps apprehended; and a
shiver of natural fear and horror ran through him at such a
prospect.

What had better be his course now? He mused of this as he got
himself some food; and while he was thus musing the door opened
hastily, and Fitzjames appeared, looking heated and nervous.

"Hast heard the news, Dalaber?"

"What news ?--not that Master Garret is taken?"

"No; but that strict search is to be made for him in and about
Oxford. Is it true that he hath had warning, and is fled? I was
told so, but scarce knew what to believe."

"I saw him forth from the gates at dawn. I marvel they were not
watched; but he was something disguised, and travelled under
another name, so I trust and hope he may escape pursuit. Is it only
he for whom they are looking?"

"I have heard naught of others; but who knows where the thing may
stop? Thou hadst better have a care to thyself, friend Anthony. It
may be that peril will next menace thee."

Alone, Dalaber had felt qualms of fear and dread, but the very
sight of a comrade's face restored him to confidence and courage.

"That may well be," he answered; "and if peril come, I trust I may
have courage to endure all that may be put upon me. I have done
naught of which my conscience accuses me. I can be strong in mine
own integrity of heart."

"Yes; but why court danger?" persisted Fitzjames, who had a cordial
liking for Dalaber. "Methinks you would be safer in some lodging
without the walls, that in case of sudden peril you might the more
readily fly. And if these rooms should become suspected and
watched, it were better you should be elsewhere. Have you not
already spoken of changing into a lodging in Gloucester College,
there to prosecute your studies in law?"

"Truly yes," answered Dalaber eagerly; "and it was but two days
since that Robert Ferrar told me I could have the chamber next to
his, which is now vacant; but I have had so many things to think of
since then that the matter has passed altogether from my mind."

"Then let us quickly remove your belongings thither," spoke
Fitzjames, with some eagerness. "It were better you should be gone;
and I will testify, if question arise, of your reason for moving,
which is that you are relinquishing your divinity studies for those
of the law, and desire to enter a college where there is a library
and more facilities for the prosecution of these studies. It were
better, indeed, since you have resigned all thoughts of the
priesthood, to commence your new studies without further loss of
time. We have had something too much, methinks, of controversy and
questionings of late. Let us seek greater safety by leaving such
matters alone for the nonce. If happier days dawn anon, we may be
able to resume our readings and discussions; but for the moment--"

A significant gesture completed the sentence, and Dalaber made no
remonstrance, for indeed he felt that his mind required a space of
rest from these perilous controversies. Master Garret's stay had
been fraught with intense spiritual excitement for him. As long as
the personality of the man was brought to bear upon him his nerves
were strung to a high pitch of tension; but the strain had been
severe, and the reaction was setting in. He was half afraid of the
lengths he had gone in some directions, and there came over him a
desire for a breathing space, for a haven of peace and safety; and
he felt that Fitzjames had counselled him well in advising a
removal to fresh quarters.

In those days it was not unusual for a student to move from one
hall or even college to another, if he were not upon the foundation
of the latter. Gloucester College (where Worcester College now
stands) was one of the many religious houses still to be found in
Oxford; but it was open to youths who were neither in orders nor
intending to enter the priesthood, but only to prosecute their
secular studies. Dalaber had a friend there who was one of the
inquirers after truth, and was also a friend of Garret. It was he
who had told him of the vacant room so near to his own, and thither
he and Fitzjames moved all his belongings during that day.

It was a pleasant chamber, and he was kindly welcomed by Ferrar,
who heard with great concern of Garret's peril. He himself had not
fallen under any suspicion as yet, so far as he knew; and he agreed
with Fitzjames that Dalaber had better keep himself very quiet for
the next few days, prosecuting his studies with zeal, and not
showing himself much in the streets. It was to be hoped that the
flight of Garret, when known, would avert further peril from
Oxford; but as Dalaber had certainly been his closest comrade and
companion during his visit, it behoved him to have a care that he
excited no more suspicion.

"'When they persecute you in one city, flee unto another,'" quoted
Fitzjames, as he settled his last load in Dalaber's new lodging,
which was beginning to look a little habitable, though still in
some confusion. "That is sound Scripture, is it not? and sound
sense into the bargain. But the town seems quiet enough to me now;
I have gone to and fro in many of the streets, and I have heard and
seen nothing to alarm."

Dalaber heaved a sigh of relief. He was nerving himself to meet his
fate bravely, whatever that fate might be; but the prospect of
being arrested and charged with heresy or the circulation of
forbidden books was sufficiently unnerving, and the more so to one
whose life seemed opening out so full of promise and crowned with
the blessing of love.

"I must see Freda!" he suddenly exclaimed, as the shades of evening
began to fall. "What does she know of this matter, Fitzjames? has
it reached her ears that I may be in any peril?"

"I trow not; I have told her nothing. She may have heard that the
proctors are seeking Master Garret. I know not. When I came away
this morn nothing was known at the Bridge House; but if she has
heard aught since, she will be anxious for you and for him alike."

"Verily yes, and I will go and show myself, and reassure her,"
cried Dalaber, throwing on his cloak and cap. "I have time enough
and to spare to set my things in order later. I have not seen Freda
for full three days. I must e'en present myself tonight."

"I will go, too," answered Fitzjames; "and let us avoid the city
walls and gates, and take the meadow paths past Durham College and
Austin Friars, for it were best you did not show yourself abroad
too much these next few days. I trust that afterwards all peril
will be at an end."

There was a clear saffron sky above them, and the crescent moon
hung there like a silver lamp. The peace and hush of eventide was
in the air, and fell like a charm upon Dalaber's fevered spirit.
The sound of the angelus bell was heard from several quarters, and
as they passed St. Bernard's Chapel they stepped into the building,
and remained kneeling there a brief while, as the vesper service
was chanted.

Soothed and refreshed, and feeling more in harmony with life and
its surroundings, Dalaber pursued his way, his arm linked in that
of his friend.

Fitzjames was one of those who halted somewhat between two
opinions. He was willing and ready to hear and receive much of that
new teaching which was stirring men's hearts and beginning to
arouse bitter opposition; but he was still one who called himself a
true son of the church, and he had no wish to draw down upon
himself the perils of excommunication and other punishment which
threatened the obstinate heretics. He attended many of John
Clarke's lectures; he discoursed much with Dalaber, for whom he had
a sincere friendship and admiration; but he did not see why there
should be strife and disruption. He thought the church could be
trusted to cleanse herself of her errors and corruptions, and that
her mandates should be obeyed, even if they were sometimes somewhat
harsh and unreasonable, as notably in this matter of the
circulation of the Scriptures amongst the people.

So he was more anxious for Dalaber to avoid drawing down notice
upon himself than that he should play the part of hero and martyr
with constancy and courage. And his friendly solicitude had been
soothing to Anthony through the day, restoring his balance of mind,
and quieting the nervous restlessness which had possessed him
hitherto. And now he was approaching the house of his beloved, and
her gentle sweetness and tender counsels would fill up the measure
of his happiness, and restore that confidence in himself and his
cause which had at one time been somewhat rudely shaken.

She met him on the threshold, and for the first time since the
troth plight her arms were about his neck, and he felt the tremor
of her whole slender frame.

"Anthony, Anthony, thou art safe!"

"Beloved, yes; wherefore didst thou fear for me?"

"How could I not fear, not knowing all, when such stories and
rumours have been flying about?"

"What stories? what rumours?" he asked, feeling his heart begin to
beat more rapidly.

She drew him into a little antechamber close at hand, and by the
light of the flickering fire he saw that her face was pale and
anxious, whilst her eyes looked as though they had shed tears.

"My Freda, what is the matter? Thou hast been weeping."

"Yes, for my heart has been heavy within me. How should it not be?
And yet I know that the cause is holy and righteous, and I would
have all men to be constant and full of courage. Cannot the Lord
preserve His own?"

"Yes, yes; let us not fear!" cried Dalaber, his courage rising with
the need to reassure his beloved. "But tell me, what hast thou
heard?"

"Arthur Cole has been here; he has come thrice today, each time
with fresh news. Thou dost know how he regards my sister Magda.
None can fail to note his love for her; and I think he will win
hers at the last. I trow he has well redeemed the pledge he gave
her, and that he will get his reward--in time."

"His pledge?"

"Yes; he vowed to her that if he were able he would give warning to
any of the brethren who might be in peril. He hears more than
others of what is likely to pass, and he brought us word at
daylight this morning that Master Garret was to be closely searched
for."

"That is true; but he is fled."

"He was willing, then, to fly! Ah, I am glad, I am glad! It is not
always the greatest thing to stand at bay and fall into peril. A
man may rightly think of saving his life and those of his friends
by flight. I am thankful he is away. Pray Heaven they get not on
his track. They say if he fall into their hands he will perish at
the stake."

Dalaber shuddered, but answered quietly:

"I think he will escape. Had they overtaken him we should have
heard. But what else hath Cole told thee that thou shouldst fear
and shed tears, thou who art so bold, and filled with spirit and
constancy?"

"He spoke of Master Clarke," answered Freda, lowering her voice.
"He is fearful of danger to him."

"Danger for Clarke!" cried Dalaber, almost hotly. "But he has never
had aught to do with the sale or distribution of forbidden books.
He knows of it, but he takes no part in it. What can they urge
against him?"

"They only whisper it as yet, but Arthur says they suspect him of
heresy. Men who have heard him lecture and preach have spoken of
his doctrine, and others have pronounced it dangerous. Arthur
himself is full of wrath, for he loves Master Clarke as a brother,
and he says he has never heard aught but holy and pure teaching
drop from his lips; and none may doubt that Arthur is a true son of
the church. He went forth again for tidings; but he only learned
that the Dean of Cardinal College, the Commissary of the
University, Dr. London of New College, and a few others of like
standing with themselves, have met in consultation more than once
during the day, and that it is whispered abroad that whether or not
they lay hands on Master Garret, they are going to make strict
inquisition throughout Oxford for the discovery of heretical
teachers and thinkers in the university, and take measures whereby
the spread of the peril may be arrested."

Dalaber and Freda stood face to face in the flickering light, their
eyes full upon each other. He bent down suddenly, and kissed her
with an almost passionate intensity of feeling.

"If they make strict inquisition, my beloved, they may find that
Anthony Dalaber is numbered amongst the heretics."

"I know it," Freda answered, and her voice was very low.

"And if they should hale him to prison what shall he say and do?
Wouldst thou that he should save himself by submission and
obedience? or shall he be bold to speak, let the consequences be
what they may?"

He reached out and held her hands in his. Hers trembled, but his
were steady.

"I would have Anthony Dalaber true to his soul and true to his
friends. I would have him obey, inasmuch as he can do so with a
clear conscience toward God and man, but no farther. O my love, my
love, how I shall pray for thee now and ever!"

He clasped her in his arms, as once before he had done when they
had been speaking almost upon this same subject, before the danger
cloud hung lowering in the horizon of their sky.

"Thou dost bid me be faithful above all things, my Freda--faithful
unto death?"

He felt the shudder that ran through her frame. It had been easy
once to speak these words, but they sounded more terrible now. Yet
for all her tremors her voice did not falter.

"It is the voice of the Spirit, Anthony; it is His word. But ah!
how I hope and pray that such a trial of faith will not be thine!
Faithful to death--to such a death! Anthony, my love, my love, how
could I bear it?"

"Thou wouldst have the strength, as I trust I should, were such a
choice before me," he answered gravely. "But why should we fear the
worst, when so little has yet happened? All men say of the cardinal
that he is not cruel, nor willingly a slayer of men for conscience'
sake. He is the bitter foe of heresy; but it may be that it will
suffice him that Garret be gone, and that those of us that have
consorted with him remain quiet and silent. That we are willing to
do. I have removed my lodging to Gloucester College, where I shall
henceforth study the law, since I have abandoned all thoughts of
the priesthood. It may well be that the storm will roll over our
heads without breaking. And when it has passed away we can
recommence our readings and discourses together, but quietly, so as
not to arouse notice. Even the holy apostles themselves were
content to abide quiet and silent amid perils that threatened their
freedom and safety. They escaped out of various dangers, and used
caution and carefulness; and if they, why not we?"

Freda heaved a long breath, as of relief from the over pressure of
emotion. She had seen that Arthur Cole had entertained some fears
on Dalaber's account, knowing the fiery nature of the man, and his
quick, impulsive temperament. He had had misgivings lest he, by
some rash act, should draw down the anger of the authorities upon
himself, and be made a scapegoat, in the stead of the absent
Garret.

Therefore Freda heard his words with a certain relief. Constancy
and steadfastness she desired to see in him, but not the reckless
defiance which rushes upon danger and courts martyrdom. She herself
had scarcely known which course her lover would follow, and his
appearance in this quiet and thoughtful mood was a great relief to
her.

"That is how I feel, Anthony," she answered. "Any trial the Lord
sends us we must bear for His sake with all constancy; but even He
Himself was obedient and submissive, and careful in His words and
acts. Let none have cause to accuse us as brawlers, or headstrong,
or enemies to law and order; but yet let us, when the time come, be
found faithful, even unto death."

He took her hand and kissed it, as though to seal the compact.




Chapter VIII: The Fugitive


Meantime, in the darkness of that February morning, Thomas Garret
stepped forth from the sheltering walls of his still-beloved
Oxford, and turned his rapid steps in a southerly and westerly
direction.

His heart was hot within him as he pushed along, choosing the most
unfrequented lanes and paths. This was not the first time he had
been hunted, and he had acquired some of the instincts of the
quarry. He knew how to lie hidden awhile in some sheltered nook,
listening and watching, himself unseen. He knew how to avoid
notice, and how to pass through public places with the quiet air of
confidence which drew no sort of attention towards himself. His
priest's gown and hood would be a protection to him after he had
shaken himself clear of the pursuit which might be set afoot by the
proctors. He had Anthony Dalaber's letter in his wallet, and bread
sufficient for the day's needs. He could fearlessly present himself
at any religious house when he had reached another county, and he
was certain of being well received and cared for by the monks, who
received all travellers kindly, but especially those of the
"household of faith."

He spoke the words half aloud, and then a strange sound broke from
his lips, half a laugh and half a groan.

"The household of faith! O my God! What would they say if they knew
that he who came to them as one of the faithful, was flying an
outcast from the wrath of the cardinal, branded as a dangerous
heretic? O Lord, be with me, and guide me right. Am I not faithful?
Do I not love Thee, O Lord? Am I not sworn to Thy holy service? O
Thou who judgest the hearts of men, and knowest all from the
beginning, teach me what I should speak and do. Teach me whither I
should bend my steps. I am ready to suffer persecution and death
for Thy sake and the truth's. Only make me to see what Thou wilt
have of me, that I may know whether Thou hast set before me an open
door elsewhere, and art driving me thither, or whether Thou wouldst
that I should return whence I came, and abide there whatever may
befall me."

For the farther Garret travelled, the more fearful did he become
that he was doing wrong in taking flight after this sort. To fly
before his persecutors was one thing--his conscience did not
upbraid him for that; but to go into Dorsetshire, to present
himself to Anthony Dalaber's brother under a false name, to become
curate to a man whose own brother termed him a "rank Papist"--was
that indeed his bounden duty? Was that a right or righteous course
to pursue? But if he gave up that purpose, what next? He knew not
whither to turn, or where he might go with safety. The arm of the
cardinal was long. He had eyes that reached far and wide. All
Garret's own haunts were likely to be closely watched.

The man felt the fire of zeal burning hotly within him. He looked
up into the heavens above him, and he felt as though a great work
yet lay before him. He broke out into songs of praise and
thanksgiving. It seemed to him as though he saw written in the sky
glorious promises for those who should endure steadfastly to the
end.

There was something of the prophetic spirit in the man. At times
the world about him would recede from him, and he would be left, as
it were, alone upon some vast immeasurable height, seeing as in a
dream the things of God and the mysteries of the heavenlies
stretched out before him. Such a moment came upon him late in that
day as he journeyed. He seemed to see a vast and mighty
struggle--an overturning of thrones, principalities, and powers; a
far-reaching upheaval in church and in state; a coming judgment,
and a coming glory.

He awoke as from a trance, with his head on fire and his heart hot
within him. Words sprang to his lips, and he gave them utterance
with a sense of power not his own.

"The Lord will arise. He will judge between man and man, between
good and evil, between truth and falsehood. The Lord Himself is our
helper. Of whom shall we be afraid? He is the upholder of the
righteous cause. Shall we fear what man can do unto us? The time
will come when all shall come to the knowledge of the truth; He has
promised, and His word cannot fail. Let us put our trust and
confidence in Him, and fear no evil, even though we walk through
the valley of the shadow of death. He will be with us to the end,
and will overcome in us, when we are too weak to overcome for
ourselves."

The shades of evening were beginning to fall, and when the reaction
set in after this period of spiritual exultation, Garret found
himself somewhat weary and exhausted. He had not slept at all
during the previous night, and he had been afoot from earliest
dawn. He had accomplished a long day's journey, and had only eaten
a little bread and drunk of the water of the brooks he had passed
on his road. He began to desire the shelter of a roof and the
cheering warmth of a fire, for the wind had risen, and blew upon
him with keen and nipping cold, and his feet were sore from his
long travel over rough ground.

He had breasted the rise of a long incline, and now stood at its
crest, looking rather wistfully and eagerly over the darkening
landscape in search of some human habitation. He knew to a certain
extent where he was, and that within some few miles there was a
monastic establishment of some repute. But five miles seemed a
weary way to him now, and a sense of repulsion had come over him at
the thought of presenting himself at any monastery in his priestly
garb. Not that he in any sort repudiated the sacred calling, but he
felt that if the truth were known the monks would regard him as a
wolf in sheep's clothing; and he was experiencing a sense of
distaste for any sort of subterfuge, whilst hesitating about giving
himself up, lest he should be deserting the cause he had at heart
by robbing it of one of its most active members. If the Lord had
work for him still to do, how gladly would he do it!

As he remained resting awhile on the hilltop, and gazing about him
in search of some indication of human habitation, he suddenly saw
the beam of some small light glimmering through the increasing
darkness; and uttering an exclamation of pleasure, he bent his
steps in its direction, confident of finding some human habitation
at last.

It was not easy to keep the light always in view, but he managed to
bear in that direction, and came at last into a region of meadow
land, where there were some sheepfolds and pens, in which the
flocks had been folded for the night, and which were watched over
by a dog, who sprang barking towards Garret, but was pacified when
he spoke gently to him, and showed by his actions that he had no
intentions upon the sheep.

From where he stood he was able to see that the light glimmered out
of an unglazed window in a wattled cabin, evidently the sleeping
place of the shepherd. After Garret had quieted the dog, he
remained gazing for a few minutes at this steady light, and then
(he scarcely knew why) he crept up very softly towards the little
cabin, and looked in at the orifice.

The sight that he saw aroused his quickened interest. The place was
very small--only large enough to contain a few sacks of straw for
the bed, over which a couple of fleeces had been thrown by way of
covering, a small rough table, on which a rush light stood,
together with a few wooden platters, a loaf of bread, and a
pitcher. A box was the only seat, and upon it sat a grizzled, bent
old man, with his back towards the window, and his head bent low
over the table.

By shifting his position very slightly, Garret was able to see that
he was bending over a book which lay open beneath the rush light,
and that with his forefinger he was pointing slowly along the line.

Garret held his breath in astonishment. In towns, at this time,
would be found here and there a humble artisan or labouring man who
could read, and amongst such the desire for the printed Scriptures
was always keen and ardent. But out here in these lonely wilds, far
away from the haunts of man, it was a strange sight to see an old
shepherd with a book before him. The boys of the rising generation
were beginning to be taught reading and writing in the grammar
schools now springing up in the towns, but hinds of the age of this
man were generally absolutely ignorant of letters in any form
whatever.

The sound of a voice broke the stillness. The old man had begun to
read the words aloud.

"I will--smite the--shepherd--and the--sheep--shall be scattered--"

Suddenly a great wave of emotion came upon Garret, and he uttered a
strangled cry. The old man hastily thrust his book into the bosom
of his coarse tunic, and gazed out of the opening with a strange
expression of doubt and fear.

"What was that?" he asked, as he rose to his feet; and Garret,
flinging back his priest's hood, looked fearlessly in at the
aperture.

"It is a friend, who loves the holy Word of God, and loves all who
are bold enough to love and cherish it, also a man to whom a
message has been sent through you, my worthy friend. Open the door
and let us clasp hands, for I know that the Lord hath sent me
hither, and hath put a word in thy mouth which is meant for me.
What shall become of the sheep if the shepherd be smitten? But
shall the shepherd flee, unless he be an hireling and love not the
sheep? The shepherd must watch yet over his flock, even though he
hold himself away from the hand of the smiter. I see it all--I see
it all! The Lord hath given me light!"

Not one syllable of this eager torrent of words did the old
shepherd comprehend; but be recognized the voice of friendship and
comradeship in the unseen speaker, and he unfastened his rude door
and bade the stranger enter. As Garret stepped into the light in
his priest's gown the man gave a little start of surprise.

"Nay, fear not," answered Garret; "I am God's priest--not the
Pope's. If thou dost own the words of Holy Writ, perchance thou
hast even heard the name of Thomas Garret. It is he who stands
before thee now."

The shepherd gazed at him for a moment as one in a dream, and then
he seized his hand and pressed it to his lips.

"It is he! it is he! I see it now! It is he whose words awoke my
sleeping soul! O sir, I heard you preach once in London town,
whither I had been sent on a charge of sheep stealing, but was
released. And, indeed, of that offence I was innocent. But my life
had been full of other evils, and I might well have sunk into the
bottomless pit of iniquity, but that I heard you preach; and those
words of fire entered into my soul, and gave me no rest day or
night. Then I heard of the Christian Brethren, and they received
and comforted me; and when I could earn the money for it, I bought
this copy of the Holy Gospels. I have had it these two years now. I
had learned to read by that time, and when I had bought it I wanted
nothing so much as a quiet life, away from the haunts of men, where
I could read and ponder and study the blessed Word without fear of
man."

"So you took to the life of a shepherd--a calm and peaceful life,
that reminds us of many holy things."

"I had tended sheep in my youth, and in these parts, sir, before I
took to those wilder ways which well-nigh cost me my life. I came
back; and some remembered me, and I got employment as shepherd. And
here I hope and trust to end my days in peace. But there be
whispers abroad that the cardinal and the abbots and priors will
make search after the precious books, and rob us of them, and brand
us as evildoers and heretics."

"Alas, and that is all too true," answered Garret, with a deep
sigh. "In me you see a fugitive from the wrath of the cardinal. I
left Oxford at dawn of day, and have fled apace through the wildest
paths ever since. I am weary and worn with travel, and seeing this
light gleaming forth, I thought I would seek here for rest and
shelter; but little did I hope to find one of the brethren in this
lonely cabin, and one who may himself suffer in the cause of truth
and righteousness."

"We shall not suffer more than the Lord did," answered the old man,
with a sudden illumination of feature, "nor more than He sees good
for us. It may be that He wants His martyrs in all generations and
in all lands. Does it not speak somewhere in the blessed Book of
being made perfect through suffering?"

It was wonderful to Garret to find such depth of comprehension and
power of expression in this apparently illiterate and humble old
man. To be sure, his accent was rough and homely, but the thoughts
to which he gave utterance were deep and pure.

Soon Garret found himself sitting over the turf fire, sipping
gratefully at the warm milk, in which his bread lay soaked, and
telling the old man the whole history of his wanderings, his peril,
and his doubts about the plan laid down for him with regard to the
curacy he had been offered.

The more he talked, the more did Garret revolt against the idea of
presenting himself to Master Dalaber in Dorsetshire under a false
name and in false colours. He could not believe that this could be
pleasing to God, and he saw that the old shepherd, though diffident
of speech, was of the same opinion.

"I will not do it," he said at last, "I will not do it. I cannot. I
will retrace my steps to Oxford, but will use all care and
discretion to avoid notice. They will by this time have discovered
my flight, and Oxford is the last place in which they will now be
seeking me. I will enter it by night, slip into one of my old
hiding places there, get speech with Anthony Dalaber, and tell him
how I have changed my plan, so that he may know I am not with his
brother. Then I will put off my priest's garb, and sally forth in
the night, and make my way over to Wales, and then to Germany,
where I can work with the faithful there, and perchance be of
greater use to the cause than in this land, where for the present I
am so watched and hunted.

"This priest's garb has become hateful to me. I feel in it as
though I were acting a lie, albeit I shall ever hold myself the
minister and priest of God. It deceives men, who look to see in
every garbed priest a servile slave of cardinal and Pope. I can
never, never be such an one; wherefore let me cast away the outer
trappings, and cease to deceive the eyes of men."

The shepherd, who only partially followed this monologue, which
Garret uttered half to himself, half to his companion, understood
this last argument, and slowly nodded his head. There was beginning
to grow up in the minds of many a fear and horror of the
priesthood, not by any means always undeserved, though greatly
exaggerated in many quarters.

But to go back to the perils of Oxford to secure a secular dress
seemed a far cry; yet, when the men proceeded to talk the matter
over, they saw no other way by which such garb could be obtained.
Neither had any money; and it might be dangerous for Garret to show
himself at any town to purchase secular raiment there, even if he
could beg money at a monastery for his journey. He thought he knew
the place well enough to make the experiment, without too much risk
either to himself or to others, and before he stretched himself
upon the shepherd's bed of straw that night his mind was fully made
up.

But upon the morrow he was forced to admit that one day's rest
would be necessary before he could make the return journey. He was
so stiff and exhausted by his long day's travel, and the tension of
nerve which had preceded it, and his feet were so sore in places,
that he decided to remain with the shepherd for another day and
night; and then at dawn, upon the following morning, which would be
Friday, he would start forth again, reach Oxford after dark, find
some hiding place there for the night, and after making the needful
change in his dress, and advising his friends of the change of his
plan, he would start forth a free man once more by night, and
instead of tying his hands by allying himself with any Papist
parish priest, he would cross the water, find himself amongst
friends there, and return later to his native shores, bringing with
him stores of precious books, which should be distributed to eager
purchasers as they had been before.

The hours of the day did not seem long to the tired traveller as he
mused upon these things. The shepherd went about his daily toil,
but often came indoors for a while to talk with his guest; and by
the time the second night arrived, Garret was so far rested and
refreshed that he had no doubt about making good his return journey
upon the morrow, reckoning that by that time, at least, all hue and
cry after him in Oxford would be over.

He slept soundly and dreamlessly through the night, and was
awakened at dawn by the old man, who had made him the best
breakfast his humble house could furnish, and waited lovingly upon
him till he had satisfied his hunger and was ready to start upon
his way. Then Garret embraced him as a brother, thanked him
heartily for his hospitality, gave him the blessing the old man
begged, receiving one in return.

He set his face joyfully towards the city from which he had fled,
for it seemed to him as though he had fled thence somewhat
unworthily--as though he had not shown a rightful trust in God. It
was a rash step he was taking now, but somehow that thought excited
in him no anxiety. He felt a great longing to see his friend
Dalaber again, to explain matters afresh to him, and to start forth
free from all trammels and disguises.

He was not, however, rash in exposing himself to recognition by the
way, and kept to those secluded byways which had served him so well
on his other journey. He scarcely saw a soul the whole of the long
day of travel, and although he grew very weary and his feet again
gave him pain, he plodded on with a light heart, and was rewarded
just before the last of the daylight failed him by a glimpse of the
distant towers and buildings of Oxford.

His heart yearned over the place when he saw it. It came upon him
that here he would stay and abide the consequences. He felt strong
to endure all that might be laid upon him. If it were God's
pleasure that he should suffer in the cause, would He not give him
strength to bear all? For a moment he forgot the peril which might
come to others from his apprehension. He only felt that if the
martyr's crown were indeed to be his (a thing of which he had a
strong presentiment), it might well come soon as late. And
therefore, when he reached the city at dark, he slipped into the
town itself, instead of lurking outside, as first he had intended,
and made his way through the dark, narrow streets to a certain
humble lodging, which he had used before, when Dalaber had not been
able to receive him.

He met not a creature on his way. He did not think his entrance had
been marked as he passed through the gates. A thick, drizzling rain
was falling, which had wet him to the skin, and which seemed to be
keeping every one within doors. He found the door of his old
lodging unlocked and the place empty, save for a little firing in a
closet, which he soon kindled into a warming blaze.

He had bought food at midday in a hamlet through which he passed,
and there was enough left in his wallet to provide him with a
frugal supper. He dried his clothes at the friendly warmth of the
fire, and though the room was destitute of bedding, there were a
few sacks on the floor. Laying himself down upon these before the
fire, he was soon plunged in a deep and dreamless slumber.

How long he slept he never could have guessed. He afterwards knew
that it was midnight when he woke. What roused him was the sound of
trampling feet on the stairs outside, and the voices of persons
ascending. He lay for a few moments in the darkness, which the few
smouldering embers of the dying fire scarcely served to illuminate;
and then in a sudden access of alarm be sprang to his feet and made
for the door.

If escape had been in his mind, he was too late. Already the door
was burst open. A flood of light from a couple of lanterns dazzled
his eyes for some moments, so that he could only see that several
men were in the room, and a stern voice exclaimed, "That is the
man! Seize him!" Then he knew that his hour had come, and that he
was arrested.

Next minute he saw clearly, and found himself confronted by the
proctors of the university, who regarded him with stern faces. Who
had given them warning that Garret had returned to Oxford has
never, I believe, been known--at least there is no mention of this
made in the history of the known facts. But some person must have
recognized the man, tracked him to his lair, and set the bulldogs
of the cardinal upon him. He was taken at midnight upon the night
of his secret return, and now stood a helpless prisoner in the
hands of those set upon his track.

He looked at them with calm fearlessness. His spirit rose to the
peril, and his mien was dauntless.

"Upon what charge am I arrested?" he asked quietly.

"You will hear that at the right time and in the right place," was
the stern reply; "we are not here to bandy words with you. Put on
your gown and hood, though you so little deserve such garb, and
come whither you are led. Force will not be used unless you compel
it."

Garret resumed the outer garments he had laid aside for the night,
and pronounced himself ready to follow them whither they would.

"Take him to Lincoln College," spoke the senior proctor to his
servants. "Dr. London will keep him in ward, and deal with him in
the first place."

A slight smile passed over Garret's face. Dr. London of Lincoln was
well known as one of the most bitter persecutors of the new
opinions, and was reported to have stocks and other implements of
punishment in a room in his house, which were used upon the
recalcitrant and obstinate according to his pleasure. If he were to
be Dr. London's prisoner, then farewell to any hopes of mercy.

Nevertheless he uttered no word as the men led him through the
silent streets. The rain had ceased, and the moon was shining in
the sky. The whole city seemed asleep as they hastened along.

But as they approached Lincoln College signs of life appeared. In
the rector's house lights gleamed from several windows; and as
Garret was pushed in at a side door, which was securely locked
behind him, and led into a large, square hall, he saw the stern and
frowning face of Dr. London gazing at him from the stairway, and a
loud and masterful voice exclaimed:

"Take him into the strong room, and lock him up for the night. I
will have speech with him upon the morrow."

Garret was led down a short, flagged passage, and thrust through an
open door into a perfectly dark room. The door was closed, the bolt
shot home, and he was left in silence and blackness to the company
of his own thoughts.




Chapter IX: A Steadfast Spirit


The day which was spent by Thomas Garret in retracing his steps
back to Oxford was passed not unhappily by Anthony Dalaber, who,
after the lapse of two uneventful days, began to draw breath again,
and make sure of the safety of his friend.

He had matters of his own which occupied much of his attention. The
store of forbidden books brought to Oxford by Garret had been
divided pretty equally between him and Radley; and Dalaber had
contrived a very ingenious hiding place just outside his lodging
room in St. Alban Hall, where, by removing some planking of the
floor, a cavity in the wall had been carefully excavated, and the
books secreted there, where it would be difficult for any to find
them who had not the clue to the hiding place.

It was safer to hide them outside the chamber, as, if discovered,
their presence would not incriminate any one--so Dalaber believed.
Even Fitzjames, though sharing his lodging and some of his views,
did not know where he kept his store of books. They formed such a
dangerous possession that Dalaber spoke of them only to those who
were heart and soul in the movement. And he decided not to remove
them with his other belongings to Gloucester College, as he had no
safe repository there to hold them, and it seemed to him that for
the present the time had gone by for any work of distribution. It
would he needful for the present to keep very quiet, until the
suspicions which had evidently been aroused in the minds of the
authorities should be laid to rest.

It was with a certain sense of relief that Dalaber definitely
decided to quit the study of theology and divinity, and to throw
himself into that of the law. Religious controversy had become
suddenly distasteful to him. The Questions and other books of the
theological faculty appeared to him futile and unsatisfactory. He
had definitely resolved upon the secular life for himself; and
although that did not mean that his convictions were shaken, or
that his faith was in any way less precious to him, it gave to him
a certain sense of elasticity and freedom of thought and spirit.

He could take Dr. Langton as his standard of what a man should be.
He did not mix himself up with the burning and controverted
questions of the day. He followed his studies in medicine and
Greek. His house was a resort of learned men of all schools of
thought. Free discussion was carried on there on all sorts of
subjects. He favoured the liberality of mind which the church
opposed; yet he did not embroil himself with the authorities, and
led his own quiet scholarly life, respected and revered of all.

"That is the life for me," spoke Dalaber, as he looked round his
new lodging, and admired the fashion in which his belongings had
been set up there. "I will follow the secular calling, keeping my
soul and spirit free to follow the promptings of the Spirit.
Whenever I see the opportunity to strike a blow in the cause of
freedom, may God give me strength to strike boldly and fearlessly;
but I will not thrust myself forward into needless peril. Obedience
has its place in the church as well as other virtues. I will not be
untrue to my conscience or my convictions, but without good cause I
will not embroil myself in these hot controversies and perilous
matters. I have no quarrel with Holy Church, as Master Clarke
expounds her, I would only see her cleansed and purged of her
iniquity, shedding light--the light of God--upon the paths of her
children. Perchance, as he says, if we prayed more for her--if we
pleaded more with her in secret, interceding before God for her
corruptions and unholiness--He Himself would cleanse and purge her,
and fit her for her high and holy calling. Love is stronger than
hate, for love is of God. I would seek more of that spirit of love
which shines and abides so firm in Him. I have been in peril--I am
sure of it--and the Lord has saved me from the mouth of the lion.
Let me show my gratitude to Him not by falling away from the narrow
path which leads to life everlasting, but by treading it in
meekness and humility, in His strength rather than mine own."

Dalaber was not unconscious of the besetting faults and failings of
his temperament--an impulsive self confidence, followed by moments
of revolt and lassitude and discouragement. He knew that a quiet
stability was the quality he lacked, and that the fire of
enthusiasm and the revolt against abuses which blazed hot within
him was not the holiest frame of mind in which to meet a crisis
such as had lately threatened him. He knew that he might have been
tempted to speak dangerous words, to rail against those in
authority, and to bring deeper trouble upon himself in consequence.

The influence of the fiery Garret upon him was always of this
character. Now that he had gone, Dalaber was able to review the
situation much more calmly and quietly, and to see that the Lord
and His apostles were not advocates of violence and disruption,
that they inculcated reverence to governors, spiritual and
temporal, as well as patience, long suffering, meekness,
gentleness, and forbearance. The sword of the Spirit was not a
carnal weapon. Its work was of a higher and holier nature. It might
have to be drawn forth in battle; but it must be wielded in
obedience, and not in irresponsible rebellion. Faithful
steadfastness was asked of all God's children; but not all were
called on to go forth as champions of even a righteous cause. Their
duty might be to stand and wait for what the Lord would bid them
do.

Dalaber had a strong conviction that alone, and acting upon his own
impulses only, he would do harm rather than good. He was not the
stuff of which leaders are made. He knelt down suddenly, and prayed
for grace and guidance; and scarcely had he risen from his knees
before a step upon the stairs and a knock at the door warned him of
the approach of a visitor.

The next minute Arthur Cole stood before him. He was followed by a
servant, who laid down a bulky parcel and departed.

"Ah, friend Dalaber," spoke Cole, with a kindly grip of the hand,
"it was told me you were moving into fresh quarters here, and
methought a few plenishings might not come amiss to your lodgings.
You are something of an anchorite in your method of living,
Anthony; but this chamber deserves a little adornment, if you are
not averse to such."

So speaking, Arthur unfastened the package, and there was a soft
skin rug to lay before the hearth, where a small fire of wood and
fir cones was burning; a gaily striped quilt for the truckle bed
covered it up and gave it an air of elegance; and a few books--in
those days a costly and valued possession--completed the kindly
bequest.

"They tell me you are to prosecute your studies in the law," he
said, as he ranged the volumes beside Dalaber's own sparse
collection on the shelf; "and since I have trodden the path before
you, you are welcome to these volumes, which I seldom refer to now,
and can always borrow from you if need should arise."

"You are a true friend, Arthur," answered Dalaber, much gratified
and delighted. "I thank you heartily. You are a friend to all, and
we owe you much. It is the more kindly and welcome because you are
not one of us in other matters, and might very well have withdrawn
from all companionship with those upon whom the wrath of the
cardinal is like soon to fall."

"I would speak somewhat anent that same matter, Anthony," said
Arthur, suddenly turning upon his friend, and signing him to take
the seat opposite. "It is in some sort on that account I have come.
But first tell me--is Thomas Garret safely away?"

Yes; on his way--"

"Nay, tell me not that. I have no wish to learn his
whereabouts--only that he is safe outside the city, and not likely
to be taken."

"He has been away these two days; and if not taken already, I trow
he will escape altogether."

Arthur heaved a sigh of satisfaction and relief.

"I am right glad to hear that, Anthony--for your sake almost more
than for his, since you are my friend."

"And why for my sake, Arthur?"

"Marry, thus that had Garret been found in the place, they would
not have stopped short with laying hands upon him. They would have
seized also those who had consorted with him. Not finding him, they
begin to doubt whether the cardinal was right in tracing him
hither, and whether he and his books have indeed been brought here.
But let them once lay hands upon him, and not he alone, but also
his comrades and associates, will stand in much peril. So have a
care, friend Anthony."

Dalaber felt the thrill of what was half relief, half fear, run
through him; but his glance did not quail.

"He is gone," he answered quietly, "and no man has sought to lay
hands upon me."

"No, and right glad am I of it. I have spoken up for you as one of
my friends, and a young man of promise and integrity. But I beg you
to have a care for the future, Anthony, and especially during these
Lenten weeks upon which we have just entered. For a strict watch
will be kept over all suspected men; and if you are found with
forbidden books in your possession--"

Arthur's eyes roved keenly round the pleasant chamber as he left
his sentence unfinished.

"I have none here," answered Dalaber. "I have nothing but mine own
little copy of the Gospels, which I carry ever on my own person.
There are no books here to bring danger upon me or any."

"I am right glad to hear it, and I trust you will have no more to
do with that perilous traffic. For sooner or later it will bring
all men into trouble who mix themselves up with it. And for you who
can read the Scriptures in the tongues in which they were written
there is the less excuse. I warn you to have a care, friend
Anthony, in your walk and conversation. I trust that the storm will
pass by without breaking; but there is no telling. There is peril
abroad, suspicion, anger, and distrust. A spark might fire a mighty
blaze. The cardinal's warning and rebuke to the heads of colleges
has wrought great consternation and anger. They are eager to purge
themselves of the taint of heresy, and to clear themselves in his
eyes."

"I misdoubt me they will ever succeed there," muttered Dalaber,
with a slight smile. "Thought will not be chained."

"No; but men can think in silence and act with prudence," spoke
Arthur, with a touch of sharpness in his tone. "I would that you
thinkers, who stand in peril of being excommunicated as heretics,
had a little more of the wisdom of the serpent which the Scriptures
enjoin upon the devout."

"Excommunicated!" exclaimed Dalaber, and said no more.

To a devout young student, who had all his life through regularly
attended the office of the Mass, and had communicated frequently,
and prepared himself with confession and fasting and prayer, the
idea of excommunication was terrible. That the Mass was overlaid
and corrupted in some of its rites and ceremonies Dalaber and
others were beginning openly to admit; but that it was based upon
the one sacrifice of the atonement, and was showing forth the
Lord's death according to His own command, none doubted for a
moment; and to be debarred from sharing in that act of worship was
not a thought easily to be contemplated.

Arthur saw his advantage and pressed it.

"Yes, my friend--excommunicated. That is the fate of those who mix
themselves up in these matters, and draw down upon their heads the
wrath of such men as the cardinal. Believe me, there is such a
thing as straining at a gnat and swallowing a camel. And that is
what you might chance to find you had done, were you cast out from
the fold of the church for a few rash acts of ill-advised rebellion
and disobedience, when all the while you might have lived in peace
and safety, waiting till a better time shall come. If this movement
is of God, will He not show it and fight for it Himself?"

"Yes; but He must use men in the strife, as He uses men in His Holy
Church for their offices there. Yet, believe me, I do not desire
strife. I would rather live at peace with all men. I have taken up
a secular calling, that I may not be embroiled, and that I may be
free to marry a wife when the time comes. Always shall I love and
revere those who stand for truth and righteousness; always, I pray,
shall I have strength to aid them when occasion serves: but I shall
not embark on any crusade upon mine own account. You may make your
mind easy on that score, my friend. I do not desire strife and
controversy."

Arthur looked relieved, and smiled his approval.

"Then I trust that on your account, friend Anthony, my fears are
needless. I would that I were not anxious also for our beloved
friend and master, John Clarke."

"Is he in peril?" asked Dalaber, with a startled look. "He had no
great dealings with Master Garret."

"No; and for that I am thankful. But there are other causes for
fear. The cardinal wrote to the chancellor that he had been told
how that Oxford was becoming deeply tainted with heresy, that
Garret was selling his books by scores to the clerks and students
and masters, and that teaching and lectures were being held
contrary to the spirit of the church. This has stirred the hearts of
the authorities deeply; they have been making close investigation,
and have sent word back to the cardinal what they have found here."

"And what have they found?" asked Dalaber, breathlessly.

"I know not all; but mine uncle told me this much--that they have
reported to the cardinal how that the very men chosen and sent by
him to 'his most towardly college,' as they call it, are those
amongst whom the 'unrighteous leaven' is working most freely, and
they specially mention Clarke and Sumner and the singing man Radley
as examples of danger to others. What will come of this letter God
alone may tell. It has been dispatched, together with the
intimation that Garret is not to be found in or near Oxford. We
await in fear and trembling the cardinal's reply. Heaven grant that
he do not order the arrest of our good friends and godly
companions! I am no lover of heresy, as thou dost know, friend
Anthony; but from Master Clarke's lips there have never fallen
words save those of love and light and purity. To call him a
heretic would bring disgrace upon the Church of Christ. Even mine
uncle, to whom I spoke as much, said he had never heard aught but
good spoken of these men."

Dalaber looked very anxious and troubled. The friends sat silent
awhile, and then Arthur suddenly rose to his feet, saying:

"Let us go and see Master Clarke and have speech of him. I have not
been able to get near to him alone since I knew of this matter--so
many flock to his rooms for teaching or counsel. But let us to St.
Frideswyde for evensong. He will certainly be in his place there,
and afterwards he will accompany us, or let us accompany him, to
his chamber, where we can talk of these things in peace. I have
much that I would fain say to him."

"And for my part, I have promised to sing in the choir at the
evensong service there as ofttimes as I can spare the time," said
Dalaber, rising and throwing on his gown. "I have not seen Master
Clarke these past two days. I would tell him of the safe escape of
Master Garret; for the twain are sincere friends, and belong both
to the brotherhood, though they agree not in all things, and have
diverse views how the church is to be made more pure--"

"Peace, peace, good Anthony!" spoke Arthur, with a half laugh.
"Thou must have a care how thou dost talk rank heresy, and to whom.
Such words are safe enow with me; but they say that even walls have
ears."

"It is my weakness that I speak too freely," answered Dalaber, who
had already opened the door. "But in sooth I trow we are safe here,
for yonder chamber belongs to the monk Robert Ferrar, who--But no
matter. I will say no more. My tongue is something over fond of
running away with me, when I am with friends."

Evensong at St. Frideswyde's was always a well-attended service.
Although it was now the chapel of Cardinal College, the old name
still clung to it. The cardinal had removed much of the former
priory and chapel of St. Frideswyde to carry out the plans for his
college; but though the collegiate buildings were called by his
name, the chapel generally retained its older and more familiar
title. The daily services were better performed there than in any
other college chapel; and many men, like Dalaber himself, possessed
of good voices, sang in the choir as often as their other duties
permitted them.

Service over, the two friends passed out together, and waited for
Clarke, who came quietly forth, his face alight with the shining of
the Spirit, which was so noticeable in him after any religious
exercise.

He greeted them both in brotherly fashion, and gladly welcomed them
to his lodging.

There was something very characteristic of the man in the big, bare
room he inhabited. It was spotlessly clean--more clean than any
servant would keep it, though the canons of Cardinal College were
permitted a certain amount of service from paid menials. The scanty
furniture was of the plainest. There was nothing on the floor to
cover the bare boards. Two shelves of books displayed his most
precious possessions; the rest of his household goods were ranged
in a small cupboard in a recess. His bed was a pallet, covered by
one blanket. There was no fire burning on his hearth. Several
benches ranged along the walls, and a rather large table, upon
which a number of books and papers lay, stood in the middle of the
room. One corner had been partitioned off, and was very plainly
fitted up as an oratory. A beautiful crucifix in ivory was the only
object of value in all the room.

Arthur and Anthony both knew the place well, but neither entered it
without a renewed sensation impossible to define.

"It is the abode of peace and of prayer," Dalaber had once said to
Freda, describing the lodging to her. "You seem to feel it and to
breathe it in the very air. However worn and anxious, fretful or
irate, you are when you enter, a hush of peace descends upon your
spirit, like the soft fluttering of the wings of a dove. Your
burden falls away; you know not how. You go forth refreshed and
strengthened in the inner man. Your darkness of spirit is flooded
by a great light."

They sat down in the failing gleams of the setting sun, and Dalaber
told of Garret's night and the errand on which he was bound. Arthur
smiled, and slightly shrugged his shoulders; but the confidence his
friend unconsciously put in him by these revelations was sacred to
him. He had not desired to know; but at least the secret was safe
with him.

"He will not go there," said Clarke, as he heard the tale.

"Not go to my brother?" questioned Dalaber quickly.

"No, he will not go there. I know the man too well to believe it.
The impulse for flight came upon him, and he was persuaded that it
might be an open door. But he will not carry the plan through. His
conscience will not permit him to hire himself under a false name
to a man who believes him an orthodox priest holding his own views.
Garret will never do that, and he will be right not to do it. It
would be a false step. One may not tamper with the truth, nor act
deceitfully in holy things."

Then Arthur Cole began to speak, and to tell Clarke what had
happened with regard to the cardinal and the heads of various
houses, and how his own name had been set down as one who was
suspected of the taint of heresy.

"They know that men come to your rooms to read the Scriptures and
discourse thereon," he concluded, "and in these times that is
almost enough to brand a man a heretic. And yet I know that you are
not one. I would that the cardinal himself were half so true a
servant of God."

A slight smile passed over Clarke's beautiful face. The light
seemed to deepen within his eyes.

"Take heed, my kindly young friend, or men will call thee heretic
next," he said. "It is hard to know sometimes what they mean by the
word. Let it be enough for us to know that we are all members of
the mystical body of Christ, and that none can sever us from our
union with Him, save He Himself; and His word, even to the erring
and the feeble and the sinner, is, 'Come unto me. Him that cometh I
will in no wise cast out.'"

"I know, I know--if that were only enough!" cried Arthur, in
perplexity and distress.

"It is enough for me," answered Clarke, with his illuminating
smile.

"But will you not have a greater care for yourself--for our sakes
who love you, if not for your own?" urged the other.

"What would you have me to do, or not to do?" asked Clarke.

"I would have you abandon your reading and discussions--for a time.
I would have you, perhaps, even quit Oxford till this storm sweeps
by. Why should you not visit your friends in Cambridge? It would
excite no great wonderment that you should do so. We cannot spare
you to the malice of enemies; and Garret being escaped from the
snare, there is no knowing upon whom they may next lay hands. It
would break my heart if mischance happened to you, Master Clarke;
wherefore I pray you have a care for yourself."

Clarke regarded both young men with a very tender smile.

"I think I will not go; and how can I refuse to speak with those
who come to me? The reading of the Scriptures in any tongue has not
been forbidden by the Holy Catholic Church. I will maintain that
against all adversaries. What I say here in my room I will maintain
before all men, and will show that the Lord Himself, by His holy
apostles and prophets, has taught the same. If any are in peril
through words which I have spoken, shall I flee away and leave them
to do battle alone? Nay; but I will remain here and be found at my
post. My conscience is clear before God and man. I have not
disobeyed His voice nor yet that of the Catholic Church. Let Him
judge betwixt us. I am in His hands. I am not afraid what man can
do unto me."

Dalaber's face kindled at the sound of these words, and the flame
of his enthusiasm for this man blazed up afresh. There had been
times when he had fancied that Garret possessed the stronger
spirit, because his words were more full of fire, and he was ever a
man of action and strife. But when Garret had been brought face to
face with peril his nerve had given way. He had struggled after
courage, but all the while he had been ready to fly. He had spoken
of coming martyrdom with loftiness of resolution; but he had
wavered, and had been persuaded that the time had not yet come.

Something in Clarke's gentle steadfastness seemed loftier to
Anthony Dalaber than what he had witnessed in Garret a few days
back. Yet he would have said that Garret would have flown in the
face of danger without a fear, whilst Clarke would have hung back
and sought to find a middle course.

"But if these meetings be perilous," urged Arthur, "why will you
not let them drop--for the sake of others, if not your own?"

He looked calmly in the questioner's eyes as he answered:

"I invite no man to come to me to read or discourse. If any so
come, I warn them that there may be peril for them; and many I have
thus sent away, for they have not desired to run into any peril.
Those who gather round me here are my children in the Lord. I may
not refuse to receive them. But I will speak earnestly to them of
the danger which menaces them and us; and if any be faint hearted,
let them draw back. I would not willingly bring or lead any into
peril. But I may not shut my door nor my heart against my children
who come to me. The chariots of God are thousands of angels. They
are round and about us, though we see them not. Let us not fear in
the hour of darkness and perplexity, but wait patiently on the
Lord, and doubt not that in His time and in His way He will give us
our heart's desire."

Clarke's face was uplifted; in the gathering gloom they could
scarcely see it, and yet to both it appeared at that moment as the
face of an angel.




Chapter X: A Startling Apparition


It was the following afternoon--Saturday--and Anthony Dalaber sat
in his new quarters with an open book before him. He was beginning
to feel at home there, and to lay aside some of those pressing
anxieties which had beset him ever since the flight of Master
Garret upon Arthur Cole's warning.

Notwithstanding even the grave talk which had taken place the day
previously in the room of John Clarke, Dalaber did not find himself
seriously uneasy at present. He had been going to and fro in the
town for the past two days, and no one had molested him, or had
appeared to take any special note of him. He had attended lecture
that morning, and had walked through the streets afterwards in
company with several other students of his own standing, and not a
word had been breathed about any stir going on, or any alarm of
heresy being raised by those in authority. He began to think that
Arthur Cole had taken somewhat too seriously some words he had
heard on the subject from his relative the proctor. Upon his own
spirit a sense of calm was settling down. He trusted and hoped that
he was not in personal danger; but he also resolved that, should
peril arise, he would meet it calmly and fearlessly, as Clarke was
prepared to do should it touch him.

On returning to his room he had paid a visit to the monk Robert
Ferrar, who lived on the same staircase, and was a friend of
Garret's, and had ofttimes made purchases from him of forbidden
books. As they sat and talked in Ferrar's room, Anthony espied a
copy of Francis Lambert on St. Luke, and eagerly pounced upon it.
Although he had left behind him all dangerous books, and had
resolved to give himself up to the study of the law, his heart felt
hungry and unsatisfied, and he begged leave to carry the volume to
his own chamber, that he might indulge himself in its study and in
pious meditation thereupon, preparatory to the exercises of the
Lord's day, so close at hand.

Ferrar made no objection, only remarking that he himself was going
out, and should not return until after compline, and asking Dalaber
to take care of the book and keep it safe till he should come and
claim it, for it was dangerous to leave such volumes where any
prying eyes might find them.

So now Dalaber was sitting in his own lodging, with the door locked
upon him, reading greedily from the open page, and drinking in, as
it were, refreshment and strength, when he was roused from his
reverie by the sound, first of voices, and then by a sharp rap upon
the panels of his door.

His heart gave a great throb, and then stood still. He sat mute and
motionless, giving no sign of his presence. Something seemed to
warn him that this visit, whatsoever it might be, boded him no
good. The knock was repeated more loudly. But he still gave no
answer, sitting very still, and listening with all his might. He
heard no more the sound of voices. Nobody spoke or called his name.
But after a very brief pause the knock was repeated a third time,
and with that fierce energy which bespoke some strong emotion; and
suddenly it came over Dalaber that perhaps it was some one who was
in trouble, or was in need of him or his help. Were not the
brethren likely to be brought into sudden peril or distress? Might
it not even be a friend come to warn him of approaching danger? At
least it seemed to him that he must open the door and inquire; and
so rapid was the passage of these thoughts that the reverberation
of the third summons had scarcely died away before he had turned
the key and flung open the door.

Then he started back in startled amazement.

"Master Garret!" he gasped.

"Shelter me, friend Anthony," gasped Garret, whose face was white
as paper, "for I am a man undone. They have captured me once. I
have escaped them. But they will have me again if I make me not
away with all speed."

Dalaber dragged him almost roughly within the room, and closed the
door with a bang, for he had seen on the staircase the eager face
of one of the college servants; and the young man, immediately upon
hearing Garret's words, had slipped downstairs--Dalaber guessed
only too well upon what errand.

"Alas! why have you spoken such words?" he cried, almost fiercely.
"Know you not that by so doing in the hearing of that young man,
and by such uncircumspect fashion of coming hither, you have
disclosed yourself and utterly undone me?"

Garret looked fearfully over his shoulder. He seemed completely
unnerved and unstrung.

"Was the young man following? Alas! I knew it not. I came hither to
seek Robert Ferrar, but he was out; and knowing that you had
planned to move hither, and thinking it likely you might already
have done so, I asked the servant where you were to be found, and
he pointed out the place, and said he knew that you were within;
but I knew not he had followed me. Could he have known who I am?"

"Nay, that I know not; but he heard you declare how you had been
taken and had escaped. Alack, Master Garret, we are in a sore
strait! How comes it that you are not safe in Dorsetshire, as I
have been happily picturing you?"

Garret burst into tears. He was utterly broken down. He had not
tasted food during the whole day, and was worn out with anxiety and
apprehension. Dalaber set bread before him, and he fell upon it
eagerly, meantime telling, with tears and sighs, the story of his
wanderings, his resolution to return, and his apprehension in the
middle of the previous night by the proctors.

"They took me to the house of the commissary," added Garret, "and
they shut me up in a bare room, with naught save a pitcher of water
beside me. I trow they sought to break my spirit with fasting, for
none came nigh me when the day dawned, and I was left in cold and
hunger, not knowing what would befall me. But when the afternoon
came, and a hush fell upon the place, and no sound of coming or
going was to be heard, I made shift, after much labour, to slip the
bolt of my prison, and to steal forth silently and unobserved; and
surely the Lord must have been with me, for I met no living soul as
I quitted the college, and I drew my hood over my face and walked
softly through the narrowest streets and lanes, and so forth and
hither, thinking myself safest without the walls. And now I pray
you, my dear young friend and brother, give me a coat with sleeves
instead of this gown, and a hat, if you have one that smacks not of
the priest; for from henceforth I will stand as a free man amongst
men, and will serve no longer in the priest's office. To the Lord I
am a priest for ever. I will serve Him with the best that I have;
but I will no longer hold any charge or living, since I may not
deny my Lord, and thus am called heretic and outcast by those in
high places. I will away. I will get me to Germany. I will join the
labours of the brethren there. Son Anthony, wilt thou go with me?
for I love thee even as mine own soul. Think what we might
accomplish together, were we to throw in our lot one with the
other, and with the brethren yonder!"

Garret looked eagerly in Dalaber's face, and the tears started to
the young man's eyes. He had been much moved by Garret's emotion,
and for a brief space a wild impulse came over him to share his
flight and his future life. What lay before him in Oxford if he
stayed? Would he not be betrayed by the servant as Garret's
accomplice? Would he not certainly be arrested and examined, and
perhaps thrown into prison--perhaps led to the stake? Who could
tell? And here was a chance of life and liberty and active service
in the cause. Should he not take it? Would he not be wise to fly
whilst he had still the chance? Who could say how soon the
authorities might come to lay hands on him? Then it would be too
late.

He had well-nigh made his decision, when the thought of Freda came
over him, and his heart stood still. If he fled from Oxford and
from her, would he ever see her again? What would she think of him
and his flight? Would that be keeping "faithful unto death"? If he
left her now, would he ever see her again? And then there was
Master Clarke, another father in God. Could he bear to leave him,
too--leave him in peril from which he had refused to fly? The
struggle was sharp, but it was brief, and with the tears running
down his face, Dalaber embraced Master Garret with sincere
affection, but told him that he could not be his companion. It
seemed to him that the Lord had work for him here; and here he
would stay, come what might.

"Then, my son, let us kneel down together upon our knees, and lift
up our hearts unto the Lord," spoke Garret with broken voice,
"praying of Him that He will help and strengthen us; that He will
prosper me, His servant, upon my journey, and give me grace to
escape the wiles of all enemies, both carnal and spiritual; and
that He will strengthen and uphold you, my son, in all trials and
temptations, and bring us together in peace and prosperity at last,
in this world, if it be His good pleasure, but at least in the
blessed kingdom of His dear Son, which, let us pray, may quickly
come."

They prayed and wept together, for both were deeply moved; and then
Garret, having donned a coat of Dalaber's, and having filled his
wallet with bread, embraced his young friend many times with great
fervour; and after invoking blessings upon him from above, he
watched his opportunity, and stole softly away from the college,
Dalaber watching till his slight figure disappeared altogether from
view.

Then with a heavy heart he went up to his room again, and locked
his door. Opening his New Testament, which lay on the table beside
the borrowed book of the monk, he kneeled down and read very slowly
aloud to himself the tenth chapter of St. Matthew's Gospel.

"Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves. But
beware of men, for they will deliver you up to the councils, and
they will scourge you in their synagogues; and ye shall be brought
before governors and kings. But when they deliver you up, take no
thought what ye shall speak, for it shall be given you in that same
hour what ye shall speak. And ye shall be hated of all men for my
name's sake, but he that endureth to the end shall be saved.
Whosoever shall confess me before men, him will I confess also
before my Father which is in heaven. He that taketh not his cross,
and followeth after me, is not worthy of me. He that findeth his
life shall lose it, and he that loseth his life for my sake shall
find it."

Long did Dalaber kneel in prayer, his reading being over, asking
that God would endue His tender and newly-born little flock in
Oxford with heavenly strength from above, and with the anointing of
the Spirit, that they might patiently bear the heavy cross of
Christ, which was presently, as he well saw, to be laid upon them,
and that their young, weak backs might be strengthened to meet the
burden and the cruel yoke.

Calmed and soothed by prayer, for others as much as for himself,
Dalaber rose, and carefully wrapped together Garret's gown and hood
with the monk's book, and hid them carefully beneath his bedding,
that none entering the room might see them; and then he robed
himself and started forth to warn the brethren of what had
happened, for were there any who desired to flee the coming
tempest, they must needs lose no more time.

He walked rapidly towards the city gate, when he was met by Arthur
Cole, who came hastily towards him, a look of great anxiety and
vexation on his face. With him was a student of his own college,
Eden by name, one of the little band of brethren; and as soon as he
saw Dalaber he quickly ran forward.

"We are undone!" he exclaimed. "They have taken Master Garret. He
is in prison in Lincoln College. He is to be strictly examined
after evensong today. If he refuse to give up the names of all to
whom he has sold his books, and who have listened to his teachings,
they declare he will be sent to the Tower to be examined by the
rack."

The young lad was quivering all over in excitement and fear.
Arthur, coming up at the same minute, spoke almost fiercely.

"What possessed the man to return to Oxford, once he was safe away?
It seems he came back after dark last night, and was seen and
followed and reported on. They found him at midnight, and will use
sharp methods with him. I have no love for Garret and his firebrand
doctrines; but he will be the means of betraying the whole
brotherhood, an he be not steadfast; and who knows how such an one
will meet the trials which will beset him? If he should betray
thee, Dalaber, or our good master and friend John Clarke, I should
find it hard indeed to forgive him."

"He will betray none--" began Dalaber; but Cole broke in with a
scornful snort.

"I would not answer for him. He is a strange mixture of strength
and weakness, devotion, constancy, and nervous fear. He--"

"He will not betray any, for he is no longer a prisoner. He has
escaped from the commissary's house. He is miles away from Oxford
by this time. Heaven send he quickly escape beyond the seas!"

Dalaber then related what had passed during the afternoon; and
Eden, with great joy, volunteered to take the news to some of the
brethren, who were suffering great anxiety on his behalf. As for
Dalaber himself, he desired above all things to see and speak with
Clarke; and Arthur being of the same mind, they proceeded arm in
arm along the street in the direction of St. Frideswyde, where
evensong would soon be in course of proceeding.

"It seems to me, friend Anthony," spoke Arthur gravely, "that if
Master Garret has escaped, you are the person most in peril now. If
that young man betrays that he fled to you in your lodging in
Gloucester College, they will not be long in calling upon you to
answer to them for it."

"I trust I shall be ready to do so," answered Dalaber, with grave
steadfastness.

Arthur looked at him with a mixture of admiration and uneasiness.
He hesitated awhile, and then said:

"What think you of an instant flight? I would help you with the
best will in the world. There is my house at Poghley open to you.
There is an excellent hiding place there."

Again Dalaber hesitated just for a moment; but this time the
hesitation lasted scarce more.

"Master Garret desired that I should fly with him, but I refused.
It came to me that I have been set here, and here will I remain. It
may be that the Lord has a testimony for us to deliver. I am ready
to leave myself in His hands."

Arthur looked thoughtfully at him.

"I will do what I can for you, Dalaber; you may be certain of that.
But it may not be much."

"There is one thing you can do," cried the other quickly, with a
lightening of the eyes. "You can tell Freda all the tale, and ask
her prayers for me. Now that I am like to be a suspected person, I
will no more go to her. But tell her that, come what may, my heart
will ever be hers, and that I will seek to remember her words to
me. I will strive to be faithful unto death."

"I will tell her," answered Arthur, not unmoved. "But we will not
think or speak of death. Whatever may be done elsewhere, we men at
Oxford have always set our faces against any bitter persecution for
conscience' sake. Students are sent here to read, and study, and
think; and if here and there be some whose speculations have led
them somewhat astray, I doubt not that, when the consensus of
opinion is taken, the greater number will be for using mild and
gentle methods with them. Only be not too stiff necked, good
Anthony. Do not fall into the delusion of thinking that none can be
true Christians save your brethren. Bear an open mind as well as a
bold front, and I doubt not we shall weather this storm without
great hurt or loss."

"We?" questioned Dalaber, with a slight smile. "You are not one of
us, Arthur, though you show yourself the kindest of friends, and
that in the days of adversity rather than of prosperity, for which
the Lord will reward you."

"I spoke the 'we' in the sense of another brotherhood, Anthony,"
said the other, with a slightly heightened colour; "for thou art
the plighted husband of Frideswyde Langton, whilst I hope soon to
win the troth plight of the beauteous Magdalen. Then shall we be
brothers, thou and I, and I will play a brother's part by thee now
if thou art in danger."

The two comrades clasped hands. Dalaber had long known that his
friend was paying court to Magdalen, though he did not know how far
that suit had progressed. But evidently Arthur did not think the
time far distant when he might look upon her as his own, and his
friend rejoiced with him.

Evensong at St. Frideswyde had already begun before the two friends
reached the chapel, so they did not go in, but stood at the choir
door, from whence they could see the dean and canons in their
robes, and hear the singing, in which Dalaber had so often joined;
but there was little of song in his heart just now--only a sense of
coming woe and peril. They had scarce been there a few minutes
before they beheld Dr. Cottisford coming hastily towards the place,
bareheaded, and with a face pale and disturbed, so that Dalaber
caught Arthur by the arm and whispered:

"Sure, he hath discovered the escape of Master Garret!"

The young men drew back behind a buttress to let him pass, and he
was too disturbed in mind to mark them. They looked after him as he
went up the church, and saw him go to the dean and enter into a
whispered colloquy with him. Then both came forth again, looking
greatly disturbed; and at that moment up came Dr. London, the
Warden of New College, all out of breath with his hurry, so that
Arthur whispered from his nook of concealment to Dalaber:

"He hath the air of a hungry lion ravening after his prey."

The three then stood together talking in excited fashion.

"You are to blame, sir, much to blame! How came you to leave him
for so many hours unguarded, and only one bolt to the door? These
men are as artful as the devil their master. It may be that he
gives them powers--"

"Tush!" answered Dr. Cottisford angrily; "he got out by his own
craft. I had thought that fasting and loneliness would be a
profitable discipline for him. But I bid my servants keep an eye to
the outer doors, which they omitted to do."

"You have done wrong, very wrong. I know not what the cardinal will
say," spoke the dean of the college, thrusting out his lips and
looking very wise. "It was his command that this pestilent fellow
should be taken; and when he hears that he was laid by the heels,
and then escaped, being so carelessly guarded, I know not what he
will say. You will have to answer for it, Dr. Cottisford. The
cardinal's anger is not good to brook."

Tears of mortification and anger stood in the eyes of the
commissary. He felt that fate had been very unkind to him.

"He cannot have got far. He shall be taken. We will haste to send
servants and spies everywhere abroad. He got out in full daylight.
He must have been seen. We shall get upon his tracks, and then we
will hunt him down as bloodhounds hunt their quarry. He shall not
escape us long, and then shall he answer for his sins. He will not
find that he bath profited aught by the trouble he hath given us."

The voices died away in the distance, and the two young men came
slowly forth, looking gravely into each other's eyes.

"Will they indeed take him?" spoke Dalaber beneath his breath.

"They will try, and they will be close on his heels; yet men have
escaped such odds before this. But here comes Master Clarke. Heaven
be praised that they have not spoken of him in this matter.
Perchance the hunt after Garret will divert their minds from the
question they have raised about the lectures and readings in his
room."

Clarke greeted his friends with a smile, but saw that they were
troubled; and when they reached his room and told the tale, his own
face was serious.

They talked awhile together, and then he prayed with them
earnestly, for Arthur would not be excluded from joining in this
exercise. He prayed that if trial and trouble overtook them, they
might have needful strength and faith to meet it; might have grace
to follow the Lord's injunction to be wise as serpents and harmless
as doves; and might never be tempted to think themselves forgotten
or forsaken of the Lord, even though the clouds might hang dark in
the sky, and the tempest rage long and furiously about them.

After Dalaber had left Clarke's presence, refreshed and
strengthened, and had parted from Arthur, who was going back to his
own rooms at Magdalen, promising to keep a sharp outlook on all
that passed, and do anything he could for his comrades, he went
direct to Corpus Christi, where his friends Diet and Udel were
generally to be found at this hour; and not only were they in their
chamber, but Eden and Fitzjames and several others of the brethren
were gathered together in great anxiety, having heard first of the
arrest and then of the escape of Garret, and not knowing what to
believe in the matter without further testimony.

Dalaber's story was listened to, with breathless interest. The
escape of Garret was assured thereby, but there was no knowing when
he might be captured. In any case Dalaber's position seemed full of
peril. But he expressed no fear.

"Let them take me if they will," he said; "I will betray none
other. Let them do to me what they will; the Lord will give me
strength. Have no fear, my friends; I will not betray you. And I
trow that there be few, save Master Garret and myself, who could
give all the names of the brotherhood, even were they willing."

They crowded round him and pressed his hands. Some shed tears, for
they all loved the warm-hearted and impetuous Dalaber, and knew
that at any moment now he might be arrested.

"At least you shall not go back to Gloucester College tonight,"
spoke Fitzjames eagerly. "They shall not take you there, like a rat
in a trap. Come to your old lodging for the night. It may be we
shall have thought out a plan by the morning. We will not let you
go without a struggle, Anthony. Come with me as of old, and we will
watch what betides in the city."

Dalaber consented, with a smile, to the entreaties of his friends.
He knew that it would make little difference whether he were taken
in one place or the other; but he loved Fitzjames, and was ready to
go with him.

"Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof," he said to himself,
whilst his friends escorted him in a body to his old lodging, and
left him there with every expression of affection and good will.

"I shall not be without comfort in the days to come," said Anthony,
"be they never so dark and drear."




Chapter XI: Evil Tidings


"Anthony Dalaber taken!" spoke Freda, and her face grew white to
the lips. "Oh, speak, good sir; what will they do to him?"

The monk who stood before the sisters, his cowl drawn over his
face, his hands folded in his sleeves, took up the word again,
which Freda's impulsive ejaculation had interrupted.

"He is not as yet taken prisoner, but he has been commanded to
appear before the prior, and I fear me that is but the first step.
He begged of me to come and tell you, and give you that packet,"
and his eyes rested upon a small parcel which Freda held tightly
between her two hands; "so here am I to do his bidding, without
staying to know what will befall him at the prior's hands. He went
to answer the summons as I came forth hither."

The monk had found the sisters in their garden, having followed
Dalaber's directions, and entered by the little door which he
himself had so ofttimes used. At this hour the sisters were wont,
in fine weather, to take an hour's exercise up and down the
pleasant sheltered walk beneath the wall. Here the monk had found
them, and had presented to Freda a small packet which contained
Dalaber's New Testament, of which he knew full well he would
speedily be deprived, and a few jewels and valuables which he
possessed and desired to make over to her.

"Tell us all that has befallen him!" cried Freda breathlessly.

So far all she had taken in was that Dalaber had been summoned
before the prior, but she felt that more lay behind. The monk was
visibly troubled, and she knew him to be Anthony's friend. He stood
before them with downcast mien and told his tale.

"It was yesterday in the afternoon that Anthony Dalaber came to me
and borrowed a book. I lent it to him, bidding him be careful of
it; and he locked himself into his room, whilst I went my way to
sundry tasks I had to perform, and then on to vespers and compline.
When I returned, Dalaber's chamber door was shut and locked. I went
to mine own room, and presently the young man, a servant of the
college, came in to perform some small duty, and he looked at me
very cunningly, and asked whether I knew that Master Thomas Garret
had been inquiring for me and for Master Dalaber. Having been made
aware that he had already fled from Oxford, I gave no credence to
the young man's words, and this seemed to anger him, for he told me
plainly that Master Garret had come to the college, and had knocked
many times at my door in my absence, and then coming away, had
asked where Dalaber lived; and being directed to his door by this
same youth, he had knocked till he obtained entrance, and had been
shut up with him a great while.

"I was in doubt what to believe, and so said nothing; but later in
the evening I was sent for of the prior, who asked me if I had ever
had speech with Master Garret, and knew aught of him. I told him I
had not seen him this many a day, nor knew that he was in Oxford,
save that the servant had spoken of his having been there this very
day, which I scarce believed. Having questioned me closely, he let
me go, only warning me to have no dealings in the future with so
pestilent a fellow. He saw that I was ignorant of his present
whereabouts, and suffered me to depart with only a rebuke. But I
left in fear and trembling for Anthony Dalaber, if indeed it should
be true what the fellow had said that Master Garret had been shut
up with him.

"I went many times to his room that evening, and sat up far into
the night; but still he did not come, and I was in great fear that
he might have been taken prisoner. I resolved not to seek my bed,
but to pass the night in fasting and prayer on his account; and I
was thus occupied when there was a sound of commotion nigh at hand,
and I heard steps and voices and the sound of blows upon the door
of Dalaber's chamber. I opened mine own door cautiously, having
extinguished my rush light, and I saw that the proctors were there,
together with the prior and various servants of the college. Not
being able to obtain any reply to their summons, they had up a man
with a great bunch of keys; and after some ado they forced open the
door, and forthwith entered the chamber. It was empty of its
occupant; but they were by no means satisfied with that, and made
great search everywhere, tossing everything about in the greatest
confusion, ransacking his chest and flinging his clothes about
hither and thither, examining every chink and cranny, and well-nigh
pulling the bed to pieces in hopes of making some discovery. And
here they did find somewhat, for out tumbled a small bundle that
had been hid in the bedclothes. There was the book which I had lent
him--Lambert on St. Luke--and a gown and hood, which might have
been his own; but so soon as the young man of whom I have spoken
before saw them, he straightway vowed and declared that it was
these things which Master Garret had been wearing when he visited
Anthony Dalaber, and showed them a rent in the shoulder, which he
said he had particularly observed when showing the priest the way.
He had not known till Dalaber opened his door who the visitor was,
but as soon as he knew he went to inform the proctors; and the
chiefest marvel to me is that they tarried so long before visiting
Dalaber's chamber. But belike they made hue and cry after Garret
first. Heaven have mercy upon him if they get him into their
hands!"

"But Anthony, Anthony!" cried Freda, with a quick catch in her
breath--"I pray you tell me of him."

"Verily I will. When they had finished their search, and had got
evidence that Master Garret had been there, they came across to my
chamber and asked me what I knew concerning Dalaber. I did answer
that I knew nothing, but supposed he would shortly return. I did
not believe he had been to his room all night; which thing they did
not seem to believe, and kept gazing all around my room, as though
wondering whether I were not hiding him there. However, as my bare
chamber offered no concealment even for a cat, they had to be
satisfied at last; and they went away, only charging me straitly
that so soon as Dalaber should return, I must tell him to repair
him instantly to the prior, who would have speech of him. This I
promised to do, though with a woeful heart, for I felt that evil
was meant him, and I love him right well."

"Yes, yes; and what followed next?"

"Marry, this--that so soon as ever the college gates were open in
the morning, at five o'clock, in comes Anthony Dalaber himself, his
shoes and hosen all stained with mud, his face pale as though with
watching and anxious thought, though his aspect was calm and
resolute; and he came up the stairs without seeing me, and began to
unlock his door. But the lock had been twisted and bent, and he was
still struggling with it when I came out to him and began to tell
him what had happened. He got his door opened, and the sight he saw
before his eyes confirmed my tale, and he sat down and listened to
all I had to say, very quietly, and without flinching. He told me
that he and certain of the brethren had passed the night together,
in his old lodging at St. Alban Hall, in prayer for grace and
guidance; but that, though they had prayed of him to fly, it had
not seemed good to him to do so; and that he had resolved to return
immediately to his own lodging, and to await there whatever might
befall him."

"My own brave, steadfast Anthony!" spoke Freda beneath her breath,
her eyes shining like stars, but with a glint of tears behind their
brightness.

"So I gave to him the prior's message, and he said he would lose no
time in going to see him. But he knew not when or whether he might
ever return to this place. So he made up that little parcel, and he
gave it into my hands; and in so doing he begged of me that when
eight o'clock had sounded from the steeples, I would myself enter
yonder door and present it to one of the two maidens I should find
walking here, and say that it was a parting gift from Anthony
Dalaber, who was like to be taken of his foes."

The tears suddenly welled over and flowed down Freda's cheeks. It
was Magdalen who found strength to ask:

"What will they do to him? Of what offence can they find him
guilty? All the world speak well of him."

Robert Ferrar slowly shook his head, but made no reply; indeed,
none could say what would befall next. When a man stood in peril of
a charge of heresy his friends could not bear to ask too closely
what might be his ultimate fate. Freda clasped her sister's hands
hard as the monk slowly turned to go.

"Peace be with you! May the Lord help and sustain you," he said, in
his low, earnest voice, "and give to us all the strength to bear
the cross which He may see good to lay upon us!"

He paced with bent head along the walk, and vanished through the
door by which he had come. Freda, with trembling hands, tore open
the packet she had all this while been holding tightly clasped
between them, and when she saw its contents the tears gushed forth.

She sank down upon the seat in the arbour, and the little,
well-worn book fell open at a place where the page had been turned
down. It was that chapter in St. Matthew which Anthony had been
reading after the departure of Garret, and the sisters devoured the
words together, both deeply moved.

"O Magda, Magda, how can I bear it?" cried Freda, laying her head
upon her sister's shoulder; "I had thought to be so brave, so
steadfast. We have spoken of it, and I had thought that in a
righteous cause it would not be hard to suffer. And, in sooth, I
verily believe I could suffer mine own self. But I cannot bear for
him to be alone--for him to have so much laid upon him. O my
Anthony! my Anthony!"

"And it is so little they ask, so little they hold; and our beloved
Master Clarke maintains that the true Catholic Church has forbidden
naught that they would fain see restored--only the liberty to read
and study the living Word for themselves. They are not rebels; they
are not heretics. They love the church, and they are her true sons.
Only they maintain that some errors have crept in of man's
devising, for which no Scripture warrant can be found; and they
know that corruption hath entered even into the sanctuary, and they
would fain see it cleansed. Is that sin? Is that heresy? Then
methinks our Lord must needs have been a heretic and sinner (if it
be not blasphemy to say it), for He would not suffer His Father's
house to be polluted nor made a den of thieves. And what else do
these godly men ask now than that the Christian Church shall be
purified and cleansed of merchandise and barter, and become again a
holy house of prayer, undisturbed by any such things?"

Magdalen had been one of those who had most earnestly drunk in the
teachings of such men as Clarke, who combined an intense and
devoted love of Holy Church with an ardent desire after a purer
spiritual administration. His words to her soul were as words of
life; and one of the things which had first attracted her to Arthur
Cole, and become a bond of sympathy between them, was the deep
admiration and enthusiasm that he always expressed with regard to
Clarke and his doctrine and preaching. Freda had gone somewhat
farther along the road which Anthony was pursuing--the road which
led eventually to a greater upheaval and disruption than at that
day any, save the most ardent foreign reformers, dreamed of. Even
Garret and Dalaber and their companions were as yet ignorant of the
inevitable result of their teaching and convictions. It seemed to
them at this time that such a very little would satisfy them, that
the church could not seriously excommunicate them or persecute them
for what they believed. And yet--and yet--there was a sense of
coming tempest in the very air. And when the sisters, having
recovered their self-control, went indoors to tell their tale to
their father, they saw that he was much disturbed, and that he
considered Anthony's position as very precarious.

Just as they were discussing the matter in all its bearings, and
anxiously wondering when it would be possible to obtain further
news, there was a short summons at the door, and Arthur Cole
entered, with a pale and anxious face. Evidently he saw from their
faces that something had reached them, and his first question was:

"Have you heard the news?"

"That Anthony Dalaber has been summoned before the prior? Yes; his
friend Ferrar brought us that news not long since. But beyond that
we know nothing. Tell us, good Arthur, what is like to befall from
that. Is he in any great peril?"

"I scarce know myself; but I fear, I fear. They are in a great rage
at the escape of Garret; and since he is not to be found, they have
laid hands upon Dalaber, and he is even now at Lincoln College,
where he is to be examined by the commissary and others, with what
result cannot yet be known."

"Then he did not go before the prior?"

"Yes; he did so at the first. News was hastily brought to me by a
clerk from Gloucester College, and I hurried thither in time to
hear much that passed at the prior's court. I have friends amongst
the fellows and monks. I stood just within the door and heard all.
The prior asked him of Garret's visit the day before, and he
confessed the latter had been with him, but had quickly gone forth
again. He was asked whither he had gone, and answered that he had
spoken of Woodstock, where he had a friend amongst the keepers who
had promised him a piece of venison for Shrovetide."

"Was that true?" asked Freda, who was listening with wide and eager
eyes.

Arthur smiled slightly.

"Most like it was a witty invention to put the bloodhounds off the
scent, since Dalaber would scarce deliver over his friend into the
hands of his bitter foes."

"Is it right to speak a lie even in a good cause?" asked the girl,
seeming to address no particular person, but to be thinking aloud.

"A nice question in ethics, sweet mistress," spoke Arthur, with a
smile; "and it may be there are some (I can believe that Master
Clarke would be one) who would die sooner than utter a falsehood.
But for my part I hold that, as a man may take life or do some
grievous bodily hurt to one who attacks him, and if he act in self
defence no blame may attach to him, though at other times such a
deed would be sin, so a man may speak a false word (at other times
a sin) to save the life of his friend, and keep him out of the
hands of those who would do him grievous bodily hurt, and perhaps
put him to a cruel death. At least our own priests will assoil us
for such sins. They suffer us to do evil that good may come--if not
openly preaching the doctrine, yet by implication. I hold that no
blame attaches to Anthony for speaking an untruth to save his
friend."

Freda could not blame him either, though she held the truth in high
esteem. It was a cruel predicament in which to be placed, and
Anthony was ever impulsive in his thoughts and words.

Arthur took up his story again.

"The prior gave orders that search should instantly be made in the
direction of Woodstock; and then, turning once more to Dalaber, he
caught sight of the signet ring he always wore upon his hand, and
asked him what it was. Dalaber took it off and gave it him to look
at. You doubtless have noted the ring--a piece of jasper, with the
letters A. D. graven upon it. The prior looked at it with covetous
eyes, and finally put it on his finger.

"Sure, this must be mine own signet ring," he said, with a sinister
smile, "for it hath mine own initials upon it--A for Anthony, and D
for Dunstan."

"The robber!" ejaculated Freda hotly. "What said Anthony to that?"

"He said naught. He had other matters to think of than the loss of
his ring. But, in sooth, there was no time for more to be spoken,
for at that moment up came the beadle and other servants of the
commissary, desiring that Anthony Dalaber should be brought at once
before him in Lincoln College; and forthwith he was taken away, and
I could only just whisper to him as he passed me by that I would
see you and tell you all that happened."

Silence fell upon the little group as Arthur ended his narrative.
All hearts were heavy, and they were not made less so by his next
words.

"And I fear me greatly that Dalaber is not the only one who is in
peril in Oxford this day. I fear me much that it will not be long
before they lay hands upon Master Clarke."

Dismay and sorrow were in all faces. Dr. Langton looked intently at
the speaker, as though to ask more, and Arthur answered the
unspoken question.

"I think I have told you how that the cardinal has been informed
that the very men he introduced into Oxford have been foremost in
the spread of those doctrines which are begun to be called heresy,
though not one word has Master Clarke ever spoken for which he
cannot find confirmation in the words of Holy Writ and in the pure
teachings of the primitive church. But having heard this, the
cardinal is much disturbed, and hath ordered a very close and
strict investigation to be made. I know not exactly yet what these
words may mean to us; but at no moment should I be surprised to
hear that Clarke and others of like mind with himself had been
suspended from teaching, if not arrested and accused as heretics."

"Oh, it is too much! it is too much!" cried Magdalen, whose face
had turned deadly pale. She was much agitated, and her wonted calm
had deserted her.

Freda, who was standing at the window, suddenly exclaimed that
Master Radley was coming hastily across the meadow path towards
them, and some instinct seemed to warn them all that he was the
bearer of heavy tidings. They could not await his coming, but went
downstairs and out into the garden, where they met him breathless
with his speed.

"Master Clarke is taken!" he cried, emotion and haste making his
words barely audible. "He was warned last night of coming peril.
The place was full of rumours, and it was known that Garret had
been back and had escaped again. We counselled him to fly, but he
refused. This morning the proctors sent for him, and he hath not
returned. I am expecting a visit every moment to my chambers. They
may or may not find the books concealed there; but it is known that
I have hidden Master Garret. I shall not escape their malice. For
myself I care little; but for that saint upon earth, John
Clarke--oh, a church that can call him heretic and outcast must be
corrupt to the very core!"

"Have a care, my friend, have a care," spoke Arthur, with a quick
look round. "I would I could teach you zealous men a little of the
wisdom of the serpent. You are careful one for the other, yet for
your own selves ye seem to have no thought. But your tidings is
evil indeed. So Master Clarke is to be another victim?"

"Alas! I fear me so. All the college is talking of it. Our dean,
after matins this morning, spoke very grave words, and said how it
was grieving him to the quick that this godly college, built and
endowed by the holy cardinal himself, should be regarded as a
centre of growing heresy, and how that he hoped by God's grace to
purge and cleanse it. Master Clarke was not in his stall, and when
we came out we heard that he had been taken. They think that others
will shortly follow. Master Clarke and Anthony Dalaber are in their
hands, and will be straitly examined. If they tell all that will be
asked of them, many of us may be in prison ere long; if not, it may
take time to hunt the victims down; but I trow they will be snared
and taken at last."

"Anthony will never betray his friends," spoke Freda beneath her
breath, a wave of colour flooding her face.

Magdalen had turned away, and was pacing up and down in a secluded
walk. Arthur followed and came up with her, looking into her face,
which was wet with tears. He took her hand, and she did not repulse
him. She felt the need of help and sympathy. She was deeply
troubled, and she knew that he was also.

"It will be a heavy blow to many of us, Mistress Magdalen, if aught
befall our father and friend, Master Clarke."

"I feel as though I could not bear it," she answered, with a sob.
"His words were as words of life to me."

"And to me also," answered Arthur gravely, "even though I do not
call myself, as he did, one of this new brotherhood. But I hold him
to be a holy man of God, with whom was pure and sound doctrine. If
harm befall him, Oxford will suffer the stain of an indelible
disgrace."

"Can nothing be done?" cried Magdalen earnestly. "Oh, can we do
nothing? You are rich, you are powerful, you have many friends in
high places--can you do nothing?"

"Whatever I can do, I will do," answered Arthur gravely. "I fear me
in a crisis like this it will be little; and yet I will leave no
stone unturned. I will even see the cardinal himself if I can
achieve it, and if his life or safety are in peril. I would risk
much for him and for Dalaber, for both are dear to me. Believe me,
I will do all that in me lies; but I fear I cannot promise success.
I know not what is intended, but I feel that there is much abroad
of hatred and enmity against those who are branded with the name of
heretic."

"It is so hard, so hard," spoke Magdalen again, "when they ask so
little--just the liberty of thought and study, and only such things
as the Word of God enjoins."

Arthur slightly shook his head. He knew well what the answer of the
opposing party would be to such an argument; but he was in no mood
for controversy, least of all with Magdalen.

He stopped as they reached the end of the walk, and she paused
instinctively. He possessed himself of both her hands, and she did
not draw them away.

"Magdalen," he said gently, "when Dalaber spoke to me of the peril
that threatened him, he said that he regarded me almost as a
brother, in that he was the betrothed of Freda, and he knew how
that I did love thee as mine own life. Sweetheart, it scarce seems
a moment in which to speak of love and joy; but let me ask at least
the right to be near thee and to comfort thee in the hour of
darkness and trouble. Those who are in peril are dear to us both. I
will do all that one man can compass on their behalf. But let me
have one word of hope and comfort ere I leave thee. Say, my
beloved--dost thou, canst thou, love me?"

She hesitated a little, and then her head bent lower till it rested
for a moment upon his shoulder.

His arm was round her, and he drew her towards himself.

"I think I have loved thee a great while now, Arthur," she
answered, and felt his lips upon her brow and hair.

So when he walked away an hour later, although his heart was
clouded by anxiety and doubt, there was a deep joy and triumph in
his soul, and the sun seemed to shine with a golden radiance,
despite the heavy clouds hanging in the sky.




Chapter XII: "Brought Before Governors"


The news brought by Arthur Cole to the house by the bridge was true
enough. Anthony Dalaber had scarce answered the questions put to
him by the prior of students at Gloucester College before he was
called to answer more interrogatories before other potentates of
the university.

He was bidden to follow the beadle and servants who had come for
him without further ado, and had not so much as time to go to his
room to make any change of shoes or hosen, which were bedaubed with
mud, from his having come through the wet streets and miry roads to
Gloucester College that morning at sunrise. Having been told by the
monk that the prior's summons was urgent, he had presented himself
before him instantly; and now he was hurried off in the direction
of Lincoln College, with the soil and dishevelment of his sleepless
night yet upon him.

Matins were evidently just over, and the students had left the
chapel, but to his surprise Dalaber was pushed into that place by
his conductors; and there, beside the altar, he saw Dr. Cottisford
in close confabulation with Dr. Higdon, the Dean of Cardinal
College, and Dr. London, the Warden of New College. These three men
were noted throughout the university for their hatred of heresy in
any form, and their abhorrence of the movement which had begun to
show itself amongst the students and masters. Dalaber felt a
certain sinking of spirit as he saw their stern faces, and noted
their gestures and the vehemence of their discourse. He felt it
boded no good to him, and he lifted his soul in silent prayer for
help and strength and wisdom.

Then they saw his approach, regarding him with lowering and
wrathful glances; and at a sign from them one of the servants
fetched chairs in which they seated themselves just without the
choir, and the prisoner stood before them. A man in the garb of a
notary fetched a small table, with ink horn and parchment, as
though to make notes of the answers of the accused.

"Your name is Anthony Dalaber," spoke the commissary sternly; "what
is your age and standing in the university?"

Dalaber explained in a few words what was asked of him, and
answered some quick questions as to his removal from hall to
college without betraying any confusion or hesitation.

"What made you desire to study the law rather than continue in the
study of theology and divinity?"

"I had reached the conclusion that I was not fitted for the life of
a priest," answered Dalaber; "there were too many questions that
troubled and perplexed me. In the study of the law I was free from
these; therefore I resolved that that should be my vocation."

Dr. Cottisford frowned heavily.

"What need have you young men to trouble yourselves with vexed
questions? I have heard of you, Anthony Dalaber, and it is no good
report that hath been brought to me. You have been known to consort
this long while with that pestilent heretic, Thomas Garret. He has
lodged with you many a time, has lain concealed in your chamber at
St. Alban Hall, and has left in your charge a quantity of his
pernicious books, which doubtless you have assisted him to
distribute amongst other students, so spreading the poison of
heresy in our godly and obedient university, and seeking to turn it
into a hotbed of error and sin."

Dalaber made no response, but his heart beat thick and fast. It
seemed as though all were indeed known.

"Speak!" thundered Dr. London, now breaking in with no small fury;
"what have you to say to such a charge?"

"I have known Master Garret, it is true," answered Dalaber, picking
his words carefully. "He is an ordained priest in the church. He is
a godly man--"

"Peace!" roared the angry warden; "we are not here to bandy words
with you, Anthony Dalaber. We know what Thomas Garret is, and so do
you. Have a care how you provoke us. He was known to be with you
the night that he escaped first from Oxford. He is known to have
been in your chamber yesterday, ere he slipped away for the second
time. Do you dare to deny it?"

Dalaber looked with quiet firmness into the angry faces that
confronted him.

"Master Garret visited me yesterday," he answered quietly, "and
went forth from my chamber after a short while, when we had offered
prayer and supplication there together."

"And whither went he?"

"I know not, unless to Woodstock, where he spoke of having a friend
among the keepers," answered Dalaber, repeating the fiction he had
spoken to the prior.

"Tush!" cried the commissary angrily; "right well do you know that
you went with him, and kept company with him through the night.
Your shoes and your hosen show as much. You have been companying
with him for many a mile upon the way. You have not been in bed all
night. We were in your room before daybreak, and you were not
there."

"I abode last night with Master Fitzjames, my former comrade, in
our old lodging at St. Alban Hall," answered Dalaber readily, "and
that can be proven of many witnesses. Neither did I go forth with
Master Garret when he left. I came to St. Frideswyde for evensong,
and there I saw you, Mr. Commissary, and you, Dr. London, enter to
speak with the dean. And I did well guess that you had come to tell
him of the escape of Master Garret, of which he had spoken with me
a short while before."

It was perhaps not a very politic speech on Dalaber's part. The
three men turned angry and threatening glances upon him.

"You knew that that pestilent man was being sought for, and had
escaped out of our hands, and you assisted him to further flight,
and told nothing of what had chanced. Do you know the penalty which
is attached to such misdemeanors, Anthony Dalaber?"

He made no answer. He knew himself to be in their power; but he
resolved not to commit himself or to betray others by any rashness,
whereunto by nature he was somewhat prone.

The three judges conferred together for a brief while, and then
ordered that a Mass book should be brought, and bade Dalaber lay
his hand upon it and swear to answer truthfully all questions put
to him.

"That will I not do," he answered, "for I will not speak of those
matters which concern other men. And as for myself, it is
abundantly plain that you know already all that there is to be
spoken of mine own affairs."

A smile passed over Dr. Higdon's face. He was the least severe of
the three men, and something in Dalaber's bold bearing touched a
sympathetic chord in his heart.

"Then, friend Anthony, why should you fear to be sworn? I pray you,
show not yourself disobedient and contumacious, lest you bring
discredit and trouble upon yourself which otherwise you may escape.
It is not our wish to deal harshly with any man; but we would fain
purge our godly colleges from the taint of deadly sin. If you are
not guilty of such sin in your own soul, have no fear. It is a
guilty conscience that makes men fear to lay hands upon the holy
Book and take the name of the Most High upon their lips."

This specious but rather vague reasoning had its effect upon
Anthony; and even more did the kindliness with which the words were
spoken prevail with him, so that he consented to swear to speak the
truth, though in his heart he resolved that he would only answer
for himself, and that nothing which might incriminate others should
pass his lips.

A long interrogatory now followed, in which he had much ado to
fence and parry many of the questions. He soon learned, to his deep
grief and sorrow of heart, that John Clarke was under suspicion, if
not already arrested under the charge of heresy. He admitted to
have been much in his company, and to have attended his public
lectures, his public preachings, and those meetings in his rooms
for reading, meditation, and discussion, which had long been going
on. These were well known by this time to the authorities; but only
since the cardinal's letter had stirred up suspicion and fear had
there been any distrust aroused as to the nature of such meetings.
A whisper here, a hint there, had lately gone abroad, and now
Anthony was closely questioned as to the nature of the doctrines
discussed, and the readings which had taken place.

He answered that no word had ever passed Master Clarke's lips that
was not godly, pious, and full of the Holy Ghost. He heeded not the
angry looks of Dr. London and the commissary, but addressed himself
to Dr. Higdon, who was evidently wishful to think as well as
possible of one of the leading canons of his own college. Anthony
strenuously denied that Clarke had had any hand in the distribution
of forbidden books or translations of the Scriptures. When they
read the Bible together, it was read both in the original and in
the vulgar tongue, so that the two versions might be carefully
studied together; and Dalaber maintained with spirit and success
the arguments learned from Clarke that the Catholic Church in this
land had never forbidden such reading and study of God's Word. Dr.
Higdon might have been satisfied, and even spoke a few words in
favour of letting the young man go to his lodgings, only binding
him over to appear when summoned in the future.

But the other two, having lost Garret, were resolved to make the
most of his accomplice; and they argued that what Master Clarke had
or had not said was not the main point at issue. He might or might
not be the dangerous heretic some asserted. What they maintained
was that Dalaber had been associated with Garret in a hundred ways,
and that a great bale of forbidden books had been discovered in a
secret hiding place just outside his deserted chamber at St. Alban
Hall; and that, until he had given some better account of himself
and his connection with these matters, he should certainly not be
allowed to depart. Moreover, they desired to know the names of
other students who had attended Master Clarke's readings and
discussions. These were known to have taken place; but as they were
mostly held in the evening after dark, it was not so easy to
discover who attended them, and Dalaber was required to give such
names as he could remember.

But here he was resolutely silent, and this so obstinately that he
irritated his questioners to the extreme, even Dr. Higdon losing
patience with him at the last. Dalaber's manner was bold, and to
them aggressive. The poor youth at heart felt fearful enough as he
marked the anger his obstinacy had aroused; but he was resolved not
to show fear, and not to betray others. He admitted freely that he
had helped Garret in the distribution of the forbidden books.
Denial would have been useless, even could he have brought himself
to take a lie upon his lips and perjure himself; but he absolutely
refused to give the names of any persons to whom the books had been
given or sold, and this refusal evoked a great deal of anger and
some rather terrible threats.

"Young man," said Dr. London sternly, "do you know what can and may
well be done to you if you remain thus obstinate, and refuse the
information which we, as the guardians of the university, do justly
demand of you?"

"I am in your power," answered Dalaber; "you can do with me what
you will."

"We can do but little," answered Dr. London. "We can do little but
keep you safe in ward--safer than Master Garret was kept; and that
shall be my task. But what we can do later is to send you to the
Tower of London, where they will examine you by the rack, and
thrust you into the little-ease to meditate of your obstinacy; and
then will you desire that you had spoken without such harsh
pressure, and had listened to the words of counsel and warning
given you by those who have your welfare at heart. If once you are
handed over to the secular arm, there is no knowing what the end
may be. Therefore take heed and be not so stubborn."

They watched his face closely as these terrible threats were made;
and Anthony, aware of their scrutiny, braced himself to meet it,
and to show no signs of any sinking at heart. And indeed the very
imminence of the threatened peril seemed to act as a tonic upon his
nerves, and he felt something of the strengthening power which has
been promised to those who suffer persecution for conscience' sake;
so that at that moment there was no fear in his heart, but a
conviction that God would fight for him and keep him strong in the
faith. Come what might, he would not betray his friends.

It was not a question of subtle doctrines, in which his
understanding might become confused; it was a simple question of
honour betwixt man and man, friend and friend. He had the power to
betray a vast number of men who had trusted him, and nothing would
induce him to do it, not even the threat of torture and death. He
trusted to be able to endure both, should that be his fate.

"Take him away," spoke Dr. London at last, in a voice of
thunder--"take him away, and we will see him again when discipline
has something tamed his spirit. And it will then be strange if we
cannot wring somewhat more from him. I will see him myself at a
later hour; and you, Dr. Cottisford, will have a care that he doth
not escape, as Master Garret did yesterday."

"I have provided against that, methinks," was the rather grim
reply; and forthwith the three men rose and marched towards the
chapel door, the prisoner being led after them by the servants.

The commissary then led the way through various passages and up a
long stair, and Dalaber gazed with interest as he passed through
the door of a large upper chamber, where a strange-looking
apparatus stood in one corner. It was something like the stocks set
in the marketplaces of the towns, for the detention of rogues and
vagrants; but the holes in this were very high up, yet scarce high
enough for the hands of a man standing.

"Empty your pockets, Anthony Dalaber," spoke the commissary
sternly; and when Dalaber had obeyed, he quietly possessed himself
of his purse, loose money, knives, and tablets, which, with the
girdle he wore, were wrapped together and made into a packet.

"If you are found guiltless of the charges wherewith you stand
accused, you shall have them again," said Dr. Cottisford somewhat
grimly; "meantime they will be safer with me."

Dalaber's heart sank somewhat, for he had a few silver pieces in
his purse, and had thought perchance to purchase therewith some
greater favour from his jailers, whosoever they should be; but
being thus robbed, he was powerless in the matter, and could only
trust that they would not deal with him over harshly, since he had
no means of winning favour and ease.

"Set him in the stocks and leave him," spoke the commissary. "Then
we shall know there can be none escape."

Anthony made no resistance as he was forced to the ground and his
legs firmly locked into the stocks, so that his feet were well nigh
as high as his head. He uttered no complaint, and he spoke not a
word of supplication, although the commissary lingered for a few
moments as though to give him chance to do this; but as he remained
silent and irresponsive, the latter left the room with a muttered
word that sounded like an imprecation, and Dalaber heard the
chamber door locked behind him as the last servant took his
departure.

Left thus alone in that constrained posture, the thoughts of
Dalaber flew back to those words of fatherly counsel and warning
spoken the previous year by his master and friend John Clarke; and
half aloud did Dalaber repeat the concluding sentence of that
address: "Then will ye wish ye had never known this doctrine; then
will ye curse Clarke, and wish ye had never known him, because he
hath brought you to all these troubles."

"No, no!" cried Dalaber eagerly, as though crying aloud to one who
could hear his words; "that will I never do, God helping me. Come
what may, I will thank and praise Him that I have been honoured by
the friendship of such a saint upon earth. I thank Him that I have
learned to love and to know the Scriptures as I never could have
known them but for reading them in mine own tongue, and hearing him
discourse upon them. Come what may, none can take that knowledge
from me. Whatever I may have to suffer, I shall ever have that
treasure in mine heart. And since I am no heretic in doctrine, and
believe all that the canons of the church teach, how can they treat
me as one who hates and would confound her? I am no follower of
Martin Luther, though I hold that he is waging war in a righteous
cause. But I would see the church arise and cast forth from herself
those things which defile; and more and more do her holy and pious
sons agree in this, that she doth need some measure of purification,
ere she can be fit to be presented to the Father as the bride of
the Lamb."

Dalaber was just now under the influences of Clarke rather than of
Garret. It was not only fear of what was coming upon him, though
that might have some share in the matter, but he had found of late
more comfort in the spiritual utterances of Clarke than in the
bellicose teachings of Garret. Moreover, he had not been blind to
the fact that Garret's courage had ebbed very visibly under the
stress of personal peril, whilst Clarke's spirit had remained calm
and unshaken. Dalaber had keen sympathy with Garret, in whose
temperament he recognized an affinity with his own, and whose
tremors and fits of weakness and yielding he felt he might well
share under like trial and temptation. Indeed, he did not deny to
himself that, were he not thus fast bound, he might have attempted
the escape which yesterday he had scorned. But he thought upon the
words of his beloved master, and spent the long, weary hours in
meditation and prayer; so that when the commissary visited him
later in the day and questioned him again, although he still
refused to implicate others in any charge, he spoke of his own
convictions with modesty and propriety, so that the commissary
began to question whether he were, after all, so black a heretic as
had been painted, and promised that he should have food sent him,
together with pens and paper, on which he was desired to set forth
a confession of his faith. He was not, however, released from the
stocks until the college was safely shut up for the night, and all
gates closed.

Dalaber wrote his confession of faith with great care and skill;
and he trusted that he had not committed himself to any doctrine
which would arouse the ire of those who would read it. Those very
early reformers (to use the modern term) were in a very difficult
position, in that they had very slight cause of quarrel with the
church of which they called themselves true sons. Modern
Protestants find it hard to believe what men like Wycliffe and
Latimer taught on many cardinal points. To them it would sound like
"rank papacy" now. The split between the two camps in the church
has gradually widened and widened, till there seems no bridging the
gap between Christian and Christian, between churchman and
churchman--all being members of one Catholic Church.

But it was not so in the days of Anthony Dalaber. The thought of
split and schism was pain and grief to most. Luther had foreseen
it, was working for it, and the leaven of his teaching was
permeating this and other lands; but it had taken no great hold as
yet. The church was revered and venerated of her children, and here
in England the abuses rampant in so many lands were far less
flagrant.

England had been kept from much evil by her inherent distrust of
papal supremacy. The nation had more or less combated it in all
centuries. Rome's headship only received a qualified assent.
Sovereigns and people had alike resented the too great exercise of
the papal prerogative; and this had done much for the church in
England. It seemed as though a very little would be enough to serve
the purpose of these early reformers, and in the main they held the
doctrines taught, and were willing and ready to obey most of the
church's injunctions.

A man like Anthony Dalaber, versatile and eager, easily roused to
enthusiasm and passionate revolt, but as easily soothed by
gentleness and kindly argument of a truly Catholic kind, was not a
little perplexed in such a situation as he now found himself. It
seemed to him that he would be in a far more false position as a
branded heretic, debarred from the communion of the church, than as
a faithful son, undergoing some penance and discipline at her
hands. He spent many long and painful hours writing out his
confession, seeking to make plain the condition of his mind, and
proving to his own satisfaction that he was no heretic. He only
claimed that men might have liberty to read for themselves in their
own tongue the words of the Lord and His apostles, and judge for
themselves, under reasonable direction, what these words meant. For
the rest, he had little quarrel with the church, save that he
thought the sale of indulgences and benefices should be stopped;
and in conclusion he begged that, if he had spoken amiss, he might
be corrected and reproved, but not given over as a reprobate or
heretic.

Perhaps, had the words of this confession been read a few days
earlier, Dalaber might have escaped with no more than a reprimand
and heavy penance. But unluckily for himself the bale of books last
brought by Garret, hidden near to his chamber, and traced therefore
direct to him, contained writings of a character more inflammatory
and controversial than anything which had gone before--books which
were thought full of deadly errors, and against which exception
could very well be taken on many grounds, both on account of their
violent tone and their many contradictions.

As a matter of fact, Dalaber had hardly read any of these treatises
himself. He had been otherwise occupied of late. But it was not
likely that the authorities would believe any such disclaimer, or
leave at large one who had meddled with what they regarded as so
deadly a traffic.

When Anthony's confession was brought to them, they were sitting in
conclave over these books, and with a list which had been found of
the names and number of works brought over and circulated by
Garret. The magnitude of the traffic excited in them the utmost
concern and dismay. If one half had been circulated in Oxford,
there was no knowing the extent of the mischief which might follow.
It was necessary that an example should be made. Already close
inquiry had elicited the names of some dozen students or masters
concerned. Dalaber and Clarke were accounted ringleaders, but
others came in for their share of blame.

By Monday night quite a dozen more arrests had been made, and
Anthony Dalaber was only taken from the commissary's chamber to be
thrown into prison in Oxford, with the grim threat of the Tower of
London sounding in his ears.




Chapter XIII: In Prison


The wrath of the cardinal was greatly stirred. Thomas Garret had
escaped once again. His own college had been proved to be, if not a
hotbed of heresy, at least one of the centres whence dangerous
doctrines had been disseminated; and amongst those who had been
engaged in this unrighteous task were several of those very men
whom he himself had introduced there, that they might, by their
godly life and conversation, be shining lights amongst their
companions.

It was natural, perhaps, that Wolsey's wrath should burn somewhat
fiercely, and be especially directed against the black sheep of his
own college. He was too busy with public affairs to come himself to
Oxford at this juncture; but he wrote many and lengthy epistles to
the authorities there, and prayed them to use every means in their
power of ridding the place of heresy, promising to give the matter
his own earnest consideration. He had believed that heresy was for
the present stamped out in London, owing to the prompt and decisive
measures taken. He declared it would be far easier to tackle in the
smaller town of Oxford; yet he and others who knew the two schools
of thought had an inkling that the seed, once sown in the hearts of
young and ardent and thinking men, would be found sprouting up and
bearing fruit sometimes when least expected.

However, there was no lack of zeal in executing the cardinal's
commands; and Clarke, together with other canons of his college,
Dalaber of Gloucester College, Udel, Diet, Radley, and even young
Fitzjames, whose friendship with Dalaber was thought highly
suspicious, were all cast into prison, and some of them into very
close and rigorous captivity, with an unknown fate hanging over
them, which could not but fill even the stoutest soul with dread
and horror.

The prisons of the middle ages will scarce bear detailed
description in these modern days; the condition of filth and
squalor of the lower cells, often almost without air, and reeking
with pestilential vapours, baffles words in which to describe it.
To be sure, persons in daily life were used to conditions which
would now be condemned as hopelessly insanitary, and were not so
susceptible and squeamish as we have since become. The ordinary
state of some of the poorer students' halls in Oxford appears to us
as simply disgusting; yet the thing was accepted then as a matter
of course.

Nevertheless, the condition of those cast into the prisons of those
days was a very forlorn and terrible one, and almost more
calculated to break the spirit and the constancy of the captive
than any more short and sharp ordeal might do. It is scarcely to be
supposed that the prisons in Oxford were superior to those in other
parts of the country, and indeed the sequel to the incarceration of
Clarke and his companions seems to prove the contrary.

But at least, in those days, bribes to the jailers could do, in
most cases, something for the amelioration of the lot of the
prisoner; and Arthur Cole was possessed of a warm heart, a long
purse, and a character for orthodoxy which enabled him to associate
on friendly terms with suspected persons without incurring the
charge of heresy. His own near relative being proctor of the
university, and his own assured position there, gave him great
advantages; and these he used fearlessly during the days which
followed, and even sought private interviews with the three heads
of houses who had the main jurisdiction in the matter of these
unfortunate students.

But for the first few days after Dalaber's arrest and imprisonment
the excitement was too keen to admit of any mediation. The
authorities were busy unravelling the "web of iniquity," making
fresh discoveries of books, chiefly copies of the New Testament,
circulating amongst the students, and sending to prison those who
possessed them, or had been known to be connected with the
Association of Christian Brothers.

All that Arthur could contrive during that first week was a visit
to the cell of Dalaber. He was absolutely refused admittance to
Clarke, who, he heard, was lodged in a dark and foul prison, where
once salt fish had been stored, and which was the most noxious of
any in the building.

Clarke, it seemed, had now become the object of the greatest
suspicion and distrust. The Bishop of Lincoln--then the Diocesan of
Oxford--had written most stringently on his account, and no
inducement would prevail to gain admittance to him; nor did Arthur
feel the smallest confidence that the money greedily accepted by
the warder in charge would ever be expended upon the prisoner.

He was very heavy-hearted about this friend of his; but he had
better fortune in his attempts to gain speech with Dalaber.

At the end of a week he prevailed so far as to gain a short
interview with him, and was locked into the cell in some haste by
the jailer, and bidden to be brief in what he had to say, since it
was not long that he could be permitted to remain.

Dalaber sprang up from the stone bench on which he had been sitting
in a dejected attitude, and when he saw the face of his friend he
uttered an exclamation of joy.

"Arthur! you have come to me! Nay, but this is a true friend's
part. Art sure it is safe to do so? Thou must not run thine own
neck into a noose on my account. But oh, how good it is to see the
face of a friend!"

He seized Arthur's two hands, wringing them in a clasp that was
almost pain, and his face worked with emotion.

Arthur, as his eyes grew used to the darkness, was shocked at the
change which a week had wrought in his friend. Dalaber's face
seemed to have shrunk in size, the eyes had grown large and hollow,
his colour had all faded, and he looked like a man who had passed
through a sharp illness.

"What have they done to you, Anthony, thus to change you?" cried
Arthur, in concern.

"Oh, nothing, as yet. I have but sat in the stocks two days, till
they sent me for closer ward hither. After Master Garret's escape
bolts and bars have not been thought secure enough out of the
prison house. But every time the bolt shoots back I think that it
may be the men come to take me to the Tower. They have threatened
to send me thither to be racked, and afterwards to be burnt. If it
must come to that, pray Heaven it come quickly. It is worse to sit
here thinking and picturing it all than to know the worst has come
at last."

His hands were hot, and the pulses throbbed. Arthur could see the
shining of the dilated eyes. Dalaber's vivid imagination had been a
rather terrible companion for him during these days of darkness and
solitude. The authorities had shown some shrewd knowledge of human
nature when they had shut him up alone. Some of the culprits had
been housed together in the prison, but Dalaber had been quite
solitary.

It was not so evil a cell that he occupied as some of the others.
Arthur's gold had prevailed thus far. But nothing could save him
from the horrors of utter loneliness, and these had told upon him
more than greater hardships would have done, had they been shared
with others. It had been characteristic of Dalaber all through his
life that he could be more courageous and steadfast for others than
for himself.

"Tush, Anthony! There will be no more such talk now," answered
Arthur, with a laugh. "They have found out for themselves all that
you withheld. They have laid by the heels enough victims to satisfy
the wrath of the bishop and the cardinal. And already there is a
difference in the minds of the authorities here. In a short while
they will become themselves advocates of mercy. They took a great
fright at hearing of heresy in Oxford; but persecution is against
the very essence of our existence as a university--persecution for
what men think. Mine own uncle only last night was beginning to
hope that, having laid hands upon the culprits, they would now be
gently dealt with. But for the cardinal and the bishop there would
be little to fear."

Anthony drew a deep breath, as of relief. His clasp on Arthur's
hands slowly slackened.

"Then they talk not of the Tower for me, or for any?"

"I have heard no word of it. I am sure such matter is not in their
thoughts. And truly, if heresy be so grievous a crime, they have
need to look to themselves; for those same three judges before whom
ye were brought, Anthony, have committed an act of heresy for which
the penalty is the same death with which they have threatened you
and others."

"What mean you?" asked Dalaber, with wide-open eyes.

"Marry, this--that when they sought in vain for Master Garret, and
were unable to find him, they went themselves to an astrologer, and
bid him make a figure by the stars, that he might know whither the
fugitive had fled; and he, having done so, declared that Garret had
escaped in a tawny coat to the southeastward, and was like to be
found in London, where doubtless some of the brotherhood have hid
him. And this they have dared to tell to the cardinal and to the
bishop, in no wise ashamed of their own act; whereas the church
forbids expressly any such asking of portents from the stars, and
it is as much heresy as any deed of which you and your comrades
have been guilty."

Dalaber broke into a short laugh.

"By the Mass, but in sooth it is so!" he exclaimed, drawing a long
breath. "Shall not the God of all the earth look down and judge
between us and our foes? O Arthur, Arthur, how can one not call
such men our foes? They hunt us down and would do us to death
because we claim the right to love and study the Word of God, and
they themselves practise the arts of necromancy, which have been
from the beginning forbidden as an abomination in the sight of the
Lord, and they feel no shame, but blazon abroad their evil deed. Is
it not time that the church were purged of such rulers as these?"

"Perchance it is; but that I hold is to be settled not by us but by
God Himself. He has not shown Himself backward in the past to
cleanse His sanctuary of defilement, and I trow we can leave this
work to Him now, and wait His time. Patience, good Anthony,
patience. That is my word of counsel to you. You will not reform
the church singlehanded. The brethren will not do it; and it were
only a source of weakness to rob the church of those of her sons
who are longing after righteousness and truth. Be not in such
haste. Be content to stand aside, and see for a while how the Lord
Himself will work. You know the words of Scripture, that in
quietness and confidence shall be your rest. There may be periods
when quietness does more to prevail than any open strife. You have
made your protest. The world will not listen yet; but the time
shall come when it will be more ready. Wait in patience for that
day, and seek not to run before the Lord."

Such sage counsel was not unpalatable to Dalaber, who was in a less
combative mood now than he had been of late. He had been threatened
with excommunication, and indeed for a while there was no hope that
he would be regarded as a fit person to receive the holy rite. That
in itself was terrible to his devout spirit, and when any person
spoke gently and kindly to him, and in a friendly and persuasive
fashion, he was always eager to declare his love and loyalty for
the Catholic Church.

He hated the thought of being regarded as an outcast and heathen.
He knew that it was so terribly unjust. He had borne witness to his
own beliefs; he had made full confession of faith; he had
steadfastly refused to betray any comrade. Perhaps he had now done
enough for the cause of liberty and righteousness, and might step
aside for a while and see what would be the result of the movement
now set on foot.

He asked eagerly about those who had been taken, and his eyes
filled with tears when he heard that Clarke was one of the victims,
and one who was likely to be treated with greater harshness than
the rest.

"A saint of the Lord, if ever there was one!" cried Dalaber
earnestly. "Oh, if only they would let me share his confinement!
What would not I give to be with him, to tend and comfort him, and
listen to his godly words! I should fear nothing, were he beside
me. Surely the angels of the Lord will be about his bed through the
hours of darkness, and will keep him from the malice of his
enemies."

"I trust that he will be liberated ere long," answered Arthur
gravely. "But they will never make him speak a word that his heart
goes not with. And it is said that the bishop and the cardinal are
much incensed against the canons of the college who have been found
tampering, as they choose to call it, with the holy Catholic
faith."

"And Freda? How is she, and what says she of all these matters?"

"She is in much trouble of spirit, but she bears it with courage,
and I do all that I may to comfort her.

"I have won the right to think of her as a sister now," added
Arthur, with the colour rising in his face, "for Magdalen has
promised to be my wife. We are betrothed, and I ask your
gratulations, Anthony."

These were given with great fervour, and for a brief while the two
young men forgot all else in eager lovers' talk. Anthony was
assured that no danger threatened the house of Dr. Langton for his
friendship with Clarke and others of those now in prison. The
anxiety of the authorities was simply with the students and those
under their care in the university. The private opinions of private
persons in the place did not concern them in any grave fashion.

Already enlightened men were beginning to foresee a gradual change
in ecclesiastical government in the land, though it might not be
just yet. Even the most zealous of the church party, when they were
shrewd and far-sighted men, and not immediately concerned with the
present struggle, saw signs of an inevitable increase in light and
individual liberty of thought which would bring great changes with
it. To check heresy amongst the students was the duty of the
authorities, in virtue of their office; but they gave themselves no
concern outside the walls of their colleges. Perhaps they knew that
if they attempted to hunt out all heretics, or such as might be so
called, from the city, they would denude it of half its population.

Indeed, having once laid hands on the offenders, and argued and
talked with them, Dr. London himself, though regarded by the
culprits as somewhat like a greedy lion roaring after his prey, and
being, in truth, a man of whom not much good can be written, wrote
to the cardinal and the Bishop of Lincoln, plainly intimating that
he thought the matter might be safely hushed up, and that it would
be a pity to proceed to any extremity.

"These youths," he said, "have not been long conversant with Master
Garret, nor have greatly perused his mischievous books; and long
before Master Garret was taken, divers of them were weary of these
works, and delivered them back to Dalaber. I am marvellous sorry
for the young men. If they be openly called upon, although they
appear not greatly infect, yet they shall never avoid slander,
because my lord's grace did send for Master Garret to be taken. I
suppose his Grace will know of your good lordship everything.
Nothing shall be hid, I assure your good lordship, an every one of
them were my brother; and I do only make this moan for these
youths, for surely they be of the most towardly young men in
Oxford, and as far as I do yet perceive, not greatly infect, but
much to blame for reading any part of these works."

It was Arthur who brought word to the Bridge House of this letter
of mediation which had been sent to the bishop, who would then
confer with the cardinal; and the hearts of all beat high with
hope.

"Surely, when he reads that, he will not deal harshly with them!"
spoke Freda, her colour coming and going.

"I hope not--I trust not; but for the bishop none may answer. I
would rather we had the cardinal directly over us; but it is the
bishop who is our lord and master."

"And is he a hard and cruel man?"

"He is one who has a vehement hatred of heresy, and would destroy
it root and branch," answered Arthur. "It may be that even this
letter will in some sort anger him, though it is meant for the
best."

"How anger him?" asked Magdalen.

"Marry, in that he sees how godly and toward has been the walk of
those youths who are now accounted guilty of heresy. Even Dr.
London, who has been so busy in the matter of the arrests, now that
he hath gotten them safe in ward, is forced to own that they are
amongst the best and most promising of the students of the
university, and therefore he himself pleads that they be not
harshly dealt with. But how the bishop will like to hear that is
another matter."

"Yet to us it cannot but be a testimony," spoke Dr. Langton
gravely, "and one which those in authority would do well to lay to
heart. In the matter of wisdom, prudence, and obedience, these
young men may have failed somewhat--they may have been carried away
by a certain rashness and impetuosity; but that they are of a pious
and godly walk and conversation, even their accusers know well. And
here in Oxford, where so much brawling and license and sinfulness
stalks rampant, does it not say somewhat for these new doctrines
that they attract the more toward and religious, and pass the
idlers and reprobates by?"

So there was much eager talk and discussion throughout Oxford
during the days which followed, and excitement ran high when it was
known that Garret had been taken--not in London, not in a tawny
coat, but near to Bristol--by a relative of Cole, one of the
proctors, who had recognized him from the description sent by his
relative, and was eager to be permitted to conduct him to Oxford,
and hand him over to the authorities.

Arthur heard all the story, and was very indignant; for though
Garret was no favourite or friend of his, he was a graduate of his
own college, and he felt it hard that he should have been hunted
down like a mad dog, and caught just at the very moment when he was
nearing the coast, and might well have hoped to make good his
escape.

"I am no friend to Master Wylkins for his zeal," he said, "and
right glad am I that the law would not allow him to take possession
of the prisoner, but had him lodged in Ilchester jail, despite his
offer of five hundred pounds as surety for his safe appearance when
called for. He is to be taken now to London, to the cardinal, under
special writ. But I have greater hopes of his finding mercy with
the cardinal than had he come here and been subject to the Bishop
of Lincoln."

A little later and the news came that the monk Ferrar, who had
suddenly disappeared from Oxford after the arrest of Dalaber, had
been taken in London in the house of one of the brethren, and that
he and Garret were both in the hands of the cardinal.

"What will they do to them?" questioned Freda of Arthur, who came
daily to visit them with all the latest news.

But that was a question none could answer as yet, though it seemed
to Freda as if upon that depended all her life's future. For if
these men were done to death for conscience' sake, could Dalaber,
their friend and confederate, hope to escape?

Arthur always spoke hopefully, but in his heart he was often sorely
troubled. He came at dusk today, clad in a cloak down to his heels,
and with another over his arm. He suddenly spoke aside to Freda.

"Mistress Frideswyde, I sometimes fear me that if our friend
Anthony get no glimpse of you in his captivity he will pine away
and die. I have leave to take some few dainties to the prison, and
I have below a basket in which to carry them. It is growing dusk.
Wrapped in this cloak, and with a hat well drawn down over your
face, you might well pass for my servant, bearing the load. I might
make excuse that you should carry in the basket instead of me. Are
you willing to run the risk of rebuke, and perchance some small
unpleasantness at the hands of the keepers of the prison, to give
this great joy to Anthony?"

Freda's face was all aflame with her joy. In a moment she had, with
her sister's aid, so transformed herself that none would have
guessed her other than the servant of Arthur, carrying a load for
his master. She was tall and slight and active, and trod with firm
steps as he walked on before her in the gathering dusk. She
suffered him not to bear the load even a portion of the way, but
played her part of servant to perfection, and so came with a
beating heart beneath the frowning gateway of the prison, where it
seemed to her that some evil and terrible presence overshadowed all
who entered.

Arthur was known to the sentries and servants by this time. He
visited several of the prisoners, and his gratuities made his
visits welcome. He was conducted almost without remark towards
Dalaber's cell, and no one made any comment when he said to Freda,
in the commanding tone of a master:

"Bring the basket along, sirrah! Follow me, and wait for me till I
call. I shall not be above a few moments. It grows late."

Freda had trembled as she passed the portal, but she did not
tremble now. She stood where she was bidden, and Arthur, for a very
short time, disappeared in the darkness, and she heard the shooting
of a bolt. Then the turnkey came back and said, with a short laugh:

"Thy master hath a long purse and a civil tongue. I go to do his
bidding, and refresh myself with a sup of good canary. Go on
thither with that basket. I shall be back in a few short minutes.
He will call thee when he wants thee."

The man and his lantern disappeared, and the door of the corridor
was slammed to and locked. There was no hope of escape for any
behind it, but at least there was entrance free to Anthony's cell.

The next moment she was within the miserable place, faintly lighted
by the small lantern Arthur had brought, and with a cry she flung
herself upon her knees beside the pallet bed on which Dalaber lay,
and called him by his name. Arthur meanwhile stood sentry without
the door.

"Freda, my love!" he cried, bewildered at sight of her, and with
the fever mists clouding his brain.

"Anthony, Anthony, thou must not die! Thou must live, and do some
great good for the world in days to come. Do not die, my beloved.
It would break mine heart. Live for my sake, and for God's truth.
Ah, I cannot let thee go!"

He partly understood and kissed her hand, gazing at her with hungry
eyes.

"I would fain live, if they will let me," he answered. "I will live
for thy sweet sake."

She bent and kissed him on the brow. But she might not tarry
longer. The sound of the bolt was already heard, and she stood
suddenly up, and went forward.

"I will live for thy sake, sweetheart!" he whispered; and she waved
her hand and hurried out, with tears gushing from her eyes.




Chapter XIV: The Power Of Persuasion


"I HAVE sent for you, Master Cole," spoke the Dean of Cardinal
College, "because it is told to me that you, whilst yourself a
blameless son of Holy Church, have strong friendship for some of
those unhappy youths who are lying now in ward, accused of the
deadly sin of heresy; and in particular, that you are well known to
Anthony Dalaber, one of the most notable and most obstinate
offenders."

"That is true," answered Arthur readily. "I have had friendship
this many years with Dalaber, long ere he took with these perilous
courses against which I have warned him many a time and oft. Apart
from his errors, which I trust are not many or great, he has ever
appeared a youth of great promise, and I have believed him one to
make his way to fame and honour in days to come, when once these
youthful follies are overpast."

"I have heard the same from others," answered Dr. Higdon; "and
albeit he has never been a student here, nor come under my care, I
have oftentimes come across him, in that he has sung in our chapel,
and lent us the use of his tuneful voice in our services of praise.
I have noted him many a time, and sometimes have had conversation
with him, in the which I have been struck by his versatility and
quickness of apprehension. Therefore (having in this matter certain
powers from my lord cardinal in dealing with these hapless young
men) I am most anxious so to work upon his spirit that he show
himself not obstinate and recalcitrant. Almost all his comrades
have proved their wisdom and the sincerity of their professed
devotion to Holy Church by promising submission to the godly
discipline and penance to be imposed upon them; but Dalaber remains
mutely obstinate when spoken to, and will neither answer questions
nor make any confession or recantation of error. I have therefore
avoided his company, and abstained from pressing him, lest this
only make him the more obstinate. I would fain use gentle and
persuasive measures with all these misguided youths, and I trow
that we shall thus win them, as we might never do by harshness and
cruelty. Loneliness and the taste they have had--some amongst
them--of prison life has done somewhat to tame them; and for the
rest, we have had little trouble in persuading them to be wise and
docile."

"I am right glad to hear it," spoke Arthur quickly, "for I have
consorted with many amongst these same men; and I know right well
that they are godly and well-disposed youths, earnestly desirous to
be at peace with all men, and to live in obedience to Holy Church,
whom they reverence and love as their mother. They have been
something led away through such men as Master Garret, who--"

Arthur paused, for a curious smile had illumined Dr. Higdon's face.
He looked full at Arthur as he said:

"Yes, Master Garret has been much to blame in this matter; but the
cardinal has so dealt with him by gentleness and kindness, and by
the clear and forceful reasoning of which he is master, that Thomas
Garret himself is now here in Oxford, ready to do penance for his
sins of disobedience and rebellion; and to this submission do we
owe that of his confederates and lesser brethren. When they heard
that he had promised compliance to the cardinal's commands, they
themselves yielded without much delay."

"Garret here in Oxford!" exclaimed Arthur, in surprise, "and a
penitent, submissive to the cardinal! Then, truly, no others should
be hard to persuade. But what is it that the cardinal asks of
them?"

Dr. Higdon smiled that rather subtle smile which on many faces, and
especially on those of ecclesiastics, tends to grow into one of
craft.

"He calls it an act of recantation, but we speak of it to the young
men as one of obedience and reconciliation. There will be here in
Oxford a solemn function, like unto what was seen not more than a
year ago in London, when those who have been excommunicated, but
are now about to be reconciled, will appear in procession, each
carrying a fagot for the fire which will be lighted at Carfax; and
having thrown their fagot, they will then throw upon the flames
some of those noxious books the poison of which has done such hurt
to them and others; and having thus humbled themselves to
obedience, they will be received and reconciled, and on Easter Day
will be readmitted to the holy ordinances from which they have been
excluded all these weeks."

"And Garret will take part in that act of obedience?" asked Arthur,
in subdued astonishment.

"He will. The cardinal has persuaded him to it. What means he has
used I know not, save that all has been done by gentle suasion, and
nothing wrung from him by cruelty or force. And thus it is that I
would deal with Anthony Dalaber. If I know aught of his nature, he
would stand like a rock against the fierce buffeting of angry
waves, he would go to the rack and the stake with courage and
constancy. But a friend may persuade where an adversary would only
rouse to obstinacy. And therefore have I sent for you, hoping that
you may have wisdom to deal with him and persuade him to this step;
for if he submit not himself, I fear to think what may be his
fate."

"I will willingly try my powers upon him," answered Arthur,
speaking slowly and with consideration. "I trow that the world will
lose a true and valuable man in losing Anthony Dalaber. It will go
far with him that Master Garret has consented to this act of
obedience and submission. But there is one other of whom he is sure
to ask. Is Master Clarke also about to take part in this ceremony
of reconciliation?"

A very troubled look clouded Dr. Higdon's face.

"Alas! you touch me near by that question. With Clarke we can
prevail nothing. And yet there is no more pious and devoted son of
the church than he; and God in heaven is my witness that I know him
for a most righteous and godly man, and that to hear him speak upon
these very matters brings tears to the eyes. His face is as the
face of an angel; his words are the words of a saint. My heart
bleeds when I think of him."

"Why, then, is he accounted heretic and excommunicate?"

"You may well ask. I have asked myself that same question, for, as
one of the canons of this college here, he is to me as a son. I was
wroth at the first when it was told that here in this place we had
a nest of pestilent heretics; but since I have come to know more of
John Clarke, the more do I grieve that such doctrine as he holds
should be condemned as heresy. It is true that he is unsound on
some points--that I may not deny; but he is so full of sweetness,
and piety, and the love of God and of the church, that I would hold
his errors lightly and his graces and gifts in esteem. But alas!
the bishop has heard much about his readings and his expounding of
the Scriptures. He vows that he and Garret and the monk Ferrar have
been the ringleaders in all this trouble, and that, unless they
formally recant and join in this act of open submission, they shall
be dealt with as obstinate heretics, and handed over to the secular
arm, to perish by fire."

Arthur's face grew suddenly pale to the lips.

"They would burn a saint like Clarke! God forgive them even for
such a thought! Truly men may say--"

Dr. Higdon raised his hand to stop Arthur's words, but his face was
full of distress and sympathy.

"We will trust and hope that such a fearful consummation will not
be necessary. The others have submitted; and Clarke is but a shadow
of himself, owing to the unwholesome nature of the place in which
he is confined. I do not despair yet of bringing him to reason and
submission. He is not like Dalaber. There is no stubbornness about
him. He will speak with sweet courtesy, and enter into every
argument with all the reasonableness of a great mind. But he says
that to walk in that procession, to take part in that act of
so-called recantation and reconciliation, would be in itself as a
confession that those things which he had held and taught were
heretical. And no argument will wring that admission from him. He
declares--and truly his arguments are sound and cogent--that he has
never spoken or taught any single doctrine which was not taught by
our Lord and His apostles and is not held by the Catholic Church.
And in vain do I quote to him the mandates of various Popes and
prelates. His answer ever is that, though he gives all reverence to
God's ministers and ordained servants in the church, it must ever
be to the Head that he looks for final judgment on all difficult
points, and he cannot regard any bishop in the church--not even the
Bishop of Rome--as being of greater authority than the Lord.

"It is here that his case is so hopeless. To subvert the authority
of the Pope is to shake the church to her foundations. But nothing
I say can make Clarke understand this. It is the one point upon
which he is obstinately heretical."

"But you still have hopes of inducing him to submit?"

"I shall not cease my efforts, or cease to hope," answered Dr.
Higdon earnestly, "for in truth I know not what will be the end if
he remain obstinate or, rather, I fear too much what that end will
be. If it lay with the cardinal, there would be hope; but the
bishop is obdurate. He is resolved to proceed to the uttermost
lengths. Pray Heaven Clarke may yet see the folly of remaining
obstinate, and may consent at the last to submit as the others have
done!"

"Have all done so?"

"There is Dalaber yet to win," answered the dean, "and there are a
few more--Sumner for one, and Radley for another--who have not
given the assurance yet. If Clarke would submit, they would do so
instantly; but they are near to him in the prison, and they can
speak with each other, and so they hang together as yet, and what
he does they will do. But their peril is not so great as his. The
bishop has not named any, save Garret, Ferrar, and Clarke, as the
victims of the extreme penalty of the law. Dalaber may well be
included if he remains obdurate, and therefore I am greatly
concerned that he should be persuaded.

"Think you that you can work upon him, were I to win you permission
to see him? I have heard that you did visit him awhile since, when
he was kept less strictly than is now the case. What was his frame
of mind then? and what hopes have you of leading him to a better
one?"

Arthur sat considering awhile, and then said:

"Dalaber is one of those upon whom none can rightly reckon. At one
moment he will be adamant, at another yielding and pliable. One day
his soul will be on fire, and nothing would move him; but in
another mood he would listen and weigh every argument, and might be
easily persuaded. One thing is very sure: gentleness would prevail
with him a thousand times more than harshness. A friend might
prevail where a foe would have no chance. I will gladly visit him,
and do what I can; but I would fain, if it might he accorded, see
Master Garret first, and take word to Dalaber of mine own knowledge
that he has promised submission."

The dean considered awhile, and then rose to his feet.

"Come, then," he said. "It is not known in Oxford yet; but the
cardinal has sent Garret here to me, to be kept in close ward till
the day of the reconciliation, now at hand. This is what is to take
place. The men who have been excommunicated and set in ward, but
who are ready to make submission, will be brought to trial a few
days hence, and will sign their recantation, as we call it, to the
cardinal, in the presence of the judges, who will then order them
to take part in this act of penance, after which they will be
admitted once more to communion, and have liberty to resume their
studies, or to return to their homes and friends, as best pleases
them. Thus we trust to purge Oxford of heresy. But if Master Clarke
remain obdurate, and others with him, I fear me there will be some
other and terrible scene ere this page of her history closes."

"Let me see Master Garret," said Arthur abruptly. "I would I might
also see Master Clarke. But whenever I ask this boon it is refused
me."

The dean shook his head slowly.

"No one is permitted access to him, save those who go to reason
with him; and so far we reason in vain. But I will admit you to the
other prisoner for a few minutes. You have been acquainted with him
in the past?"

"Slightly. He has never ranked as my friend, but I have known him
and met him. He is of my college, and I have been sorry that he has
used his knowledge of Oxford to spread trouble there."

Garret sprang up as Arthur entered the bare but not unwholesome
room where he was confined. He had grown very thin with the long
strain of flight, imprisonment, and hardship that had been his
portion of late. He greeted Arthur eagerly, his eyes aglow, and on
hearing somewhat of his errand he broke out into rapid and excited
speech.

"Tell Dalaber that the time is not ripe--that it lingers yet. I
have been warned of God in a dream. My hour has not yet come. There
is work yet for me to do, and how am I straitened till it be
accomplished! Yes; you need not shrink from me as from a
blasphemer. I hold that every man must follow in the steps of the
Lord, and drink of His cup, and be baptized with His baptism. But
He waited for His hour. He hid Himself and fled and conveyed
Himself away. He paid tribute to kings and rulers. He submitted
Himself to earthly parents, earthly potentates. And shall we not do
likewise? I would lay down my life in His service, and He knows it.
But something within me tells me that my work is not yet done. And
the church is yet holy, though she has in part corrupted herself.
If she will but cleanse herself from her abominations, then will we
work in her and not against her. Even the cardinal has spoken of
the purifying which must be accomplished. Yes, he has used good and
godly words, and I will wait and hope and trust. The Lord would be
served by one body, of which He is the Head. He wants one, and not
many. Let us have patience. Let us wait. Let us watch and pray. And
if we have to submit ourselves to painful humiliation in this life,
let us fix our eyes upon the crown of glory which is laid up for us
in the heavens, and which fadeth not away."

Arthur was convinced of the truth of what Dr. Higdon had spoken,
and saw that Garret's mind was made up to do what was required of
him. The young man was glad enough that this should be the case;
but he felt a certain contempt for the facile disposition of the
man, who, after spending years of his life and running innumerable
perils in the circulation of these books, could in a few weeks
consent to become a participant in the ceremony of solemnly burning
them, in acknowledgment that they were dangerous and evil in their
tendencies. Far greater was his admiration for Clarke, who, in
obedience to the vows he had taken, would have no hand in
distributing the forbidden volumes, yet in the hour of trial and
peril refused to take part in the ceremony which would be regarded
by the spectators and by the world at large as an admission that
the Word of God was not for the people, and that he, as a teacher
and preacher, had spoken unadvisedly with his lips in expounding
the living Word to his hearers.

With his mind full of these things Arthur found his way to the
prison, and was conducted to Dalaber's cell, which was more closely
guarded than at first. The young man, who had been prostrated by
fever at the first, had recovered in a measure now, but looked very
gaunt and wan and haggard; and he seized Arthur's hands, and wrung
them closely in his, whilst tears of emotion stood in his eyes.

"I thought you had forgotten me, Arthur!"

"Surely you know that I would have come had I been able. But of
late neither bribes nor entreaties have availed to gain me
entrance. How has it been with you, my friend?"

"Oh, I am weary of my life--weary of everything. I would they would
end it all as soon as may be; death is better than this death in
life. I am sick for the sight of the sun, for a breath of heaven's
pure air, for the sight of my Freda's face. Tell me, was it all a
dream, or did she indeed come to me?"

"She came, and she would have come again, but they made your
captivity closer at that time. She grows thin and pale herself in
grief and hunger for your fate, Anthony.

"But today I come to you with glad tidings of hope. In a few days
from this, if you act but wisely and reasonably, as your friends
and companions are about to do, you will stand a free man, and you
will see your Freda face to face, none hindering."

He staggered back almost as though he had been struck.

"I shall be free! I shall see Freda! Speak, Arthur! Of what are you
dreaming?"

"I am not dreaming at all. I come from the Dean of Cardinal
College, and from Master Garret, whom he has there in ward, but who
is also to be released at the same time. I was permitted speech
with him, that I might bring word to you, and that you might know
in very truth what was about to happen."

"And what is that? Speak!" cried Anthony, who was shaking all over
like an aspen.

To some temperaments hope and joy are almost more difficult to bear
than the blows of adverse fortune. Had the commissary come with
news that Dalaber was to suffer death for his faith, he would not
have found him so full of tremors, so breathless and shaken.

"I have come to speak," answered Arthur kindly, as he seated
himself upon the low pallet bed, and made Dalaber sit beside him.
"It is in this wise, Anthony. When you and your comrades were
taken, the heads and authorities were in great fear that all Oxford
was infect and corrupt by some pestilent heresy; but having found
and carefully questioned the young men of their faith, and having
read your confession, and heard more truly what hath been the
teaching they have heard and received, they find nothing greatly
amiss, and are now as anxious to deal gently and tenderly with you
all as at first they were hot to punish with severity. Had they the
power to do as they would, you might all be sent speedily to your
homes; but they have to satisfy the cardinal, and, worse still, the
bishop, and hence there must somewhat be done ere peace be
restored, to assure him that Oxford is purged and clean."

"And what will they do?" asked Dalaber, who was still quivering in
every nerve.

"Marry, nothing so very harsh or stern," answered Arthur, who was
feeling his way carefully, trying to combine truth and policy, but
erring distinctly on the side of the latter. "But those later books
which were found in your hiding place and Radley's room, which are
more dangerous and subversive than any that have gone before, are
to be cast solemnly out of the place; and, in truth, I think with
cause. See, I have brought you one or two to look at, to show you
how even Martin Luther contradicts himself and blasphemes. How can
the Spirit of God be in a man who will say such contrary things at
different times?"

And Arthur showed to Anthony a few marked passages in certain
treatises, in which the reformer, as was so often the case in his
voluminous and hastily-conceived and written works, had flatly
contradicted himself, to the perplexity and confusion of his
followers.

"Such books are full of danger," pursued Arthur, speaking rapidly
now. "I say nothing about the translated Scriptures; but the works
of a man, and one who is full of excitement and the spirit of
controversy, are like to be dangerous to the young. Let the church
read and decide, but do not you disseminate such works. It may be
more sinful than you have thought.

"And now for what will soon happen. You did see the same in London
once. There will be a fire in Carfax, and those who have circulated
and read such books will walk each with his fagot, and cast first
these and then the books upon the flames. So will the bishop be
satisfied, and so will peace be restored.

"Be not proud and disobedient, Anthony, and refuse to be reconciled
with the mother you have offended. The cardinal has shown even to
Master Garret the error of his ways, and he will be one to share in
this act of submission and reconciliation. He bid me tell you that
the hour has not yet come for any further blow to be struck. He,
like Master Clarke, now begins to hope that, having pleaded with
their mother, she will hear and cleanse herself from all defilement
and impurity. He will submit and be reconciled; and if he will do
this, surely you, friend Anthony, need not stand aloof."

Anthony was pacing the floor in hot excitement. He recalled the
scene at St. Paul's the previous year, and his face was working
with emotion.

"Am I to be called upon to burn the Word of God, as though it were
an unholy thing, to be cast forth from the earth?"

"No," answered Arthur boldly; "you will only be required to burn a
few pamphlets of Martin Luther and other reformers."

And he vowed in his heart that he would make good this word, and
that, whatever other men might do, Anthony's basket should contain
nothing but those later and fiery diatribes, which were certainly
not without their element of danger and error and falsehood.

"And if I refuse?"

Arthur answered with a patience and gentleness that went farther
than any sort of threat could have done.

"If you refuse, friend Anthony, I fear you will find yourself in
danger, and that not in a good or holy cause. For if Master Garret
and your comrades are willing to make a small sacrifice of pride,
and do a small penance to satisfy the bishop, who is in some sort
your lawful ruler in the church, so that peace and amity may be
restored, and hatred and variance banished from our university, it
were an ungracious act that you should refuse to join with them,
for they have sought by patience and kindliness to restore you to
your places; and surely it cannot be God's will that you should
hold back for this small scruple, and remain cut off from His
church by excommunication, as must surely be if you will not be
advised and humble yourself thus."

"What would Freda bid me do?" suddenly asked Anthony, who was much
agitated.

Arthur was thankful that he did not ask a question about Clarke.
The young man was doing his utmost to win his friend, and had been
reared in a school where it was lawful to do evil for the sake of
the good which should follow. But he did not wish to be driven to
falsehood, and it was with relief that he heard this question.

"When Freda came to see you she bid you live--live for her sake,"
he answered, without hesitation. "Let me leave that word with
you--live for her sake. Do not fling away your life recklessly. She
has begged that you will live. Therefore, for love of her, if for
no other reason, make this submission--be reconciled, and live."

Anthony's face was working; he was greatly moved; the tears rained
down his cheeks. But at last he seized Arthur's hands in his, and
cried:

"I will! I will! God forgive me if I judge amiss; but for her sake
I will do it, and live."




Chapter XV: The Fire At Carfax


"Magda, I want my reward."

She raised her eyes to his face, a deep flush suffused her cheek,
and then faded, leaving her somewhat paler than before.

"Thy reward, Arthur? And what is that?"

"Nothing less than thyself, my beloved," he answered, with a
passionate tenderness. "I have thy heart, thy love; these have been
enough this long while. Now I want thee, thine own self. Why should
we wait longer? Art thou not ready to give thyself to me--now?"

She let her lover draw her close to his side. She looked up at him,
and saw that his face was grave and pale. This gravity had grown
upon him of late, and she saw that lines of anxiety had begun to
appear on his brow, which had not been there six months ago. Her
woman's instinct of seeking to comfort and support came instantly
to her help.

"I will do all that thou dost wish of me, Arthur. If thou hast some
trouble, let me share it. A wife should be the helpmeet of her
husband in all things. If I am soon to be that, let me begin mine
office now."

He bent his head and kissed her, and drawing her hand through his
arm, began pacing to and fro in the budding nut walk, where the
tender flickering green of early springtide was shimmering in the
golden sunlight.

"My Magda, I have been thinking much of late. I have many plans,
and some of them must needs be carried out in all haste. But ere I
can fulfil them as I would, I must needs have my wife at my side to
help and support me. There will be woman's work as well as man's,
and such work as thou dost love."

"Tell me," she said, lifting her eyes to his face.

"Magda, thou dost know that tomorrow there will be a form of trial,
and Anthony Dalaber and others will make submission, be condemned
to do penance, and in a few days will fulfil that penance, and then
be restored to communion with the church, and to liberty and life?"

"Yes, I know," answered Magdalen gravely.

"And when this has been done, and they are free, it will be better,
far better, that they should quit Oxford for a while, and remain in
some seclusion, away from prying eyes and from the suspicion which
must attach to all those upon whom the taint of heresy has once
fallen. Oxford will be no place for them for a while."

"I can believe that they would be happier elsewhere," she answered.
"But I sometimes fear for Anthony. He will suffer from agonies of
shame and remorse; I know he will. Thou dost think him right to
make submission, but he will feel that in so doing he has denied
his faith and his Lord. I fear for him, and so does Freda. She is
very unhappy."

"I know it," answered Arthur quickly; "I can see both sides of this
most difficult question of conscience. But I may not be the one to
blame Anthony, for I have greatly persuaded him to this act of
submission, and I would that, if blame attach to any in Freda's
mind, she should throw that blame on me. I will speak with her
later anent the matter.

"But, Magda, this is the plan I am revolving in my mind. I would
provide for Anthony and for others a place of rest and peace and
refreshment, where they can regain health of body and serenity of
spirit. And where better than at the old manor near to Poghley,
where we have spent so many happy days of yore? But I would have my
wife with me there--not as guest, but as mistress of the house. And
Freda would have a home with us, and thy father likewise, when he
desired it. But thou dost know how that he greatly desires to visit
Italy; and wert thou my wife, and Freda beneath our care, then he
could start with a free heart upon his journey. And we would take
up our abode together at Poghley, and live such a life as I have
sometimes dreamed of, but which has ever seemed too fair and
peaceful for attainment in this world of strife."

Magdalen's eyes grew bright and big with the rush of thoughts that
came over her.

"And thou wouldst have Anthony and his friends, and would seek for
them there health, both of body and of spirit? Oh, that would be a
sweet and commendable work, Arthur. I would that I might share it
with thee."

"And so thou shalt, my beloved, for alone I should be sorely let
and hindered. Anthony shall be our guest and kinsman--soon to be
our brother; for he is without home, and his brother in Dorset is a
man of fierce temper, and has sent him a violently accusing letter
on hearing what has happened in Oxford, which has cut him to the
quick. He will be in sore need of comfort and repose; and if there
be others in like case with him, whose friends will only persecute
and revile them, then let them come to us also. Ours shall be a
house of refuge for the distressed and oppressed.

"Thou wilt not refuse to aid me in that task, Magda? I know that
thy heart yearns always over all who suffer from sorrow and pain,
even though they may in some sort have brought this upon
themselves."

"I should love such a task," answered the girl earnestly; "I would
ask nothing better myself than to tend and comfort those who have
suffered in such a cause. But thou, Arthur--how hast thou come to
think of such a thing? Thou hast never been one of the brethren;
thou hast never been touched by heresy; thou hast ever deplored the
rashness of those who have committed themselves to such courses;
and yet thou art showing thyself now the friend of all."

He looked straight before him with a thoughtful smile.

"These men will be 'purged from heresy,' as it is called, ere I
offer them the shelter of my house," he answered. "I am risking
nothing by so doing. And in truth, sweetheart, if there were
somewhat to risk, methinks I would be willing to do the same, if
thou didst not shrink from the task. Whether we study the
Scriptures for ourselves, or whether we let the church expound
them, one lesson we always learn if we listen and read aright, and
that is the lesson of charity. We are brethren in Christ, if we are
bound by no closer tie--no tie of our own making. Christ was ever
merciful to the sick, the afflicted, the erring, the desolate, and
we are bidden to follow in His steps. He did not shut Himself up
behind walls to live the life of meditation; He walked amongst men,
and bid men come to Him. In lesser measure we may surely do the
same; and this is what I would fain attempt in these days of
trouble for so many--bind up the broken heart, give medicine to the
sick, rest to the weary, cheering and comfort to those who are cast
down in spirit. It may be little we can accomplish, but let us do
that little with all our might. I trust and hope that God will give
us His blessing, and grant us power to be a blessing to others."

Dr. Langton heard Arthur's proposal with great satisfaction. He had
grown somewhat weary of his life in Oxford, and was desirous of
taking a long journey into foreign countries, to pursue there some
studies which would require the assistance of foreign libraries.
Moreover, the frequent outbreaks of sickness now sweeping over
Oxford, and especially during the summer months, had aroused his
concern, and made him anxious to remove his daughters into some
more healthy place. Latterly this matter had appeared likely to
arrange itself, with the betrothal of the girls respectively to
Anthony Dalaber and Arthur Cole. Still there might be a lapse of
several years between betrothal and marriage, and he was seriously
meditating the best course to pursue, when Arthur's proposition
came as a solution of the problem.

Marriages were very quickly and easily performed in those days.
They could be consummated at the briefest notice. And Magdalen,
having given her promise, was ready to give her hand at any time
that Arthur should desire, and depart with him at once for the new
home, whither Freda and their father would quickly follow them, and
any amongst their suffering friends who, on release, desired that
haven of peace and rest.

The trial of the tainted students was over. It was Arthur who
brought word to the Bridge House as to what had been the result.
All day Freda had moved to and fro with restless steps and burning
eyes. Her whole being seemed rent asunder by the depth of her
emotion. What would Anthony say and do? How would he comport
himself? Would he yield and sign the recantation, and join in the
act of humiliation and penance, or would he at the last stand firm
and refuse compliance? Which choice did she wish him to make? Could
she bear to see him treated as an outcast and heretic--he, her
faithful, devoted Anthony? But would he ever be quite the same in
her eyes, if he, to save himself from the pains and penalties which
beset him, drew back and denied those things which he believed?

She knew not what to think, what to wish. She paced the house and
garden with restless steps, and when Arthur came at last, her
agitation was so great that she could not speak a word.

But her face was eloquent of her emotion, and he kept her not a
moment in suspense.

"All has gone well," he answered, "with Anthony as with the rest.
They were gently handled and fairly spoken. The confession of faith
demanded of them was such as no Christian man could hesitate to
make. They were admonished for disobedience, but the errors with
which they were charged were not sternly pressed home. They were
asked if they desired to be reconciled and restored to communion;
and on affirming that they did, they were only bidden to take part
in the public act of penance of which they had already heard. All
consented to do this, and were then removed to their several
prisons; and four days hence will this act of penance be performed,
after which our friends will be restored to us and to the church
once more."

"And Anthony consented with the rest?" asked Freda, with pale lips
and wistful eyes.

"He did."

Arthur looked her full in the face as he spoke.

"Anthony might perchance have refused compliance, had it not been
for me, Freda. If thou hast any blame for him in this matter, let
it rest upon my head, not upon his."

"Thou didst persuade him?"

"I did. I would do so again. Anthony is young, hot headed,
impulsive, rash. Whatever he may grow to in the future, whatever
convictions he may then hold, he is not fit yet to be a leader of
men, to take up an attitude of defiance to the laws and statutes of
the university--leaving the church out of the question--to ruin his
career in an impulse which may not be a lasting one. Let him and
others have patience. Those things which they ask they may likely
obtain without such fierce struggle and such peril. Let men bear
the yoke in their youth; it does them no hurt. To be cast forth
from the communion of the church would be a greater hurt to
Anthony, body and soul, than to do a penance which may do violence
to some of his cherished convictions. In this world we ofttimes
have to choose, not between absolute right and wrong, but between
two courses, neither of which is perfect; and then we are forced to
consider which is the less imperfect of the two. I trow that
Anthony has made a wise choice; but if to you it seems not so, I
pray you blame me rather than him, for I did plead with him more
than once, and right earnestly, to take this way. I did use your
name also, and begged of him to live for your sake; and methinks
that argument did more prevail with him than any other I could have
urged."

Freda drew her breath rather hard, but the expression of her face
softened.

"You did bid him do it for my sake? Did he think that I would have
thus bidden him act?"

"I know not that, but it is like. Remember, sweet Freda, how that,
when thou didst see him in his prison, thou didst rain kisses and
tears upon his face, and bid him live for thee. How could I not
remind him of that? And wouldst thou not rather that he should live
than die?"

"Oh yes, oh yes! I cannot bear to think of that other terrible
peril. I am torn in twain by grief and perplexity. Why do they make
it so hard for men to take the perfect way? He would be faithful
unto death--I know he would--if he could but see his course clear.
But as it is, who can tell what is the best and most right way? To
be cut off from the Church of Christ--it is so terrible! Yet to
tamper with conscience--is not that terrible too?"

"They made it as easy for them as was possible," answered Arthur
gently; "let not us make it hard afterwards. Anthony would
suffer--it is his nature--whatever course he took. To be
excommunicate is keen pain to one of his devout nature; to do
penance for what he holds to be no act of sin or heresy will pain
him, likewise--not the humiliation of the pageant alone, but the
fear lest he has taken a false step and denied his Lord. It is for
us, his friends, to receive him joyfully, and restore him to peace
and comfort. Be sure that Christ would pardon him, even though he
may find it hard to pardon himself."

Freda sighed, but her face softened. Magdalen asked a whispered
question.

"And Master Clarke--did he submit?"

"He was not called," answered Arthur gravely; "some say he is too
sick to appear, others that he has recanted, but has been spared
joining in the procession because that he and two more are not able
to walk. Others, again, say that he will not abjure the errors with
which he is charged, nor take part in the prescribed penance. I
have not been suffered to see him. I know not how it may be. But in
sooth, if he be sick as they say, it were time they let him forth
from his prison. It is not right nor justice that men should be
done to death in noisome dungeons when no crime has been proven
against them."

The girls' faces were pale with horror and pity.

"Canst thou do nothing, Arthur?" pleaded Magdalen. "Thou art rich,
and powerful, and well known to so many. Canst thou do nothing to
aid them?"

"I will do what I can, once the act of penance be over," he
answered. "Till then it is useless to stir, for they will seek to
work upon them to the very last moment by threats, or by argument,
or by entreaty. Should they prove obstinate to the last, I know not
what will befall. But if they are like to perish in the prison, it
may be that the dean's word will prevail for their release. He is
grieved that one so godly in his life and conversation should
suffer so cruelly. When this act has been accomplished, belike they
may listen to the words of his friends, unless the cruel will of
the bishop prevail, and he is sent to a fiery death."

It was a very quiet wedding on the morrow that united Magdalen
Langton and Arthur Cole as man and wife. They were married at an
early hour in St. Mary's Church, and set off that same day for the
old manor house, which was to be their future home. Freda could
not, however, be persuaded to accompany them on that day.

"I must see the fire at Carfax," she said; "I would see it with
mine own eyes. Afterwards I will come to you, and will bring
Anthony with me; but not till I have seen this thing for myself. I
cannot help it. I must be there."

Magdalen entreated awhile, but Freda stood firm.

"I must see the fire at Carfax," she answered; and at last they
forbore to press her, knowing her mind was made up.

It wanted but a few days to Easter when the day came for which
Freda had waited with feverish, sleepless eyes. The sun rose clear
and bright birds carolled in the gladness of their hearts; all
nature was filled with the joy of happy springtide; but there was a
heavy cloud resting upon Freda's spirits.

"I will not blame him; I will speak no word of reproach. In this
hard strait should I have been more brave? It may be he is doing
what he believes most right. I will not believe him unfaithful to
his truer self. Who can judge, save God alone, of what is the most
right thing to do in these dark and troublous days?"

She rose and donned a black gown, and shrouded herself in a long
cloak, the hood of which concealed her face. She was very pale, and
there were rings around her eyes that told of weeping and of vigil.
Oh, how she had prayed for Anthony, that he might be pardoned
wherein he might sin, strengthened wherein he was weak, purified
and enlightened in the inner man, and taught by the Holy Spirit of
God!

As she walked through the streets by her father's side, and marked
the gathering crowd thronging towards Carfax and the route to be
taken by the procession, she seemed to hear the words beaten out by
the tread of hurrying feet: "Faithful unto death--faithful unto
death--unto death!" till she could have cried aloud in the strange
turmoil of her spirit, "Faithful unto death--unto death!"

There was a convenient window in the house of a kindly citizen,
which had been put at her father's disposal. When they took their
places at it they saw the men already at work over the bonfire in
the centre of the cross roads. All the windows and the streets were
thronged with curious spectators, and almost at once the tolling of
the bells of various churches announced that the ceremony was about
to begin.

The procession, it was whispered about, was to start from St.
Mary's Church, to march to Carfax, where certain ceremonies were to
be performed, and then to proceed to St. Frideswyde, where a solemn
Mass would be performed, to which the penitents would be admitted.
Then, with a solemn benediction, they would be dismissed to their
own homes, and admitted to communion upon Easter Day.

Freda sat very still at the window, hearing little beside the heavy
beating of her own heart and the monotonous tolling of the bells.
The crowd was silent, too, and almost all the people were habited
in black, partly out of respect to the season of the Lord's
passion, partly because this ceremony took the nature of a solemn
humiliation.

Perhaps there were many standing in that close-packed crowd who
knew themselves to have been as "guilty"--if guilt there were--as
those who were compelled to do penance that day. There was evident
sympathy on many faces, and the girl, looking down from above,
noted how many groups there were talking earnestly and quietly
together, and how they threw quick glances over their shoulders, as
though half afraid lest what they were saying might be overheard.

"I trow there are many here who have dared to read the Word of God
and discuss it freely together, and compare the church as it now is
with the church, the Bride of the Lamb. I wonder if they would have
all submitted, had it been their lot to stand before those judges
and hear the sentence pronounced."

A thrill seemed suddenly to pass through the crowd; the people
pressed forward and then surged back.

"They are coming! they are coming!" the whisper went round, and
Freda felt the blood ebbing away from her cheeks, and for a moment
her eyes were too dim to see.

The solemn procession of heads and masters, clerks and beadles,
seemed to swim before her in a quivering haze. Her strained eyes
were fixed upon those other figures bringing up the rear--those men
in the garb of the penitent, each bearing a fagot on his shoulder,
and carrying a lighted taper in his hand.

Was Anthony among them? She held her breath in a sickening
suspense, scarce knowing whether or not she longed to see him. She
knew almost each face as it loomed up into view: there was young
Fitzjames, their kinsman, looking shame-faced but submissive; there
were Udel and Diet, Bayley, Cox, and others whom she had never
suspected of having been concerned in the movement; and there,
almost at the rear of the long procession, walked Anthony Dalaber,
his dark, thin face looking worn and haggard, his hair tumbled and
unkempt, his dark eyes bent upon the ground, his feet slow and
lagging, but whether from weakness or unwillingness she was not
able to say. She held her breath to watch him as he appeared. She
saw the heavy frown upon his brow; she marked the change which had
come over him--the cloud which seemed to envelop him. She knew that
he was bowed to the ground with shame and humiliation, and with
that sort of fierce despair of which she had seen glimpses in his
nature before now.

Suddenly all the old tenderness rushed over her as in a flood. She
forgot her sense of disappointment in his lack of firmness; she
forgot how he had boasted of his courage and devotion, and how, in
the time of temptation and trial, he had let himself be persuaded
to take the easier path; she forgot all save that he had loved her,
and that she had loved him, and that love can surmount all things,
because its essence is divine. If he had fallen, he had suffered
keenly. Suffering was stamped upon every line of his face.

Was not God's love for sinners so great that before the world
repented of its wickedness He gave His Son to die for an atonement
and expiation? Must we then not love those who err, and who repent
of their weakness? Nay, are we not all sinners, all weak, all frail
and feeble beings in weak mortal bodies? Shall we judge and condemn
one another? Shall we not rather seek to strengthen one another by
love and tenderness, and so lead one another onward in the way
which leads to life everlasting?

These thoughts rushed like a flood through Freda's mind as she
watched through a mist of tears the throwing of the fagots and the
books upon the fire at Carfax. Three times did the penitents walk
round the fire, the bells tolling, and the crowd observing an
intense silence, as the servants handed to the young men books from
the baskets to fling upon the fire.

Only one was given to Anthony, and he gave one quick glance before
he threw it into the heart of the blaze. Arthur Cole had been as
good as his word. It was no portion of God's Word that he was
condemned to burn, but a pamphlet of peculiar bitterness by one of
the foreign reformers.

Then the procession formed up again, and started for its final
goal; and Freda, rising, laid her hand upon her father's arm and
said:

"Take me home, I prithee, sweet father--take me home first. I have
seen enough. I would now go home. And then, when all is over, go
thou to St. Frideswyde and bring Anthony to me."




Chapter XVI: "Reconciled"


Anthony sat with his face buried in his hands, in an attitude of
profound dejection. He was gaunt and haggard and worn to a shadow,
and Freda's gentle, pitying gaze held in its depths nothing but
love and tender compassion.

The first rapture of meeting once again had passed. The exultant
joy engendered by a sense of freedom had lasted for several hours.
Anthony had laughed and sung aloud and shouted for joy in the shady
alleys of the garden, amid all the blissful sights and sounds of
springtide. He had wandered there with Freda beside him in a sort
of trance of happiness, in which all else had been forgotten. The
joy to both had been so keen, so exquisite, that it had sufficed
them for the present.

But with the falling of the softened dusk, with the setting of the
sun, with the natural and inevitable reaction upon an enfeebled
body and sensitive spirit, following upon a severe and protracted
strain, Dalaber's spirits had suddenly left him. An intense
depression both of body and mind had followed, and in the gathering
twilight of that familiar room he sat in an attitude of profound
dejection, whilst Freda scarce knew whether it were better to seek
to find words of comfort, or to leave him alone to fight out the
inevitable battle.

"Why did I do it? Why did I consent?" he suddenly broke out. "Why
did I listen to the voice of the charmer? Would it have been so
hard to die? Will it not be harder to live with the stain of this
sin upon my soul?"

"'The blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin,'"
spoke Freda very softly.

"And I have denied my Lord--in deed, if not in word," and he
groaned aloud.

"It was an act of submission and obedience," spoke Freda, using the
arguments familiar to her. "Nor did you yourself cast upon the fire
the precious Word of God; you did not deny your faith. You
affirmed--so they say--your assent to the doctrines of Holy Church,
and did penance for past disobedience. Is that a matter to grieve
so greatly over?"

She spoke very gently, yet not as though her heart went altogether
with her words. Anthony raised his head and broke out into vehement
speech, which she welcomed gladly after the long silence of utter
depression.

"They made it easy for us. They sought to win us by gentle methods.
They knew that the most of us loved Holy Church, and were loath
indeed to be divorced from her communion. They did not bid us in so
many words to deny those things which we have held--the right of
every man to hold in his hand the Word of God, and to read and
study it for himself; but they made us perform an act which in the
eyes of the world will be taken to mean as much--to mean that we
acknowledge the sinfulness of circulating that precious, living
Word, and are ready to cast it into the flames like an unholy and
corrupt thing.

"And I consented. I let them persuade me. I let mine eyes be
blinded. And now, whither shall I go? I have denied my Lord. I have
sinned in His sight. I have not taken up my cross and followed Him.
I have sought to save my life, and yet I had thought myself ready
to follow Hun to the cross and the grave."

"Like Peter," spoke Freda softly. "Yet the Lord looked upon him
with tender love; and He forgave him freely and fully, and gave him
special charge to strengthen the brethren, to feed the sheep and
the lambs. The Lord wore our mortal flesh. He knows that it is
weak. He understands all. Be not too much cast down, my Anthony.
Perchance in the past thou didst too much trust in thine own
strength. In the days to come let us look ever more and more to the
Lord Himself. He will first forgive, and then confirm His strength
in us."

"In us? But thou hast ever been strong in faith," spoke Anthony
quickly. "I can read it in thine eyes how that thou dost hold me
weak and wavering. Had it been thou who wast thus tried, I trow
thou wouldst have stood firm."

"Indeed I know not that, Anthony," she answered earnestly, "and I
dare not say that I did desire it of thee. I was rent in twain by
the struggle. If, indeed, patience and tenderness are shown by
those in authority to the sons they hold to be in error, then love
should be met by love. We must not rend the body of the Lord by
needless strife and contention, if other and gentler means may with
patience prevail. We know that obedience and submission to the
powers that be are enjoined upon us; yet we know that we must keep
our conscience void of reproach. It is hard, indeed, to judge; but
let us always seek to take the highest path, and if we fall by
reason of weakness in faith, in judgment, or in spirit, let us pray
the more fervently for the Spirit of truth to guide us into all
truth, and keep us pure within."

They had been so earnestly talking that they had not heard the
sound of steps and voices in the house, and started when the door
was suddenly opened by young Fitzjames, who ushered in Garret and
the monk Robert Ferrar.

Dalaber started to his feet. He had seen both these former
companions of his in the procession that morning, but not a word
had been exchanged between them. He stood gazing at them with a
strange mixture of emotion.

"Anthony Dalaber, we have come to say farewell," said Garret, whose
thin, white face and the burning brightness of his eyes testified
to the struggle through which his own spirit had passed. "For the
present the brotherhood is broken up; for the present the powers of
the world are too strong for us; but the day will come when the
truth shall be vindicated, when it shall shine forth as the sun in
his strength, and we of the faith will be the first to welcome the
rising rays. Be not afraid; be not cast down. The Lord will arise,
and His enemies will be scattered. And there is work for us all to
do, to prepare for His appearing. Let us not be weary in well
doing. Though we have bent our heads to the storm, yet we will lift
them up with joy anon, knowing that redemption draweth nigh. You
believe that, Anthony Dalaber?"

"I verily believe that God will visit the earth and His church, and
that He will sit as a refiner, and purify her from all impurities;
but whether He will condescend to use again such imperfect
instruments as we have proved, I do not know. We have bowed
ourselves in the house of Rimmon. Shall we ever be fit for the
service of the house of God?"

Garret was still for a moment, silenced by the strange expression
of concentrated remorse upon Dalaber's face. It was Ferrar who
spoke in his low, even voice.

"'And when I bow myself in the house of Rimmon, the Lord pardon his
servant in this thing. And Elisha said unto him, Go in peace.'"

Deep silence fell upon the room, and then Freda spoke.

"I think God is ever more merciful than man. God reads the heart,
and He knows that, though men may fail through weakness, they may
rise again in His strength and yet do valiantly."

"I will yet live to do Him service!" cried Garret, with kindling
eyes. "I will yet live that I may lay down my life for Him if He
call me. If I have been deceived this once, He will lead me aright
in the days to come. Mine hour will yet come; I know it, I feel it.
And He shall see then that Thomas Garret will not shrink even from
death for His name's sake."

Dalaber looked straight into his face.

"I consented to take part in this penance today because I heard
that you had submitted. I believed that all had done so. Had I
known that Master Clarke had refused, God helping me, I would have
refused also; for surely never was there a man who had so fully the
mind of the Lord Jesus as John Clarke."

Garret's glance fell before that burning gaze. He too had noted
that Clarke was not amongst the penitents, and it had cut like a
knife into his heart. He had always been so ready with his
protestations of willingness to die for the faith, yet he had been
won over to an act which looked like one of recantation. Clarke had
never boasted, had always spoken with gentle warning of the dangers
which beset them, and his doubts as to whether they should have
strength to withstand the fiery trial if it came upon them. There
had been times when Garret had openly charged him with being
lukewarm in the cause. Yet Clarke lay still in his noisome prison,
excommunicate, and in danger of death at the stake, whilst they
stood free men, reconciled to the church, and restored to her
favour.

Whose position was that of most true blessedness? Garret twisted
his hands nervously together as this flood of thought came surging
over him.

"They say that Clarke would have been there," spoke young
Fitzjames, "but that he was too enfeebled by captivity to walk in
the procession."

"That is false," said Freda, in a low voice. "Master Clarke might
have won his liberty with the rest, but he refused to take any part
in the spectacle today at Carfax."

"Yet he never circulated the books," broke out Garret. "He ofttimes
cautioned me against importing too many of the treatises written in
Germany. He would not approve all that they contained. He could
have cast such books upon the flames without violating his
conscience. Wherefore was he not there with the rest of us?"

It was Freda who, after a pause, made answer:

"He knew that men would not distinguish between the burning of
books by men and the burning of the precious Word of God. It was
this that held him back."

"Yea, verily," cried Dalaber, with a blaze of his old excitement,
"he was true to his conscience, and we were not. He knew that those
who saw that procession would regard it as an admission of heresy.
He was no heretic, and he would have neither part nor lot with it.
He has ever stood firm in this--that the church of the living God
is pure and holy, and that she asks no such acts of submission and
recantation from her sons, when their only desire has been to extol
Him and to make His way clear upon earth. How could his pure and
holy spirit make confession of evil? He could not, and he would
not. He will lay down his life for the gospel's sake; but he will
not be deceived, as we were.

"I can see it now as I could not when the walls of prison and the
mists of fever were closing me in. We have, as it were, admitted
that to read the Word of God and to give it to others to read is a
sin against the church. He has stood on the ground he adopted from
the first--that the church has never forbidden it, and that those
who do so are not her true and faithful stewards and ministers; and
for that conviction he is ready to die. He will not let himself be
deceived or cajoled. His light is the light from above, and it will
shine upon his path to the very end."

Ferrar and Garret had no intention of lingering long. They were
about to go forth together into the world--probably to make their
way to Germany--and Garret had had some thought that Dalaber might
possibly accompany them on their journey. But they saw that he had
other views for himself, and did not even ask him.

The spell which Garret had once exercised upon him was broken now.
They would ever be as friends and brothers in a good cause, but the
special tie had snapped. Garret was no longer a hero in the eyes of
Dalaber, and he felt the subtle change which had come over his
ex-pupil.

So they clasped hands warmly, exchanged farewells, and the two
companions passed out into the darkening night, whilst young
Fitzjames lingered wistfully, and brightened as Freda bade him take
up his old quarters in that pleasant house.

"And on the morrow we will all travel to Poghley together; and you,
Fitzjames, shall take word to others who have suffered imprisonment,
and whose friends, perchance, may look coldly upon them, that they
are welcome to Arthur's house, if they desire a brief space for rest
and refreshment. It is open to all who have suffered, but are now
'reconciled,' as it is termed. Anthony and I go thither early in the
day, and any who desire may come with or follow after us."

"I feel as though I never wished to set eyes on Oxford again, once
I get free from it!" cried the youth, who felt bitterly the
ignominy and hardships through which he had passed.

He had submitted to the imposed penance, having, indeed, no very
strong opinions of his own upon controverted subjects, though he
had heard much, and received the new doctrines with open mind. But
now he felt as though he hated the rulers of the church with a deep
and implacable hatred. His boyhood seemed to have passed away from
him during those weeks of harsh imprisonment; and he came forth a
man, with a stern hatred of bigotry and intolerance, with no
formulated plan of action or resistance, with no very definite
opinions as to doctrine or dogma, but with a fixed resolve to cast
in his lot with those who were fighting for liberty of conscience,
or liberty in any form, and with a strong hope that he might live
to see the day when he should break a lance for the cause he had
espoused.

It was indeed too often that men's hearts were filled with
bitterness, and that those in places of power and authority made
themselves bitter enemies, even of those towards whom they were
kindly disposed; whilst the day was coming slowly but surely when
they were to reap what they had sown.

It was a soft and radiant evening when Freda and her father and
Dalaber rode slowly through the gates which led to the moated manor
where Arthur Cole and his bride awaited them. Fitzjames and a few
others were to follow. But these three, with a couple of servants,
arrived first; and upon their approach through the golden green of
the beech avenue, Magdalen flew, as it were, to meet her twin, and
the sisters were clasped in each other's arms. Arthur was not far
behind his fleet-footed spouse, and was clasping hands with
Dalaber, and gazing long and searchingly into his face.

"Welcome, my friend, welcome!" he said. "It is good to see you
stand a free man once more. You have suffered, Anthony; I can see
it all too clearly in your face. But I trust that the dark days are
over now, and that better times are in store. In the sweet security
of home we will seek to forget those trials and troubles which have
gone before."

Dalaber looked round him at the awakening beauty of the springtide
world, and a lump seemed to rise in his throat. His face contracted
as though with a spasm of pain, and he spoke in sharpened accents
of suffering.

"The world of nature looks--thus--to me. And Master Clarke lies
rotting in a foul prison, in peril of his life both from sickness
and from the cruel malice of the bishop. How can I forget? How can
I be happy? Methinks sometimes I would he more truly happy were I
lying beside him there."

Arthur drew Dalaber a little away from the rest.

"Have you had news of him?"

"Such news as might be had. Some of the brethren, if they can still
be so called, when they are as sheep scattered without a
shepherd--some of them came to bid me adieu and speak comforting
words. I asked them one and all of him, our beloved teacher; but
none had seen him--only they had one and all made inquiry after
him, and one had heard this, and the other that. But all affirmed
that he, together with Sumner and Radley, was lying in a foul
prison, sick unto death with the fever that besets those who lie
too long in these noisome holes, or, as some said, with the
sweating sickness, which has shown itself once more in Oxford.

"But since he refused to take part in the scene at Carfax, and as
his companions were firm as himself, they are kept yet in the same
foul place. And if help come not they will certainly die; for how
can men recover of sickness without some care, or tendance, or
better nourishment than will be given them there? Ah, it makes my
blood boil to think of it!"

It was almost impossible for Dalaber to rejoice in his own freedom
and in the beauty of all about him, so woeful were his thoughts
about this man whom he so greatly loved. He went to his room that
night, but sleep came not to him. He paced to and fro in a strange
tumult of mind; and with the first light of dawn he clad himself in
his riding suit, and when the household began to stir he sought a
servant, and bade him tell the master that he desired instant
speech of him.

Arthur came in brief space, and looked with surprise into Dalaber's
pale, set face. His wan looks told of his sleepless vigil, but he
gave no chance for questions to be asked. He spoke himself, and
that rapidly.

"Arthur, I must forthwith to London. Canst thou lend me a good
horse? Else I must needs go afoot."

"A horse! Why, the pick of the stable is at thy service, friend
Anthony. But whither away so fast, and wherefore?"

"I go to seek speech with the cardinal."

"With the cardinal, quotha? And wherefore with him?"

"I go to ask the life of Master Clarke. They say the cardinal is
not bloodthirsty or cruel. I will prove that for mine own self. And
if a victim must needs be had, I will offer myself in his place.

"Yes, Arthur, I will. Seek not to stay me by fair words. Methinks I
have had too much of such. I have been cozened both by friend and
by foe--for mine own good, as they would say, but not I. My heart
is heavy and hot within me. If Clarke is to lie languishing in
prison, let me lie there with him. There can be a worse prison
house of the soul than any made by bolts and bars. We can suffer as
keenly in such a place as this as in the lowest depth of a dungeon.
I have made trial of both. I know what I say. Seek not to stay me,
good Arthur, for I must needs go. The fire burns hot within me. It
will not be quenched."

Arthur looked keenly at him. He was silent for a very brief while,
and then he spoke quietly and persuasively.

"Thou shalt go, Anthony; but wait only for Monday. Thou art in need
of rest, and upon the eve of the festival of Easter thou wouldst
never get nigh to the cardinal. Thou art not fit for the long ride
today. In two days more thou wilt be in better case for the
journey. And I myself will be thy companion, for I have some
friends in high places who will lend me their help; and it will be
strange if together we cannot succeed in obtaining sight and speech
of the cardinal, and proffering our petition. Only wait these two
days, that thou mayest be more fit for the fatigues lying before
thee."

Dalaber would fain have been off that moment, but he saw the force
of Arthur's words; and, in truth, the long strain was telling
heavily upon him, and as he stood he almost reeled from weakness.
He was in no fit state for another day's riding; and when Freda
added her voice to that of Arthur, he consented to put off his
journey until after Easter.

Yet he looked straight into her eyes in making this concession, and
added firmly:

"But when the time comes I must go. And thou wilt bid me Godspeed,
my beloved; and if this journey should perchance bring me hurt--if
I should not return to thee therefrom--thou wilt not grieve over it
too much. Thou wouldst not withhold me, Freda?"

She looked into his eyes. She knew that peril might menace her
lover. It was as though he would, having once escaped, put his head
again into the jaws of the lion. None could say, if he and the
cardinal met, what might be the result to the impulsive but not
always discreet Dalaber. It seemed as though some power from within
urged him to make a confession, different from the one he had so
recently signed. It seemed as though his conscience would not let
him rest--as though he felt that he had been guilty of some act of
treachery towards his Lord.

Freda understood. She would not hold him back, though her eyes
filled with tears as he put the question.

"I will never withhold thee from what thou dost deem the right path
to tread, my beloved," she answered. "I will trust thee in the
hands of the all-loving Father, and pray that He may deliver thee
out of all peril. Be not rash. That is all I ask. Be as Master
Clarke--gentle, faithful, true, pure of heart and blameless of
speech. I ask nothing more of thee. Be true unto thine own better
self, and thou wilt be supported and upheld through all."

Arthur and his wife spoke much of the proposed journey.

"Wilt thou risk aught by it, my husband?" asked Magdalen, with a
tender anxiety in voice and look.

"I risk but little--nothing, perhaps; and right glad am I to
proffer this petition for our dear friend and teacher, Master
Clarke. It may be we shall fail in what we seek to accomplish, and
it may be that Anthony may fall once again under suspicion, and be
cast into prison as a heretic. No man can forecast these things,
and he will not seek to save himself this time.

"He has suffered already from tampering with his conscience.
Perchance I overbore him too much. It is hard to know what a man in
such straits should do. But I will seek to safeguard him all I can,
and bring him safely back. And if we win our petition, and gain
liberty for those three sick prisoners, it will be worth all the
risk and labour we have undergone to gain it."

"Hast ever had speech with the cardinal before?" asked Magdalen,
trembling a little at the thought.

"I have been in his company at times, but received nothing but a
fleeting glance or a passing word of courtesy. I have watched him
in converse with others many times. He hath a stately presence, and
a great gift of speech. He can win hearts by the grace and
kindliness of his address, or he can send men away quaking in fear
by the flash of his eagle eye and the stern rebukes which fall from
his lips. And none can know beforehand which will be his fashion of
receiving a petition, and particularly such a petition as ours.

"In God's hands must we leave the issues. But at least for such a
man as John Clarke it must surely be right to adventure somewhat. I
will go with Anthony. Together, I trust, we shall succeed."

"And we at home will pray day and night for your success," answered
the young wife, clinging to her husband, from whom she must make up
her mind to part on an errand that might be fraught with peril;
"and surely I think that God will hear and answer us, and give you
grace and power to intercede."

So as soon after Easter as Anthony was fit for the saddle the two
friends started off together on horseback for London, whilst the
wife and the betrothed stood to watch them away, waving them a
farewell, and hiding from their eyes the starting tears, which were
only allowed to fall when the sisters were left alone together.




Chapter XVII: The Clemency Of The Cardinal


The great man sat in his private closet, with the ivory crucifix in
the corner before the prie dieu chair, a wonderful picture of the
annunciation on the wall, where he could see it every time he
lifted his eyes, and a table piled with papers before him, though
piled with a certain method and order which enabled him to lay his
hand in a moment upon any required document.

He wore the scarlet robes of his office, and a scarlet skullcap was
on his head. His features were those of the ascetic and man of the
world. The skin was pale and slightly sallow, like old parchment;
the hair was turning white, and was thin upon the temples. The
clear-cut features were impressive, both in outline and in
expression, and the eye was as the eye of the eagle, so keenly
penetrating and far-seeing that many had shrunk before its gaze as
before the sharp thrust of a rapier.

Arthur Cole entered the presence of the great man with the habitual
courtly and almost exaggerated reverence that custom imposed. But
Anthony Dalaber, who followed, only bowed with a sort of sullen
defiance in look and aspect, not even raising his eyes to meet the
flashing, rapid glance which the great man bent upon him as he
slowly followed his companion into that august presence. He stood
in the background, and his dark face and gaunt figure did not lack
elements of dignity. There was something distinguished in the
personality of Dalaber, of which those who knew him were keenly
conscious.

The statesman, who had all his life been wont to take the measure
of men with great acumen and discernment, gave more than one quick,
keen glance in the direction of Dalaber, as he received Arthur's
credentials and cast his eye over them.

"You are welcome, Master Cole. I have heard of you before, and
everything I have heard redounds to your credit. You are highly
spoken of in Oxford, and your career there has not been without
distinction. I am keenly interested in all that happens there, and
in the welfare of each individual clerk and student. To hear a good
report of any gives me sincere pleasure. I am glad on that account
to give you this audience, albeit I am always pressed for time in
which to compress each day's work."

"I thank your Eminence from my heart," answered Arthur; "and if I
be permitted to speak, I will be as brief as I can in presenting my
petition and pleading my Cause."

"You come with a petition? Very good; I will listen and consider
it. Is it one that relates to yonder companion of yours?--

"Anthony Dalaber, I believe I mistake not in calling you by that
name."

Dalaber came a step forward, but made no reply, for Arthur had
answered for him, and the cardinal was turning over some papers
upon his table, and selecting one or two, ran his eyes rapidly down
them, after which he looked up.

"I hear of you that you are a youth of excellent parts, and of a
quick understanding, and that, with industry and application, you
may do great things. I also hear that though you have been led into
some indiscretions and dangerous courses, that you have submitted
to lawful discipline, and are forgiven and reconciled. All this is
as it should be. I rejoice in the repentance of any sinner. I pray,
my son, that in the future you may be guarded from all such
perilous courses."

Arthur almost trembled as these words were spoken. The cardinal's
wonderful eyes were fixed full upon the face of Dalaber, and the
magnetic nature of the glance seemed to act with a curious,
restraining power upon him. He spoke, but it was not with the
outburst which his comrade had feared. It was slowly and almost
haltingly.

"I have done amiss," he said. "None can better know than I how much
amiss I have done. I repent me from the bottom of my heart. But I
repent not of those things for which I suffered in prison, for
which I thought I might be called upon to lay down my life. I
repent me that I, having put mine hand to the plough, did look
back. I would I had had the courage and steadfastness to resist and
stand firm."

Arthur trembled; his eyes sought the cardinal's face. Wolsey was
regarding Dalaber with great intensity of interest, whilst a fine
smile played in shadowy fashion over his thin lips.

"Is that what you have come hither to tell me, my son?"

"In part it is," answered Dalaber, "for I have felt like a
hypocrite and renegade all these days. I love the church; I hold
her doctrines; I trow that I would die for the truth which she
teaches: but I hold also that men should not be condemned for the
reading and free discussion of the Word of God; and if those who
did persuade me to submit to discipline and penance for
disobedience believe that I repent me of holding and spreading that
doctrine, then must I ever live with the sense of having been a
traitor to the cause of my Lord and my God."

"And you wish to tell me this?"

"Yes; that your Eminence may send me back to prison, or to the
stake, if it be your will."

The same slight smile played round the cardinal's lips. He looked
once more at his papers.

"It is said here, Anthony Dalaber, that you have given up the study
of divinity, and have taken up that of the law?"

"That is true," he answered freely. "I am not made for the
priesthood; of that I am well assured. I will seek to serve God in
the lesser calling, and do my duty there to Him and to the
brethren."

"A laudable resolve," answered the great man, "in which I wish you
all success. Listen to me for a brief moment, my son. The words you
have spoken here this day will not be used against yon. I have
followed your career. I know your courage and steadfastness of
spirit, as well as its weaknesses and vacillations. I know how many
godly youths are in like case with you--halting between two
opinions, torn asunder in the struggle to judge all these hard and
difficult questions for themselves. For you, and for all who yet
love Holy Church, I have this piece of counsel to give. Beware how
you seek to tamper with the unity of the one body. Beware how you
sacrifice the greater for the lesser. It is only a church at unity
in herself that can convert the world; we have the Lord's own word
for that. If you have read in any tongue His last charge on earth
to His apostles, as recorded in the Gospel of St. John, you must
see and recognize that. The burden of that wonderful pastoral is,
'That we all may be ONE: that the world may believe.' To rend the
body is to destroy its unity. To destroy its unity is to hinder the
work of Christ upon earth. Think and ponder that well, and pray for
guidance, for patience, for the submissive will which would endure
much rather than bring war amongst the members of the one body. Our
Lord Himself has warned those who are devout and sincere from the
error of straining at a gnat and swallowing a camel. Let the church
minister the Word of God. Let those who hunger for more ask of her.
She will not send them empty away. Already those who style
themselves reformers are quarrelling amongst themselves. Soon they
will be broken up into a thousand camps. Unity will cease to reign
in the church. Confusion and hatred and even bloodshed will follow.

"Be advised, Anthony Dalaber. Quit these hard and vexed questions
for a while. Take to the less perilous study of the law. With age
and experience you will learn your lesson. And I will pray for a
blessing upon you, my son, for in truth I believe that the Lord may
have work for you to do in days to come; and if so, I trow you will
not shrink from doing it."

Anthony stood mute. A thousand questions and replies seemed to
spring to his lips, but no word passed them. He felt that in
argument he was no match for the cardinal, even had disputation
with so eminent and august a personage been possible. He felt that
somewhere there was an answer to this irrefragable argument, but
for the moment he could not find it; he stood tongue tied, silent.
The cardinal looked at him with his slight, peculiar smile, and
then turned once again to Arthur.

"And now for your petition. If it is for favour to be shown to your
ardent young friend, after the statement he desired to make to me,
with greater courage than discretion (for which, however, I like
him none the less), then it is granted already."

"It is not for him," answered Arthur; "we have both come hither on
the same errand. But we do desire your Eminence's good offices for
one who was in somewhat similar case with Dalaber. We have come to
plead for the life and liberty of John Clarke, canon of your own
beauteous and godly college in Oxford, who, with two other
companions, one of them a canon and the other a singing man of that
foundation, is lying near to death in a foul prison, and will
without doubt perish miserably there, if release doth not speedily
come."

The cardinal's steel-blue eyes took a new expression, and one which
Arthur could in no wise interpret.

"Like to die!" He spoke somewhat more abruptly than had hitherto
been the case. "You are sure of that?"

"I am sure of it," answered Arthur; "and Dr. Higdon, the dean, will
tell you the same, if your Eminence will ask him of it. And though
Master Clarke lies under the imputation of heresy, I trow there is
no sounder churchman nor godly and pure-living man in all Oxford
than he, nor one whose life holds so fair a promise of shining like
a light in a dark world."

"I have heard of this man," spoke the cardinal thoughtfully; "I
have known of him many years. I had report of him or ever he was
sent to Oxford."

"It is known in all Oxford how that your Eminence did send to us
there this godly man, whom we have learned to love and revere,"
spoke Arthur eagerly; "and many a time have we blessed you that
your choice did fall upon one of so saint-like a walk in this
world. How should we, then, not plead with your Eminence for his
life, when it lies thus in jeopardy? If you would speak the word of
release we would do the rest."

The cardinal sat very still and thoughtful.

"John Clarke is not my prisoner. He belongs to the Bishop of
Lincoln."

"I know that well," cried Arthur eagerly. "But surely the word of
your Eminence would prevail with the bishop, and free him from his
bonds."

"My Lord of Lincoln is very bitter against heretics."

"Then let him take me in lieu of Master Clarke!" suddenly cried
Dalaber, stepping forward to the cardinal's table, upon which he
leaned with both his hands, and his dark eyes flashed fire. "If he
must have a victim, let me be that victim. I am tenfold more
heretic than Master Clarke. Let me take his place in the foul
dungeon; let me, if need be, go to the stake for him. If there must
be a victim, let me be that victim; but shall he die whose life has
been given for the purity of the faith, and for teaching that very
doctrine of the unity of the one Holy Catholic Church upon which
your Eminence laid such stress in speaking awhile ago? Give me up
to the mercy of the bishop, and let Clarke go free!"

The piercing gaze of the cardinal was fixed upon Dalaber's
strenuous face. All weakness had vanished from it now. It was full
of passionate earnestness and dauntless courage. His dark eyes met
those of Wolsey without fear or shrinking. The loftiness of a great
resolve, a great sacrifice, was shining in them.

"I will consider this matter, my sons," spoke the cardinal, whose
face softened as he gazed first at one young man and then at the
other. "I must communicate with the bishop, and I will see you
again. Fortunately he is not far from London. A messenger can
quickly reach him. Come to me here in four days' time, and I will
see you again and perchance give you an answer. Will your mind have
changed in those days, Anthony Dalaber? Do you indeed mean the
things that you have said?"

"I do," he answered quietly, and added no protestations.

"I will remember," spoke the cardinal; and rising to his feet he
gave to Arthur the benediction for which he bent his knee.

Dalaber hesitated for a moment, and then he too knelt. There was no
hypocrisy in this act. Something in the aspect and the words of the
cardinal had changed his opinion of the man during the brief
interview.

"The Lord bless thee, my son," spoke the priest solemnly. "The Lord
give thee grace and discernment, wisdom and light. The Lord
strengthen all that is good in thee, that it may live and grow, and
cast out and uproot all that may become a stumbling block or root
of bitterness within thee. The Lord give to thee the understanding
mind, the childlike heart, the pure spirit of the children of
light, and lead and guide thee into all truth. Amen."

The two companions went quietly from the room, and through the long
and stately passages, where the worldly pomp visible had stirred in
Dalaber on entering a sense of incongruity and almost of contempt.

But he did not think of these things as he walked out into the
sunny street; and both had got far upon the road to their lodgings,
hard by Moor Fields, ere either spoke a word.

"I trow he will do it," then said Arthur, drawing a long breath.

"You think so truly?"

"I watched his face. It was hard to read its look; yet I thought
there came a gleam of anger into it when I spoke of the peril they
lay in from death by sickness in that noisome prison. After all,
they are all scholars of his own college; and methinks he and the
bishop have disagreed ere this over matters of discipline, and
where mercy rather than judgment should be shown. All the world
says that Master Garret and Robert Ferrar would have been sent to
the stake had the bishop's word prevailed, but that the cardinal
would not give them up to him. It may be that he will be loath to
give up Master Clarke and his friends; but surely the cardinal's
word would prevail, if he desired to make it."

"And if the bishop has a victim, that might satisfy him," spoke
Dalaber gravely.

"Thou art thinking of thyself?" asked Arthur quickly.

"Why should I not? I have offered myself as a substitute. If they
permit the exchange, I will not draw back."

Arthur regarded him with a species of admiration. But he was silent
awhile, finding speech difficult. Then he asked:

"Does Freda know?"

"Yes," answered Dalaber briefly.

"And she was willing?"

"She was willing."

They walked on in silence for some time, only pausing when they
reached the open space of Moor Fields, where the apprentices were
playing quarterstaff, wrestling, and shooting with bow and arrows,
and shouting aloud in their glee. The friends stood awhile
watching, but their thoughts were far away.

Suddenly Arthur broke out into what for him was rather vehement
speech.

"Then thou art in truth a hero, Anthony, with the spirit of the
warrior and the martyr. I have sometimes misjudged thee, thinking
thee somewhat unstable, though a man of parts and one to be much
beloved. I ask thy pardon now for having so misjudged thee. Thou
hast all the stuff in thee which I have sometimes thought was
lacking."

"It was lacking. Thou hast not misjudged me," answered Anthony
gravely. "I have been unstable. I know it myself, none better.
Alone, I should be unstable still. Indeed I may not trust myself
even from day to day. But there is One who changeth not--One who is
with us, and in us, and for us. He will be our strength and our
stay in times of darkness and perplexity, and teach us to guide our
steps aright. If I have found courage, that courage is His; if I
can hold steadfast, it is in His power. That is all. I have put
myself into His hands. I shall take no thought for myself, what I
shall speak or do. He is showing me that He would have all
Christian men to live together in unity and peace. I do truly see
and believe that. Yet if He command me to speak or to do that which
men will call heresy and sin, He will give me grace to stand firm,
even unto death."

Arthur was silent awhile. In his heart he scarcely believed that
the cardinal would offer up Anthony Dalaber to the tender mercies
of the implacable bishop; yet there was no knowing. The great man
had evidently been struck by the personality and history of the
young graduate, and it was possible he might recognize in him a
type of character which might prove dangerous and subversive to the
existing order of things. It was an anxious time for Arthur--more
anxious, as it seemed, than for Anthony, who remained all the while
very calm and tranquil, much occupied in reading and prayer, and
very constant in his attendance at the various churches in the
great city.

Having been for long debarred from taking part in public worship,
it seemed a great refreshment of spirit for him to do so now.
Arthur generally accompanied him; but often he rose quite early,
and slipped out alone for some morning Mass, and came back with his
face aglow with the mystic devotion in which he had been engaged.

"Call that man a heretic!" thought Arthur, as he watched and marked
him; and he little knew that he was not the only man dogging
Dalaber's footsteps in those days. The cardinal had his own methods
and his own carefully-trained servants, and not a thing that either
young man did in those few days was unknown to Wolsey in his
sumptuous palace, with the affairs of the kingdom and of other
realms more or less pressing upon his attention.

On the appointed day they again appeared before him in his closet,
and he received them with an urbanity which sat graciously upon his
rather austere person.

"I have made inquiry concerning the matter upon which you came to
me, my sons," he said, "and to my sorrow and regret I find that you
spoke only too truly as to the condition into which the unwholesome
state of their prison has reduced those three men. I have therefore
prevailed with the bishop to permit them to be delivered to their
friends.

"And if you, Master Cole, who are well known in Oxford, will make
personal application to the dean of the college, he will give you
the needful authority for obtaining possession of the persons of
the prisoners, who will be released and placed under your care. All
that will be demanded of you, or of their friends, is that you will
take care of them, and be answerable for their appearing at the
bishop's tribunal, should he summon them later to appear before
him."

Arthur's heart leaped for joy within him. He spoke a few words of
heartfelt thanks. But Anthony's eyes never left the cardinal's
face.

"And shall I surrender myself prisoner in their place?"

A slight smile lighted the thin, pale face.

"Do you so desire to court prison and death, my son?"

"I do not desire it," answered Anthony humbly. "I once did think I
had courage and strength to fight and to overcome; I did think
myself to be a hero. I have learned to know myself better since
then. Love and life are sweet to me as to other men. But I did mean
that which I did say, and I will not draw back. If a victim be
wanted, let it be rather me than Master Clarke."

This time the cardinal's smile was more full and free.

"We will see whether we cannot make shift without a victim. Anthony
Dalaber, you are a free man. There is no talk of arresting you in
place of any other. That is neither the law of the land nor the
practice of the church. I have watched you, my son; I see that you
are of a godly mind. You may yet be a good and a great man in this
land. Hold fast the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace, and
God will bless and keep you.

"I trust we shall hear no more of heresy in Oxford. And when you
receive John Clarke into your keeping, tell him that I regret the
harshness to which he has been exposed, and that I have prevailed
to effect his release, but that beyond this I cannot help him, but
trust that between him and his bishop some better understanding may
be speedily arrived at."

"We thank your Eminence from our hearts," spoke Arthur, as he bent
his knee, feeling a double load of anxiety and sorrow lifted from
his heart. "We will not forget all we owe to your clemency and
kindness, and with more others than I can name we will pray for all
blessings to rest upon your Eminence for this gracious act."

The cardinal was pressed for time, and dismissed the young men with
a blessing. They went out into the sunny courtyard, scarce able to
believe their own success.

Liberated from prison! Clarke to be liberated and delivered over to
their care! Oh! they would soon restore him to health and strength
by their loving ministrations. They would surely succeed in this.
All the three to be given up to their friends! They must lose no
time in riding to Oxford with the news.

Not a day of this lovely springtide should be wasted. They would
ride all night, that release might come the earlier. Yes, there was
full moon, and already the daylight lasted long and came again
early. They would ride without a pause, save for needful
refreshment for man and beast, till they reached Oxford. They could
be there before daybreak.

On the morrow they could carry forth their friends to Poghley. It
was a thought fraught with happiness and joy. They would not lose
an hour. And so quickly were all their preparations made that
before the shadows had grown long, before the sun had sunk far
towards the horizon, their reckoning was paid, their bags were
packed, their servants summoned, and the little cavalcade was ready
to start forth and ride with loose rein to Oxford ere break of day.

It was no hardship, that quiet riding through the long hours of the
misty night. They did not hurry their beasts, for they could not
obtain any interview with dean or prison governor in the dead of
night. So they pursued their way quietly, discussing many plans;
and before the first light of day had begun to glimmer in the east
it was settled that, whilst Arthur should go direct to Oxford with
the cardinal's mandate, and should make all needful arrangements
for the immediate transportation of the sick men to Poghley,
Anthony should ride there direct, to advise the young wife and her
sister of what they might expect, and to see all made ready there.

Eager as Arthur was to return home to Magdalen, he knew that his
authority and his purse would go farther in Oxford than Anthony's.
It was needful for him to be there in person; but it might be just
as well for Anthony to keep away from the town at that juncture.
Dalaber did not himself think of or fear any peril, but Arthur's
other arguments prevailed with him; and shortly after dawn, at the
parting of the ways, the two friends separated, Arthur and the
servants riding direct to Oxford, whilst Dalaber took his solitary
way towards Poghley.

His heart beat high as he began to trace the familiar outline of
wood and hill. When he rode away a week ago, it was with a very
strong presentiment that he would never see the place again. So
resolved had he been to make confession of such of his beliefs as
were accounted heresy that he had not dared to believe he could
escape. Yet here he was, safe and sound, and rid at last of that
haunting fear and remorse which had eaten into his very soul.

True, he had not said much, yet he knew that the cardinal had
understood, and had, as it were, declined a further and fuller
revelation. He had understood, on his side, that the church did not
desire to push matters to extremity, and to lose the love and
adherence of its most promising sons. He was willing, for his part,
to avoid publicity for a time, to resume his interrupted studies,
and to wait in patience for what would come out of this movement
within and without the church.

But the sense of sailing under false colours had now been taken
away. He had relieved his soul; he had spoken the truth; he had
offered himself as a victim; he no longer stood condemned as a
coward and a denier of his faith.

With a glad heart he rode onward through the rosy glow of a red and
golden dawn. All nature seemed in harmony with his joy and triumph.
The birds shouted their morning songs, and the budding trees and
waving grass seemed silently to voice a happy answer. Primroses
gemmed the banks, and the frail white anemones carpeted the
twinkling woodlands, where sunbeams and shadows chased each other
through a maze of tender green leaves. Then the horse beneath him,
though somewhat wearied from the long journey, knew his homeward
way, pricked forward his ears, and broke into a canter, bravely
bearing his rider up the gentle incline, and through the gate that
led towards the moated house.

Suddenly a white figure seemed to emerge from the thickets of
shrubs, and a joyous voice exclaimed:

"Anthony, Anthony! is it thou?"

He was on his feet in an instant. The horse set off riderless for
his own stable. Anthony's arms were about her, his kisses on her
face.

"Freda! my beloved! my wife!"

"Anthony, O Anthony! And thou art free!"

"I am free, and the load has fallen. I am free and forgiven, and at
peace with God and man. And, Freda, we must hasten to the house
with the news; for Arthur has gone forward to obtain the release of
Clarke and Sumner and Radley, and as soon as possible--it may even
be today--he will bring them here to be cared for."




Chapter XVIII: The Release


Five days, however, elapsed at Poghley before any news came from
Arthur at Oxford, and then it was brought by Dr. Langton, who, upon
Dalaber's return, had started forth again to that place, partly to
set his house in order and arrange his books and papers before his
departure for foreign lands, partly because he hoped his skill in
medicine and the arts of healing might prove of use to the victims
of the prison house on their release.

For the sisters and Dalaber those days were happily passed, despite
the anxiety they felt as to what might be passing in Oxford. To
them it seemed as though the clouds of peril which had hung so long
in their sky were rolling fast away. Dalaber was relieved from that
burden of remorse and bitter humiliation which had been weighing
upon him. Humble and contrite for past errors, past weaknesses, he
was, and would remain; but he had delivered his soul by his frank
admissions to the cardinal, and he could respect and admire the
dignity and clemency of that powerful man, and be grateful to him
for both.

Freda was his own, as she had never been before--her mind at rest,
her heart satisfied, her old esteem and admiration and trust
restored. Together they wandered through orchard, meadow, and
woodland, speaking to each other from the bottom of their hearts,
unveiling their most sacred thoughts and feelings, and sharing
every aspiration, every hope, every plan for present or future. The
world for them was a pure Arcadia; they almost forgot for the time
being the more troublous world without.

It was like a green oasis in their lives, like a haven of rest and
peace after driving storms and perilous hurricanes. They lived in
the sunshine, and thanked God in their hearts, and received that
rest and refreshment of body, soul, and spirit of which both stood
rather sorely in need.

Then on the fifth day, as the sun was drawing towards its setting,
Dr. Langton returned. They pressed eagerly round him to learn the
news. His face was thoughtful and very grave.

"They are bringing Master Clarke. He is not more than a few miles
distant. He will be here before dark. I have come to make all ready
for him."

"Is Arthur with him?" asked Magdalen, whose hands were clasped
about her father's arm.

"Yes; he is riding at a foot pace beside the litter. We have had to
carry him thus all the way, and by very gentle stages. At the first
I doubted if he could bear the journey. But he was himself desirous
to see Poghley once again, and we decided to risk it. He has borne
the journey almost better than I had feared."

"And now we will nurse him back to health and strength," cried
Magdalen, with earnestness. "Alas that so good a man should have to
suffer so sorely!"

Freda observed that her father turned his head slightly away. She
felt a sort of constriction at the heart, but it was Dalaber who
put the next question.

"Is only Clarke coming hither?" he asked. "What of Sumner and
Radley who were with him in prison?"

Dr. Langton paused a brief while before answering, and then he said
in a low and moved voice:

"Radley was scarce alive when we came to them. They were all taken
to the Bridge House, where we had made preparation to receive them.
But he died within a few hours. I scarce know whether he did really
understand that liberty had come at last. On the morning of the
second day Sumner died, and we thought that Clarke was lying in
articulo mortis; but I tried in his case a certain drug, the use of
which I have only recently discovered, whereupon he fell into a
quiet, natural sleep, and the fever began to leave him. There is
much sickness again in the town, and it seemed to me well that, if
he could bear removal, he should be taken where stronger and purer
air could be breathed.

"Yesterday, very early in the morning, we started forth. Arthur had
had an easy litter constructed under his own eyes, which can be
slung between two horses walking gently and evenly. In this way we
have brought him. In another hour he should be here. I wish to make
ready some large and airy chamber that opens direct upon the
garden, where he can be carried daily to inhale the scents of the
flowers and be enwrapped by the sunshine. If there be a chance of
recovery--"

Dr. Langton stopped short, and Magdalen looked earnestly into his
face. She read his thoughts there.

"You think he will die?"

"I fear so. I misdoubt me if there can be any rally. And in truth,
my child"--he drew Magdalen gently onwards with him towards the
room which he had fixed upon in his own mind as the one most suited
to his purpose--"in truth, I know not if it were true kindness to
seek to save that stainless life. I had speech with Dr. Higdon
anent this very matter only the night before we started forth, and
he told me that, albeit the bishop had been persuaded by the
cardinal to permit the release of the prisoners for the present,
yet that, should any recover--and in particular, Master Clarke--he
was like to demand his surrender later into his own merciless
hands; and it is well known that he has said that, since Wolsey
would not burn Garret or Ferrar when he had them in his clutches,
be would burn Clarke so soon as he was able to stand his trial.
Some even say that he only suffered the men to be released from
prison that Clarke should be sufficiently recovered to perish at
the stake."

Magdalen shuddered and hid her face in her hands.

"Oh that such things should be! And in a Christian land, and within
the very Church of Christ itself!"

"We will trust it is not true," spoke Dr. Langton gravely, "or that
more Christian and more merciful counsel may prevail. But in all
truth I know full well that, short of a miracle, Clarke will only
come here to die. Perhaps the best that we can wish for him now is
a peaceful and painless passing away in the midst of his friends,
with no more fears of prison or martyrdom before his eyes; for in
sooth I think his soul has soared into a region where all fear and
anxiety are left behind."

Magdalen's eyes were full of tears. She had been from the first
deeply attracted both by the words and by the personality of John
Clarke, and sometimes she had had intimate talks with him on
spiritual matters, which had made an indelible impression upon her
heart.

She now busied herself diligently in making ready for his reception
that pleasant sunny chamber which her father had selected. The
great canopied beds of the day were too heavy and ponderous to be
easily moved; but smaller couches and abundant bedding were quickly
collected, and the room began to glow with the masses of flowers
that Freda brought in from the garden and woodland beyond. The
place was fragrant with the breath of cowslip and primrose, whilst,
as the light faded from the west, the dancing flames of the log
fire on the hearth gave a cheery air of welcome.

The sisters stood clasping hands as their friend was brought in by
the bearers, and tenderly laid upon one of the two soft couches
made ready--one beside the window, and one in a warmer situation
near to the hearth.

It was upon this one that he was laid first, and Magdalen caught
her breath in a little sob as she gazed upon his face--it was so
thin and sunken, so absolutely colourless. The eyes were closed,
and though there was an expression of deep peace and happiness upon
the face, it looked to her more like the face of one who has
triumphed in death than of one who is living and breathing yet.

Dalaber flung himself upon his knees beside the couch with a
lamentable cry upon his lips.

"My master! my master! my friend!" he cried, and at the sound of
these words and the familiar voice the long lashes quivered and
slowly lifted themselves, and they saw the dim, sweet smile steal
over the wan face.

"Is that Anthony? I cannot see. God bless thee, my son! He is
giving me all I could ask or wish."

Dr. Langton signed to his daughters to come away. The patient had
no strength for further greetings then. Freda's eyes were blind
with tears as she found herself hurrying from the room, and
Magdalen threw herself into her husband's arms, weeping aloud in
the fulness of her heart. He held her closely to him; he too was
deeply moved.

"But we must not grieve for him, my beloved; as he himself has said
so many times during these days, 'To depart, and to be with Christ,
is far better.' He goes forth so joyfully into the great unseen
that we must not seek too much to hold him back. His Lord may have
need of him elsewhere. In truth, he is more fit for heaven than
earth."

"He dies a martyr, if any ever did!" spoke Freda, choking back her
tears, and speaking with shining eyes. "He has laid down his life
for a testimony to the truth. What martyr can do more than that?"

"Is there no hope of his life?" asked Magdalen, still clinging to
her husband's arm.

"Your father fears not," answered Arthur; "and in sooth, after
hearing the story of their imprisonment, I think the same myself.
Oh, the patience, the sweetness, the self forgetfulness, with which
he has borne all! One could weep tears of blood to think that such
things are done to living saints on earth in the name of religion."

They looked breathlessly at Arthur, and he spoke again.

"I will not describe to you what we found when we entered the
prison. Enough that one would not herd one's swine in such a place.
Two out of the three were dying; and the third, though sick as you
now see him, was yet dragging himself from one to the other, to
minister to their still greater needs, as he had done from the
first, giving to them of his own meagre food and water--neither of
which was fit for human beings to touch--and enduring all the slow
agonies of fevered thirst day after day, that their in some way be
lightened.

"Sumner lived to tell us that. From the first Radley had sickened,
as the strong men ofttimes do in such places more quickly than the
weaker and feebler of body. Clarke, who had brought his body into
subjection by fasting, who had nursed the sick in their filthy
homes, and spent weeks at times in fever-stricken spots--he
resisted longest the ravages of the fell prison fever. He and
Sumner nursed Radley as best they might. Then Sumner fell sick, and
Clarke had them both to care for.

"To the very last he tended them. Though well nigh in as evil a
case, he yet would rise and crawl to them, and give them food and
water, or moisten their lips when they could no longer eat the
coarse prison fare. His patience and sweetness were not quite
without effect even on the jailer, and from time to time he would
bring them better food and a larger measure of water.

"But even so, there was none to help or succour them in their hour
of extremest need. May God look down and judge the things which
pass upon this earth, and are done by those who take His name
freely upon their lips! He whose eyes see all things have seen
those three men in their prison house. May He be the judge of all
things!"

"Thank God you came in time!" spoke Magdalen, with streaming eyes.
"Thank God they did not die in that foul hole!"

"I do thank Him for that. I fear me poor Radley did not know that
release for him had come; his greater release followed so hard
afterwards. But Sumner lived long enough to know us, and to rejoice
in the hope that Clarke's life would be spared. We did not tell him
how little chance there was of that. 'He is one of God's saints
upon earth,' were amongst his last words; 'surely He has a great
work for him to do here. Afterwards he will walk with Him in white,
for he is worthy.' And then in broken words he told us the story of
those weeks in prison; and with a happy smile upon his lips he
passed away. He did not desire aught else for himself. He left
Clarke in the hands of his friends. He folded his hands together
and whispered, 'Say the Nunc dimittis for me, and the last prayer;'
and as we did so his soul took flight. The smile of holy triumph
and joy was sealed by death upon his face."

"Faithful unto death," whispered Freda softly to herself, "he has
won for himself a crown of life."

Anthony came to her presently, looking strangely white and shaken.
They passed together out into the moonlight night. He was deeply
moved, and she saw it; and her silence was the silence of sympathy.

"If only I had shared their faith, their steadfastness, their
sufferings!" he spoke at last.

But she laid her hand upon his arm and whispered tenderly:

"Think not now of that. The past is not ours; and I know that God
has forgiven all that was weak or sinful in it. No sin repented of
but is washed away in the blood of the Lamb. Let us rejoice in that
there are ever those who will follow the Lamb whithersoever He
goeth, both here and hereafter, and will sing the song that no man
else can learn. And if we ourselves fail of being counted in that
glorious numbered host, may we not rejoice that others are found
worthy of that unspeakable glory, and seek to gain strength and
wisdom and grace from their example, so that in the days to come we
may be able to tread more firmly in the narrow way they have
travelled before us?"

They saw him the next day, for he asked to be moved out into the
garden, into the sunshine of the sweet spring day. Weak as he was,
Dr. Langton was of opinion that nothing could either greatly hurt
or greatly restore him. And to fulfil his wishes was the task all
were eager to perform. So, when the light was just beginning to
grow mellow and rosy, and the shadows to lengthen upon the grass,
Clarke was carried out and laid upon a couch in the shelter of the
hoary walls, whilst he gazed about him with eyes that were full of
an unspeakable peace and joy, and which greeted with smiling
happiness each friendly face as it appeared.

They knew not how to speak to him; but they pressed his wasted
hand, and sat in silence round him, trying to see with his eyes and
hear with his ears, and listening to the fitful words which sprang
from time to time to his lips.

"It is like the new heavens and the new earth," he said once--"the
earth which the Lord will make new, free from the curse of sin. Ah,
what a glorious day that will be! If this fallen world of ours can
be so beautiful, so glorious, so full of His praise, so full of
heavenly harmonies, what will that other earth he like, where He
will reign with His saints, and sin and death shall be no more?"

It seemed to others as though he were already living in that new
earth of peace and joy, and in the immediate presence of the Lord.
The light in his eyes grew brighter day by day, the shining of his
face more intense. As his hold upon the things of this world
relaxed, so did his sense of heavenly realities increase in
intensity. All his words were of peace and love and joy. It seemed
as though for him the veil were rent in twain, and his eyes saw the
unspeakable glories beyond.

His gratitude to those who had brought him forth from the prison
and set him in this fair place was expressed again and again. But
once, in answer to something Freda spoke, he said with a wonderful
lighting of the eyes:

"And yet, if you can believe it, we were strangely happy even
there, for the Lord was in the midst of us, as surely as He is here
amid this peace and loveliness. When we are holding Him by the
hand, feeling His presence, seeing His face in the darkness,
believing that it is His will for us to be there, it is strange how
the darkness becomes light, the suffering ceases, the horror all
passes away. I do not mean that the enemy does not intervene--that
he does not come and with his whispers seek to shake our faith, to
cloud our spirits, to shroud us in darkness and obscurity. But
thanks be to God, His Son, having overcome temptation in human
flesh, we in His strength, by Him, and through Him, and in Him,
have power to overcome. Satan came; but he did not stay, for One
that was mightier was with us. Thanks be to God who giveth us the
victory through our Lord Jesus Christ."

That was all he ever spoke of the prison life--no word of its
hardships and sufferings, only of the power of the Lord to take
away the bitterness, and to comfort, cheer, and strengthen. And so
they ceased to think or to speak of it, too. It had not hurt him.
The iron had never entered into his soul. And almost by now he had
forgotten. All was peace and joy and love. And even the knowledge
that his companions had passed away was no trouble to him.

"We shall meet so soon again," he said, and the light deepened in his
eyes. "I am so curious to know how it is with the departed--whether
they lie at rest as in a heaven-sent sleep, while their heart waketh;
or whether the Lord has work for them beyond the grave, into which
they enter at once. I long to know what that blessed state is like,
where we are with Christ, yet not in the glory of the resurrection,
but awaiting that at His good pleasure.  Well, soon all this will be
made known to me; and I cannot doubt we shall meet again in joy and
love those with whom we have walked in fellowship upon this earth,
and that we shall in turn await those who follow after into peace,
and so with them look forward to the glorious day when the living
shall be changed and the dead receive their bodies back, glorified
in resurrection life, and so enter all together into the presence of
God, presented as one holy mystical body to Him, the Bride of the Lamb."

There was just one shadow that fell for a moment athwart the
perfect peace and joy of this departure. But it was not one that
could touch his spirit for more than a moment.

As he felt life slipping fast away, and knew that very soon he must
say farewell to earth and its sorrows and joys, he called Arthur to
his side and asked:

"Will they admit me to the rite of the Holy Communion before I
die?"

It was a question which Arthur had foreseen, and he had himself
taken a special journey to Oxford to see the dean upon that very
point.

But Clarke still lay beneath the ban of excommunication. He was
still regarded as a heretic; and although, after all he had passed
through, much sympathy was expressed for him, and any further
cruelty was strongly deprecated, yet the law of the church forbade
that the holy thing should be touched by unhallowed hands, or pass
unhallowed lips.

So now he looked compassionately into Clarke's face and said:

"I fear me they will not do so. I have done what I can; but they
will not listen. None may dare to bring it to you until the ban of
the church be taken off."

Clarke looked into his face at first with a pained expression, but
gradually a great light kindled in his eyes. He half rose from the
couch on which he was lying, and he stretched forth his hands as
though he were receiving something into them. Then looking upwards,
he spoke--spoke with a greater strength than he had done for many
days--and a vivid smile illuminated his face. They were all
standing about him, for they knew the end was near, and they all
saw and heard.

"Crede et manducasti," he said; and then, with a yet more vivid
illumination of his features, he added in a whisper, "My Lord and
my God!"

Then he fell back, and with that smile of triumph upon his face,
passed away.

Over his remains, which were permitted to lie in consecrated
ground, they set up a white cross; and beneath his name were the
words:

"Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of
life."




Notes

[i] "Believe, and thou hast eaten." Words often used by the early
"heretics," who were debarred from partaking of the feast of Holy
Communion.