Bot-S: Constance Sherwood

And once more, with some misdoubting, I ween, that I concealed
somewhat from her, she inquired touching my knowledge of this
stranger. Then I spoke harshly, and bade her leave me, for I had
sorrow enough without her intermeddling with it; but then grieving for
her, and also afraid to be left alone, I denied my words, and prayed
her to stay, which she did, but did not speak much again. The silence
of the night seemed so deep as if the rustling of a leaf could be
noticed; only now and then the voices of the gentlemen below, and some
loud talking and laughter from some of them was discernible through
the closed doors. Once Lady l'Estrange said: "They be sitting up very
late;  I suppose till the constables return. Oh, when will that be?"

The great clock in the hall then struck twelve; and soon after,
starting up, I cried, "What should be that noise?"

"I do hear nothing," she answered, trembling as a leaf.

"Hush," I replied, and going to the window, opened the lattice. The
sound in the road on the other side of the house was now plain. On
that we looked on naught was to be seen save trees and grass, with the
ghastly moonlight shining on them. A loud opening and shutting of
doors and much stir now took place within the house, and, moved by the
same impulse, we both went out into the passage and half way down the
stairs. Milicent was first. Suddenly she turned round, and falling
down on her knees, with a stifled exclamation, she hid her face
against me, whisperings "He is taken!"

We seemed both turned to stone. O ye which have gone through a like
trial, judge ye; and you who have never been in such straits, imagine
what a daughter should feel who, after long years' absence, beholdeth
a beloved father for one instant, and in the next, under the same roof
where she is a guest, sees him brought in a prisoner and in jeopardy
of his life. Every word which was uttered we could hear where we sat
crouching, fearful to advance--she not daring to look on the man she
had ruined, and I on the countenance of a dear parent, lest the sight
of me should distract him from his defence, if that could be called
such which he was called on to make. They asked him touching his name,
if it was Tunstall. He answered he was known by that name. Then
followed the murtherous question, if he was a Romish priest? To which
he at once assented. Then said Sir Hammond:

"How did you presume, sir, to return into England contrary to the
laws?"

"Sir," he answered, "as I was lawfully ordained a priest by a Catholic
bishop, by authority derived from the see of Rome" (one person here
exclaimed, "Oh, audacious papist! his  tongue should be cat out;"
but Sir Hammond imposed silence), "so likewise," he continued, "am I
lawfully sent to preach the word of God, and to administer the
sacraments to my Catholic countrymen. As the mission of priests
lawfully ordained is from Christ, who did send his apostles even as
his Father sent him, I do humbly conceive no human laws can justly
hinder my return to England, or make it criminal; for this should be
to prefer the ordinances of man to the commands of the supreme
legislator, which is Christ himself."

Loud murmurs were here raised by some present, which Sir Hammond again
silencing, he then inquired if he would take the oath of allegiance to
the queen? He answered (my straining ears taking note of every word he
uttered) that he would gladly pay most willing obedience to her
majesty in all civil matters; but the oath of allegiance, as it was
worded, he could not take, or hold her majesty to possess any
supremacy in spiritual matters. He was beginning to state the reasons
thereof, but was not suffered to proceed, for Sir Hammond,
interrupting him, said he was an escaped prisoner, and by his own
confession condemned, so he should straightway commit him to the gaol
in Norwich. Then I lost my senses almost, and seizing Lady
l'Estrange's arm, I cried, "Save him! he is mine own father, Mr.
Sherwood!" She uttered a sort of cry, and said, "Oh, I have feared
this, since I saw his face!" and running forward, I following her,
affrighted at what should happen, she called out, "It shall not be! He
shall not do it!" and with a face as white as any smock, runs to her
husband, and perceiving the constables to be putting chains on my
father's hands and feet, which I likewise beheld with what feelings
you who read this may think, she falls on her knees and gasps out
these words in such a mournful tone, that I shuddered to hear her,
"Oh, sir! if this man leaves this house a chained prisoner, I shall
never be the like of my-self again. There shall be no more joy for me
in life." And then faints right away, and Sir Hammond carries her in
his arms out of the hall. Mine eyes the while met my father's; who
smiled on me with kind cheer, but signed for me to keep away. I
stretched my arms toward him, and with his chained hand he contrived
yet once more for to bless me; then was hurried out of my sight. Far
more time than I ever did perceive or could remember the length of I
remained in that now deserted hall, motionless, alone, near to the
dying embers, the darkness still increasing, too much confused to
recall at once the comforts which sacred thoughts do yield in such
mishaps, only able to clasp my hand and utter broken sentences of
prayer, such as "God, ha' mercy on us," and the like; till about the
middle of the night, Sir Hammond comes down the stairs, with a lamp in
his hand, and a strange look in his face.

"Mistress Sherwood," he says, "come to my lady. She is very ill, and
hath been in labor for some time. She doth nothing but call for you,
and rave about that accursed priest she will have it she hath
murthered. Come and feign to her he hath escaped."

"O God!" I cried, "my words may fall on her ear, Sir Hammond, but my
face cannot deceive her."

He looked at me amazed and angry. "What meaneth this passion of grief?
What is this old man to you, that his misfortune should thus disorder
you?" And as I could not stay my weeping, he asked in a scornful
manner, "Do papists so dote on their priests as to die of sorrow when
they get their deserts?" This insulting speech did so goad me, that,
unable to restrain myself, I exclaimed, "Sir Hammond, he whom you have
sent to a dungeon, and perhaps to death also (God pardon you for it!),
is my true father!--the best parent and the noblest gentleman that
ever breathed, which for many years I had not seen; and here under
your roof, myself your guest, I  have beheld him loaded with
chains, and dared not to speak for fear to injure him yet further,
which I pray God I have not now done, moved thereunto by your cruel
scoffs."

"Your father!" he said amazed; "Mr. Sherwood! These cursed feignings
do work strange mishaps. But he did own himself a priest."

Before I had time to answer, a serving woman ran into the hall, crying
out, "Oh, sir, I pray you come to my lady. She is much worse; and the
nurse says, if her mind is not eased she is like to die before the
child is born."

"Oh, Milicent! sweet Milicent!" I cried, wringing my hands; and when I
looked at that unhappy husband's face, anger vanished and pity took
its place. He turned to me with an imploring countenance as if he
should wish to say, "None but you can save her." I prayed to Our Lady,
who stood and fainted not beneath the Rood, to get me strength for to
do my part in that sick chamber whither I signed to him to lead the
way. "God will help me," I whispered in his ear, "to comfort her."

"God bless you!" he answered in a hoarse voice, and opened the door of
the room in which his sweet lady was sitting in her bed, with a wild
look in her pale blue eyes, which seemed to start out of her head.

"Sir," I heard her say, as he approached, "what hath befallen the poor
man you would not dismiss?"

I took a light in my hand, so that she should see my face, and smiled
on her with such good cheer, as God in his mercy gave me strength to
do even amidst the two-fold anguish of that moment. Then she threw her
arms convulsively round my neck, and her pale lips gasped the same
question as before. I bent over her, and said, "Trouble yourself no
longer, dear lady, touching this prisoner. He is safe (in God's
keeping, I added, internally). He is where he is carefully tended (by
God's angels, I mentally subjoined); he hath no occasion to be afraid
(for God is his strength), and I warrant you is as peaceful as his
nearest friends should wish him to be."

"Is this the truth?" she murmured in my ear.

"Yea," I said, "the truth, the very truth," and kissed her flushed
cheek. Then feeing like to faint, I went away, Sir Hammond leading me
to my chamber, for I could scarce stand.

"God bless you!" he again said, when he left me, and I think he was
weeping.

I fell into a heavy, albeit troubled, sleep, and when I awoke it was
broad daylight. When the waiting-maid came in, she told me Lady
l'Estrange had been delivered of a dead child and Sir Hammond was
almost beside himself with grief. My lady's mind had wandered ever
since; but she was more tranquil than in the night. Soon after he sent
to ask if he could see me, and I went down to him into the parlor. A
more changed man, in a few hours, I ween, could not be seen, than this
poor gentleman. He spoke not of his lady; but briefly told me he had
sent in the night a messenger on horseback to Norwich, with a letter
to the governor of the gaol, praying him to show as much
consideration, and allow so much liberty as should consist with
prudence, to the prisoner in his custody, sent by him a few hours
before, for that he had discovered him not to be one of the common
sort, nor a lewd person, albeit by his own confession amenable to the
laws, and escaped from another prison. Then he added, that if I wished
to go to Norwich, and visit this prisoner, he would give me a letter
to the governor, and one to a lady, who would conveniently harbor me
for a while in that city, and his coach should take me there, or he
would lend me a horse and a servant to attend me. I answered, I should
be glad to go, and then said somewhat of his lady, hoping she should
now do well. He made no reply for a moment, and then only said,

"God knoweth! she is not like herself at the present."

The words she had so mournfully  spoken the day before came into
my mind, "I shall never be like myself again, and there shall be no
more joy in this house." And, methinks, they did haunt him also.

I sat for some time by her bedside that day. She seemed not ill at
ease, but there was something changed in her aspect, and her words
when she spoke had no sense or connection. And here I will set down,
before I relate the events which followed my brief sojourn under their
roof, what I have heard touching the sequel of Sir Hammond and his
wife's lives.

In that perilous and sorely troubled childbirth understanding was
alienated, and the art of the best physicians in England could never
restore it. She was not frantic; but had such a pretty deliration,
that in her ravings there was oftentimes more attractiveness than in
many sane persons' conversation. They mostly ran on pious themes, and
she was wont to sing psalms, and talk of heaven, and that she hoped to
see God there; and in many things she showed her old ability, such as
fine embroidery and the making of preserves. One day her waiting-woman
asked her to dress a person's wounds, which did greatly need it, and
she set herself to do it in her accustomed manner; but at the sight of
the wounds, she was seized with convulsions, and became violently
delirious, so that Sir Hammond sharply reprehended the imprudent
attendant, and forbade the like to be ever proposed to her again. He
gave himself up to live retired with her, and ceased to be a
magistrate, nor ever, that I could hear of, took any part again in the
persecution of Catholics. The distemper which had estranged her mind
in all things else, had left her love and obedience entire to her
husband; and he entertained a more visible fondness, and evinced a
greater respect for her after she was distempered than he had ever
done in the early days of their marriage. Methinks, the gentleness of
her heart, and delicacy of her conscience, which till that misfortune
had never, I ween, been burdened by any, even the least,
self-reproach, and the lack of strength in her mind to endure an
unusual stress, made the stroke of that accidental harm done to
another through her means too heavy for her sufferance, and, as the
poet saith, unsettled reason on her throne. For mine own part, but let
others consider of it as they list, I think that had she been a
Catholic by early training and distinct belief, as verily I hope she
was in rightful intention, albeit unconsciously to herself (as I make
no doubt many are in these days, wherein persons are growing up with
no knowledge of religion except what Protestant parents do instill
into them), that she would have had a greater courage for to bear this
singular trial; which to a feeling natural heart did prove unbearable,
but which to one accustomed to look on suffering as not the greatest
of evils, and to hold such as are borne for conscience sake as great
and glorious, would not have been so overwhelming. But herein I write,
methinks, mine own condemnation, for that in the anguish of filial
grief I failed to point out to her during those cruel moments of
suspense that which in retrospection I do so clearly see. And so, may
God accept the blighting of her young life, and the many sufferings of
mine which I have still to record, as pawns of his intended mercies to
both her and to me in his everlasting kingdom!

When I was about to set out for Norwich, late in the afternoon of that
same day, Sir Hammond's messenger returned from thence with a letter
from the governor of the gaol; wherein he wrote that the prisoner he
had sent the night before was to proceed to London in a few hours with
some other priests and recusants which the government had ordered to
be conveyed thither and committed to divers prisons. He added, that he
had complied with Sir Hammond's request, and shown so much favor to
Mr. Tunstall as to transfer him, as soon as he  received his
letter, from the common dungeon to a private cell, and to allow him to
speak with another Catholic prisoner who had desired to see him. Upon
this I prayed Sir Hammond to forward me on my journey to London, as
now I desired nothing so much as to go there forthwith; which he did
with no small alacrity and good disposition. Then, with so much speed
as was possible, and so much suffering from the lapse of each hour
that it seemed to me the journey should never end, I proceeded to what
was now the object of my most impatient pinings--the place where I
should bear tidings of my father, and, if it should be possible,
minister assistance to him in his great straits. At last I reached
Holborn; and, to the no small amazement of my uncle, Mrs. Ward, and
Muriel, revealed to them who Mr. Tunstall was, whose arrival at the
prison of Bridewell Mrs. Ward had had notice of that morning, when she
had been to visit Mr. Watson, which she had contrived to do for some
time past in the manner I will soon relate.

CHAPTER XVI.

One of the first persons I saw in London was Hubert Rookwood, who,
when he heard (for being Basil's brother I would not conceal it from
him) that my father was in prison at Bridewell, expressed so much
concern therein and resentment of my grief, that I was thereby moved
to more kindly feelings toward him than I had of late entertained. He
said that in the houses of the law which he frequented he had made
friends which he hoped would intercede in his behalf, and therein
obtain, if not his release, yet so much alleviation of the hardships
of a common prison as should render his condition more tolerable, and
that he would lose no time in seeking to move them thereunto; but that
our chief hope would lie in Sir Francis Walsingham, who, albeit much
opposed to papists, had always showed himself willing to assist his
friends of that way of thinking, and often procured for them some
relief, which indeed none had more experienced than Mr. Congleton
himself. Hubert commended the secrecy which had been observed touching
my father's real name; for if he should be publicly known to be
possessed of lands and related to noble families, it should be harder
for any one to get him released than an obscure person; but
nevertheless he craved license to intimate so much of the truth to Sir
Francis as should appear convenient, for he had always observed that
gentlemen are more compassionate to those of their own rank than to
others of meaner birth. Mr. Congleton prayed him to use his own
discretion therein, and said he should acquaint no one himself of it
except his very good friend the Portuguese ambassador, who, if all
other resources failed, might yet obtain of the queen herself some
mitigation of his sentence. Thereupon followed some days of weary
watching and waiting, in which my only comfort was Mistress Ward, who,
by means of the gaoler's wife, who had obliged her in the like manner
before, did get access from time to time to Mr. Watson, and brought
him necessaries. From him she discovered that the prisoner in the
nearest cell to his own was the so-called Mr. Tunstall, and that by
knocks against the wall, ingeniously numbered so as to express the
letters of the alphabet, as one for _a_, two for _b_, and so to the
end thereof, they did communicate. So she straightway began to
practice this management; but time allowed not of many speeches to
pass between them. Yet in this way he sent me his blessing, and that
he was of very good cheer; but that none should try for to visit him,
for he had only one fear, which was to bring others into trouble; and,
for himself, he was much beholden to her majesty, which had provided
him with a quiet lodging and time to look to his soul's welfare;
which evidence of his cheerful and pious spirit comforted me not a
little. Then that dear friend which had brought me this good comfort
spoke of Mr. Watson, and said she desired to procure his escape from
prison more than that of any other person in the same plight, not
excepting my father. "For, good Constance," quoth she, "when a man is
blest with a stout heart and cheerful mind, except it be for the sake
of others, I pray you what kind of service do you think we render him
by delaying the victory he is about to gain, and peradventure
depriving him of the long-desired crown of martyrdom? But this good
Mr. Watson, who as you well know was a zealous priest and pious
missioner, nevertheless, some time after his apprehension and
confinement in Bridewell, by force of torments and other miseries of
that place, was prevailed upon to deny his faith so far as to go once
to the Protestant service--not dragged there by force as some have
been, but compelled thereunto by fear of intolerable sufferings, and
was then set at liberty. But the poor man did not thus better his
condition; for the torments of his mind, looking on himself as an
apostate and traitor to the Church, he found to be more insupportable
than any sufferings his gaolers put upon him. So, after some miserable
weeks, he went to one of the prisons where some other priests were
confined for to seek comfort and counsel from them; and, having
confessed his fault with great and sincere sorrow, he received
absolution, and straightway repaired to that church in Bridewell
wherein he had in a manner denied his faith, and before all the people
at that time therein assembled, declared himself a Catholic, and
willing to go to prison and to death sooner than to join again in
Protestant worship. Whereupon he was laid hold of, dragged to prison,
and thrown into a dungeon so low and so straight that he could neither
stand up in it nor lay himself down at his full length to sleep. They
loaded him with irons, and kept him one whole month on bread and
water; nor would suffer any one to come near him to comfort or speak
with him."

"Alas!" I cried, "and is this, then, the place where my father is
confined?'

"No,", she answered; "after the space of a month Mr. Watson was
translated to a lodging at the top of the house, wherein the prisoners
are leastways able to stretch their limbs and to see the light; but he
having been before prevailed on to yield against his conscience
touching that point of going to Protestant worship, no peace is left
to him by his persecutors, which never cease to urge on him some sort
of conformity to their religion. And, Constance, when a man hath once
been weak, what security can there be, albeit I deny not hope, that he
shall always after stand firm?"

"But by what means," I eagerly asked, '"do you forecast to procure his
escape?"

"I have permission," she answered, "to bring him necessaries, which I
do in a basket, on condition that I be searched at going in and coming
out, for to make sure I convey not any letter unto him or from him;
and this was so strictly observed the first month that they must needs
break open the loaves or pies I take to him lest any paper should be
conveyed inside. But they begin now to weary of this strict search,
and do not care at ways to hearken when I speak with him; so he could
tell me the last time I did visit him that he had found a way by which
if he had but a cord long enough for his purpose, he could let himself
down from the top of the house, and so make his escape in the night."

"Oh," I cried, "dear Mistress Ward, but this is a perilous venture, to
aid a prisoner's escape. One which a daughter might run for her
father, oh, how willingly, but for a stranger--"

"A stranger!" she answered. "Is he a stranger for whom Christ died,
and whose precious soul is in danger,  even if not a priest; and
being so, is he not entitled to more than common reverence, chiefly in
these days when God's servants minister to us in the midst of such
great straits to both soul and body?'

"I cry God mercy," I said; "I did term him a stranger who gave ghostly
comfort to my dear mother on her death-bed; but oh, dear Mistress
Ward, I thought on your peril, who, he knoweth, hath been as a mother
to me for these many years. And then-if you are resolved to run this
danger, should it not be possible to save my father also by the same
means? Two cords should not be more difficult to convey, methinks,
than one, and the peril not greater."

"If I could speak with him," she replied, "it would not be impossible.
I will tell Muriel to make two instead of one of these cords, which
she doth twine in some way she learnt from a Frenchman, so strong as,
albeit slight, to have the strength of a cable. But without we do
procure two men with a boat for to fetch the prisoners when they
descend, 'tis little use to make the attempt. And it be easier, I
warrant thee, Constance, to run one's self into a manifest danger than
to entice others to the like."

"Should it be safe," I asked, "to speak thereon to Hubert Rookwood? He
did exhibit this morning much zeal in my father's behalf, and promised
to move Sir Francis Walsingham to procure his release."

"How is he disposed touching religion? she asked, in a doubtful
manner.

"Alas!" I answered, "there is a secrecy in his nature which in more
ways than one doth prove unvestigable, leastways to me; but when he
comes this evening I will sound him thereon. Would his brother were in
London! Then we should not lack counsel and aid in this matter."

"We do sorely need both," she answered; "for your good uncle, than
which a better man never lived, wanes feeble in body, and hence easily
overcome by the fears such enterprises involve. Mr. Wells is not in
London at this tune, or he should have been a very palladium of
strength in this necessity. Hubert Rookwood hath, I think, a good
head."

"What we do want is a brave heart," I replied, thinking on Basil.

"But wits also," she said.

"Basil hath them too," I answered, forgetting that only in mine own
thinking had he been named.

"Yea," she cried, "who doth doubt it? but, alas! he is not here."

Then I prayed her not to be too rash in the prosecution of her design.
"Touching my father," I said, "I have yet some hope of his release;
and as long as any remaineth, flight should be methinks a too
desperate attempt to be thought of."

"Yea," she answered, "in most cases it would be so." But Mr. Watson's
disposition she perceived to be such as would meet a present danger
and death itself, she thought, with courage, but not of that stamp
which could endure prolonged fears or infliction of torments.

Since my coming to London I had been too much engaged in these weighty
cares to go abroad; but on that day I resolved, if it were possible,
to see my Lady Surrey. A report had reached me that the breach between
her and her husband had so much deepened that a separation had ensued,
which if true, I, which knew her as well almost as mine own self,
could judge what her grief must be. I was also moved to this endeavor
by the hope that if my Lord Arundel was not too sick to be spoken
with, she should perhaps obtain some help through his means for that
dear prisoner whose captivity did weigh so heavily on my heart.

So, with a servant to attend on me, I went through the city to the
Chapter-house, and with a misgiving mind heard from the porter that
Lady Surrey lodged not there, but at Arundel House, whither she had
removed soon after her coming to London.  Methought that in the
telling of it this man exhibited a sorrowful countenance; but not
choosing to question one of his sort on so weighty a matter, I went on
to Arundel House, where, after some delay, I succeeded in gaining
admittance to Lady Surrey's chamber, whose manner, when she first saw
me, lacked the warmth which I was used to in her greetings. There
seemed some fear in her lest I should speak unadvisedly that which she
would be loth to hear; and her strangeness and reserve methinks arose
from reluctance to have the wound in her heart probed,--too sore a
one, I ween, even for the tender handling of a friend. I inquired of
her if my Lord Arundel's health had improved. She said he was better,
and like soon to be as well as could be hoped for now-a-days, when his
infirmities had much increased.

"Then you will return to Kenninghall?" I said, letting my speech
outrun discretion.

"No," she replied; "I purpose never more to leave my Lord Arundel or
my Lady Lumley as long as they do live, which I pray God may be many
years."

And then she sat without speaking, biting her lips and wringing the
kerchief she held in her hands, as if to keep her grief from
outbursting. I dared not to comment on her resolve, for I foresaw that
the least word which should express some partaking of her sorrow, or
any question relating to it, would let loose a torrent weakly stayed
by a mightful effort, not like to be of long avail. So I spoke of mine
own troubles, and the events which had occasioned my sudden departure
from Lynn Court. She had heard of Lady l'Estrange's mishap, and that
the following day I had journeyed to London; but naught of the causes
thereof, or of the apprehension of any priest by Sir Hammond's orders.
Which, when she learnt the manner of this misfortune, and the poor
lady's share therein, and that it was my father she had thus
unwittingly discovered, her countenance softened, and throwing her
arms round my neck, she bitterly wept, which at that moment methinks
did her more good than anything else.

"Oh, mine own good Constance," she said, "I doubt not nature riseth
many passionate workings in your soul at this time; but, my dear
wench, when good men are in trouble our grief for them should be as
noble as their virtues. Bethink thee what a worst sorrow it should be
to have a vile father, one that thou must needs love,--for who can
tear out of his heart affection strong as life?--and he should then
prove unworthy. Believe me, Constance, God gives to each, even in this
world, a portion of their deserts. Such griefs as thy present one I
take to be rare instances of his favor. Other sorts of trials are meet
for cowardly souls which refuse to set their lips to a chalice of
suffering, and presently find themselves submerged in a sea of woes.
But can I help thee, sweet one? Is there aught I can do to lighten thy
affliction? Hast thou license for to see thy father?"

"No, dear lady," I answered; "and his name being concealed, I may not
petition as his daughter for this permission; but if my Lord Arundel
should be so good a lord to me as to obtain leave for me to visit this
prisoner, without revealing his name and condition, he should do me
the greatest benefit in the world."

"I will move him thereunto," my lady said. "But he who had formerly no
equal in the queen's favor, and to whom she doth partly owe her crown,
is now in his sickness and old age of so little account in her eyes,
that trifling favors are often denied him to whom she would once have
said: 'Ask of me what thou wilt, and I will give it unto thee.' But
what my poor endeavors can effect through him or others shall not be
lacking in this thy need. But I am not in that condition I was once
like to have enjoyed." Then with her eyes cast on the ground she
seemed for to doubt if she should  speak plainly, or still shut
up her grief in silence. As I sat painfully expecting her next words,
the door opened, and two ladies were announced, which she whispered in
mine ear she would fain not have admitted at that time, but that Lord
Arundel's desire did oblige her to entertain them. One was Mistress
Bellamy, and the other her daughter, Mistress Frances, a young
gentlewoman of great beauty and very lively parts, which I had once
before seen at Lady Ingoldsby's house. She was her parents' sole
daughter, and so idolized by them that they seemed to live only to
minister to her fancies. Lord Arundel was much bounden to this family
by ancient ties of friendship, which made him urgent with his
granddaughter that she should admit them to her privacy. I admired in
this instance how suddenly those which have been used to exercise such
self-command as high breeding doth teach can school their exterior to
seem at ease, and even of good cheer, when most ill at ease
interiorly, and with hearts very heavy. Lady Surrey greeted these
visitors with as much courtesy, and listened to their discourse with
as much civility and smiles when called for, as if no burthensome
thoughts did then oppress her.

Many and various themes were touched upon in the random talk which
ensued. First, that wonted one of the queen's marriage, which some
opined should verily now take place with Monsieur d'Alençon; for that
since his stealthy visits to England, she did wear in her bosom a
brooch of jewels in a frog's shape.

"Ay," quoth Mistress Frances, "that stolen visit which awoke the ire
of the poor soul Stubbs, who styled it 'an unmanlike, unprincelike,
French kind of wooing,' and endeth his book of 'The Gaping Gulph' in a
loyal rage: 'Here is, therefore, an imp of the crown of France, to
marry the crowned nymph of England,'--a nymph indeed well stricken in
years. My brother was standing by when Stubbs' hand was cut off; for
nothing else would content that sweet royal nymph, albeit the lawyers
stoutly contended the statute under which he suffered to be null and
void. As soon as his right hand is off, the man takes his hat off with
the left, and cries 'God bless the queen!'"

"Here is a wonder," I exclaimed; "I pray you, what is the art this
queen doth possess by which she holdeth the hearts of her subjects in
so great thrall, albeit so cruel to them which do offend her?"

"Lady Harrington hath told me her majesty's own opinion thereon," said
Mrs. Bellamy; "for one day she did ask her in a merry sort, 'How she
kept her husband's good-will and love?' To which she made reply that
she persuaded her husband of her affection, and in so doing did
command his. Upon which the queen cries out, 'Go to, go to, Mistress
Moll! you are wisely bent, I find. After such sort do I keep the good
wills of all my husbands, my good people; for if they did not rest
assured of some special love toward them, they would not readily yield
me such good obedience.'"

"Tut, tut!" cried Mistress Frances; "all be not such fools as John
Stubbs; and she knoweth how to take rebukes from such as she doth not
dare to offend. By the same token that Sir Philip Sydney hath written
to dissuade her from this French match, and likewise Sir Francis
Walsingham, which last did hint at her advancing years; and her
highness never so much as thought of striking off their hands. But I
warrant you a rebellion shall arise if this queen doth issue such
prohibitions as she hath lately done."

"Of what sort?" asked Lady Surrey.

"First, to forbid," Mrs. Bellamy said, "any new building to be raised
within three thousand paces of the gates of London on pain of
imprisonment, and sundry other penalties; or for more than one family
to inhabit in one house. For her majesty holds it  should be an
impossible thing to govern or maintain order in a city larger than
this London at the present time."

Mistress Frances declared this law to be more tolerable than the one
against the size of ladies' ruffs, which were forsooth not to exceed a
certain measure; and officers appointed for to stand at the comers of
streets and to clip such as overpassed the permitted dimensions, which
sooner than submit to she should die.

Lady Surrey smiled, and said she should have judged so from the size
of her fine ruff.

"But her majesty is impartial," quoth Mrs. Bellamy; "for the
gentlemen's rapiers are served in the same manner. And verily this law
hath nearly procured a war with France; for in Smithfield Lane some
clownish constables stayed M. de Castelnau, and laid hands on his
sword for to shorten it to the required length. I leave you to judge.
Lady Surrey, of this ambassador's fury. Sir Henry Seymour, who was
tidying the air in Smithfield at the time, perceived him standing with
the drawn weapon in his hand, threatening to kill whosoever should
approach him, and destruction on this realm of England if the officers
should dare to touch his sword again; and this with such frenzy of
speech in French mixed with English none could understand, that God
knoweth what should have ensued if Sir Henry had not interfered. Her
majesty was forced to make an apology to this mounseer for that her
officers had ignorantly attempted to clip the sword of her good
brother's envoy."

"Why doth she not clip," Mistress Frances said, "if such be her
present humor, the orange manes of her gray Dutch horses, which are
the frightfullest things in the world?"

"Tis said," quoth Mrs. Bellamy, "that a new French embassy is soon
expected, with the dauphin of Auvergne at its head."

"Yea," cried her daughter, "and four handsome English noblemen to meet
them at the Tower stairs, and conduct them to the new banqueting-house
at Westminster,--my Lord Surrey, Lord Windsor, Sir Philip Sydney, and
Sir Fulke Greville. Methinks this should be a very fine sight, if rain
doth not fall to spoil it."

I saw my Lady Surrey's countenance change when her husband was
mentioned; and Mrs. Bellamy looked at her daughter forasmuch as to
check her thoughtless speeches, which caused this young lady to glance
round the room, seeking, as it seemed, for some other topic of
conversation.

Methinks I should not have preserved so lively a recollection of the
circumstances of this visit if some dismal tidings which reached me
afterward touching this gentlewoman, then so thoughtless and innocent,
had not revived in me the memory of her gay prattle, bright unabashed
eyes, and audacious dealing with subjects so weighty and dangerous,
that any one less bold should have feared to handle them. After the
pause which ensued on the mention of Lord Surrey's name, she took for
her text what had been said touching the prohibitions lately issued
concerning ruffs and rapiers, and began to mock at her majesty's
favorites; yea, and to mimic her majesty herself with so much humor
that her well-acted satire must have needs constrained any one to
laugh. Then, not contented with these dangerous jests, she talked such
direct treason against her highness as to say she hoped to see her
dethroned, and a fair Catholic sovereign to reign in her stead, who
would be less shrewish to young and handsome ladies. Then her mother
cried her, for mercy's sake, to restrain her mad speech, which would
serve one day to bring them all into trouble, for all she meant it in
jest.

"Marry, good mother," she answered, "not in jest at all; for I do
verily hold myself bound to no allegiance to this queen, and would
gladly see her get her deserts."

Then Lady Surrey prayed her not to speak so rashly; but methought in
 her heart, and somewhat I could perceive of this in her eyes,
she misliked not wholly this young lady's words, who then spoke of
religion; and oh, how zealous therein she did appear, how boldly
affirmed (craving Lady Surrey's pardon, albeit she would warrant, she
said, there was no need to do so, her ladyship she had heard being
half a papist herself) that she had as lief be racked twenty times
over and die also, or her face to be so disfigured that none should
call her ever after anything but a fright--which martyrdom she held
would exceed any yet thought of--than so much as hold her tongue
concerning her faith, or stay from telling her majesty to her face, if
she should have the chance to get speech with her, that she was a foul
heretic, and some other truths beside, which but once to utter in her
presence, come of it what would, should be a delicious pleasure. Then
she railed at the Catholics which blessed the queen before they
suffered for their religion, proving them wrong with ingenious reasons
and fallacious arguments mixed with pleasantries not wholly becoming
such grave themes. But it should have seemed as reasonable to be angry
with a child babbling at random of life and death in the midst of its
play, as with this creature, the lightest of heart, the fairest in
face, the most winsome in manner, and most careless of danger, that
ever did set sail on life's stream.

Oh, how all this rose before me again, when I heard, two years
afterward, that for her bold recusancy--alas! more bold, as the
sequel proved, than deep, more passionate than fervent--this only
cherished daughter, this innocent maiden, the mirror of whose fame no
breath had sullied, and on whose name no shadow had rested, was torn
by the pursuivants from her parents' home, and cast into a prison with
companions at the very aspect of which virtue did shudder. And the
unvaliant courage, the weak bravery, of this indulged and wayward
young lady had no strength wherewith to resist the surging tides of
adversity. No voice of parent, friend, or ghostly father reached her
in that abode of despair. No visible angel visited her, but a fiend in
human form haunted her dungeon. Liberty and pleasure he offered in
exchange for virtue, honor, and faith. She fell; sudden and great was
that fall.

There is a man the name of which hath blenched the cheeks and riven
the hearts of Catholics, one who hath caused many amongst them to lose
their lands and to part from their homes, to die on gibbets and their
limbs to be torn asunder--one Richard Topcliffe. But, methinks, of all
the voices which shall be raised for to accuse him at Christ's
judgment-seat, the loudest will be Frances Bellamy's. Her ruin was his
work; one of those works which, when a man is dead, do follow him;
whither, God knoweth!

Oh, you who saw her, as I did, in her young and innocent years, can
you read this without shuddering? Can you think on it without weeping?
As her fall was sudden, so was the change it wrought. With it vanished
affections, hopes, womanly feelings, memory of the past; nay, methinks
therein I err. Memory did yet abide, but linked with hatred; Satan's
memory of heaven. From depths to depths she hath sunk, and is now
wedded to a mean wretch, the gaoler of her old prison. So rank a
hatred hath grown in her against recusants and mostly priests, that it
rages like a madness in her soul, which thirsts for their blood. Some
months back, about the time I did begin to write this history, news
reached me that she had sold the life of that meek saint, that sweet
poet, Father Southwell, of which even an enemy, Lord Mountjoy, did
say, when he had seen him suffer, "I pray God, where that man's soul
now is, mine may one day be." Her father had concealed him in that
house where she had dwelt in her innocent days. None but the family
knew the secret of its hiding-place.
She did reveal it, and took gold for her wages! What shall be that
woman's death-bed? What trace doth remain on her soul of what was once
a share in the divine nature? May one of God's ministers be nigh unto
her in that hour for to bid her not despair! If Judas had repented,
Jesus would have pardoned him. Peradventure, misery without hope of
relief overthrew her brain. I do pray for her always. 'Tis a vain
thought perhaps, but I sometimes wish I might, though I see not how to
compass it, yet once speak with her before she or I die. Methinks I
could say such words as should touch some old chord in her dead heart.
God knoweth! That day I write of, little did I ween what her end would
be. But yet it feared me to hear one so young and of so frail an
aspect speak so boastfully; and it seemed even then to my
inexperienced mind, that my Lady Surrey, who had so humbly erewhile
accused herself of cowardice and lamented her weakness, should be in a
safer plight, albeit as yet unreconciled.

The visit I have described had lasted some time, when a servant came
with a message to her ladyship from Mr. Hubert Rookwood, who craved to
be admitted on an urgent matter. She glanced at me somewhat surprised,
upon which I made her a sign that she should condescend to his
request; for I supposed he had seen Sir Francis Walsingham, and was in
haste to confer with me touching that interview; and she ordered him
to be admitted. Mrs. Bellamy and her daughter rose to go soon after
his entrance; and whilst Lady Surrey conducted them to the door he
asked me if her ladyship was privy to the matter in hand. When I had
satisfied him thereof, he related what had passed in an interview he
had with Sir Francis, whom he found ill-disposed at first to stir in
the matter, for he said his frequent remonstrances in favor of
recusants had been like to bring him into odium with some of the more
zealous Protestants, and that he must needs, in every case of that
sort, prove it to be his sole object to bring such persons more
surely, albeit slowly, by means of toleration, to a rightful
conformity; and that with regard to priests he was very loth to
interfere.

"I was compelled," quoth Hubert, "to use such arguments as fell in
with the scope of his discourse, and to flatter him with the hope of
good results in that which he most desired, if he would procure Mr.
Sherwood's release, which I doubt not he hath power to effect. And in
the end he consented to lend his aid therein, on condition he should
prove on his side so far conformable as to suffer a minister to visit
and confer with him touching religion, which would then be a pretext
for his release, as if it were supposed he was well disposed toward
Protestant religion, and a man more like to embrace the truth when at
liberty than if driven to it by stress of confinement. Then he would
procure," he added, "an order for his passage to France, if he
promised not to return, except he should be willing to obey the laws."

"I fear me much," I answered, "my father will not accept these terms
which Sir Francis doth offer. Methinks he will consider they do
involve some lack of the open profession of his faith."

"It would be madness for one in his plight to refuse them," Hubert
exclaimed, and appealed thereon to Lady Surrey, who said she did
indeed think as he did, for it was not like any better could be
obtained.

It pained me he should refer to her, who from conformity to the times
could not well conceive how tender a Catholic conscience should feel
at the least approach to dissembling on this point.

"Wherein," he continued, "is the harm for to confer with a minister,
or how can it be construed into a denial of a man's faith to listen to
his arguments, unless, indeed, he feels himself to be in danger of
being shaken by them?"

"You very well know," I exclaimed  with some warmth, "that not to
be my meaning, or what I suppose his should be. Our priests do
constantly crave for public disputations touching religion, albeit
they eschew secret ones, which their adversaries make a pretext of to
spread reports of their inability to defend their faith, or
willingness to abandon it. But heaven forbid I should anyways prejudge
this question; and if with a safe conscience--and with no other I am
assured will he do it--my father doth subscribe to this condition,
then God be praised for it!"

"But you will move him to it, Mistress Constance?" he said.

"If I am so happy," I answered, "as to get speech with him, verily I
will entreat him not to throw away his life, so precious to others, if
so be he can save it without detriment to his conscience."

"Conscience!" Hubert exclaimed, "methinks that word is often
misapplied in these days."

"How so?" I asked, investigating his countenance, for I misdoubted his
meaning. Lady Surrey likewise seemed desirous to hear what he should
say on that matter.

"Conscience," he answered, "should make persons, and mostly women,
careful how they injure others, and cause heedless suffering, by a too
great stiffness in refusing conformity to the outward practices which
the laws of the country enforce, when it affects not the weightier
points of faith, which God forbid any Catholic should deny. There is
often as much of pride as of virtue in such rash obstinacy touching
small yieldings as doth involve the ruin of a family, separation of
parents and children, and more evils than can be thought of."

"Hubert," I said, fixing mine eyes on him with a searching look he
cared not, I ween, to meet, for he cast his on a paper he had in his
hand, and raised them not while I spoke, "'sit is by such reasonings
first, and then by such small yieldings as you commend, that some have
been led two or three times in their lives, yea, oftener perhaps, to
profess different religions, and to take such contradictory oaths as
have been by turns prescribed to them under different sovereigns, and
God each time called on to witness their perjuries, whereby truth and
falsehood in matters of faith shall come in time to be words without
any meaning."

Then he: "You do misapprehend me, Mistress Constance, if you think I
would counsel a man to utter a falsehood, or feign to believe that
which in his heart he thinketh to be false. But, in heaven's name, I
pray you, what harm will your father do if he listens to a minister's
discourse, and suffers it to be set forth he doth ponder thereon, and
in the meantime escapes to France? whereas, if he refuses the loophole
now offered to him, he causeth not to himself alone, but to you and
his other friends, more pain and sorrow than can be thought of, and
deprives the Church of one of her servants, when her need of them is
greatest."

I made no reply to this last speech; for albeit I thought my father
would not accede to these terms, I did not so far trust mine own
judgment thereon as to predict with certainty what his answer should
be. And then Hubert said he had an order from Sir Francis that would
admit me on the morrow to see my father; and he offered to go with me,
and Mistress Ward too, if I listed, to present it, albeit I alone
should enter his cell. I thanked him, and fixed the time of our going.

When he had left  us,  Lady Surrey commended his zeal, and also his
moderate spirit, which did charitably allow, she said, for such as
conformed to the times for the sake of others which their
reconcilement would very much injure.

Before I could reply she changed this discourse, and, putting her
hands on my shoulders and kissing my forehead, said,

"My Lady Lumley hath heard so much from her poor niece of one
Mistress Constance Sherwood, that she doth greatly wish to see this
young gentlewoman and very resolved papist." And then taking me by the
arm she led me to that lady's chamber, where I had as kind a welcome
as ever I received from any one from her ladyship, who said "her dear
Nan's friends should be always as dear to her as her own," and added
many fine commendations greatly exceeding my deserts.

CHAPTER XVII.

When I had been a short time in my Lady Lumley's chamber, my Lord
Arundel sent for his granddaughter, who was wont, she told me, at that
hour to write letters for him; and I stayed alone with her ladyship,
who, as soon as Lady Surrey left us, thus broke forth in her praise:

"Hath any one, think you. Mistress Sherwood, ever pictured or imagined
a creature more noble, more toward in disposition, more virtuous in
all her actions, of greater courage in adversity or patience under
ill-usage than this one, which God hath sent to this house to cheer
two lonely hearts, whilst her own is well-nigh broken?"

"Oh, my Lady Lumley!" I exclaimed, "I fear some new misfortune hath
befallen this dear lady, who is indeed so rare a piece of goodness
that none can exceed in describing her deserts. Hitherto she hath
condescended to impart her sorrows to her poor friend; but to-day she
shut up her griefs in her own bosom, albeit I could read unspoken
suffering in every lineament of her sweet countenance."

"God forgive me," her ladyship replied, "if in speaking of her wrongs
I should entertain over-resentful feelings toward her ungracious
husband, whom once I did love as a mother, and very loth hath my heart
been to condemn him; but now, if it were not that I myself received
him in my arms what time he was born, whose life was the cause of my
sweet young sister's death, I should doubt he could be her son."

"What fresh injury," I timidly asked, "hath driven Lady Surrey from
her house?"

"_Her_ house no longer," quoth Lady Lumley. "She hath no house, no
home, no husband worthy of the name, and only an old man nigh unto the
grave, alas! and a poor feeble woman such as I am to raise a voice in
her behalf, who is spurned by one who should have loved and cherished
her, as twice before God's altar he vowed to do. Oh," cried the poor
lady, weeping, "she hath borne all things else with a sweet fortitude
which angels looking down on her must needs have wondered at. She
would ever be excusing this faithless husband with many pretty wiles
and loving subterfuges, making, sweet sophist, the worst appear the
better reason. 'Men must needs be pardoned,' she would say, when my
good father waxed wroth at his ill-usage of her, 'for such outward
neglect as many practice in these days toward their wives, for that it
was the fashion at the court to appear unhusbandly; but if women would
be patient, she would warrant them their love should be requited at
last.' And when news came that Phil had sold an estate for to
purchase--God save the mark!--a circlet of black pearls for the queen;
and Lord Arundel swore he should leave him none of his lands but what
by act of parliament he was compelled to do, she smiled winsomely, and
said: 'Yea, my lord, I pray you, let my dear Phil be a poor man as his
father wished him to be, and then, if it please God, we may live in a
cottage and be happy.' And so turned away his anger by soft words, for
he  laughed and answered: 'Heaven help thee. Nan! but I fear that
cottage must needs be Arundel Castle, for my hands are so tied therein
that thy knavish husband cannot fail to inherit it. And beshrew me if
I would either rob thee of it, mine own good Nan, or its old walls of
thy sweet presence when I shall be dead.' And so she always pleaded
for him, and never lost heart until . . . Oh, Mistress Sherwood, I
shall never forget the day when her uncle, Francis Dacre--wisely or
unwisely I know not, but surely meaning well--gave her to read in this
house, where she was spending a day, a letter which had fallen into
his hands, I wot not how, in the which Philip--God forgive
him!--expressed some kind of doubt if he was truly married to her or
not. Some wily wretch had, I ween, whispered to him, in an evil hour,
this accursed thought. When she saw this misdoubt written in his hand
she straightway fell down in a swoon, which recovering from, the first
thing she did was to ask for her cloak and hat, and would have walked
alone to her house if I had not stayed her almost by force, until Lord
Arundel's coach could be got ready for her. In less than two hours she
returned with so wan and death-like a countenance that it frighted me
to see her, and for some time she would not speak of what had passed
between her lord and herself; only she asked for to stay always in
this house, if it should please her grandfather, and not to part from
us any more. At the which speech I could but kiss her, and with many
tears protest that this should be the joyfullest news in the world to
Lord Arundel and to me, and what he would most desire, if it were not
for her grief, which, like an ill wind, yet did blow us this good.
'Yea,' she answered, with the deepest sigh which can be thought of, 'a
cold, withering blast which driveth me from the shelter which should
be mine! I have heard it said that when Cardinal Wolsey lay a-dying he
cried, "It were well with me now if I had served my God with the like
zeal with which I have served my king," or some words of that sort.
Oh, my Lady Lumley!' the poor child exclaimed, 'if I had not loved
Philip more than God and his Church, methinks I should not thus be
cast off!' 'Cast off,' I cried; 'and has my graceless nephew, then,
been so wicked?' 'Oh, he is changed,' she answered--'he is changed.
In his eyes, in his voice, I found not Philip's looks, nor Philip's
tones. Nought but harshness and impatience to dismiss me. The queen,
he said, was coming to rest at his house on her way to the city, and
he lacked leisure to listen to my complaints. Then I felt grief and
anger rise in my breast with such vehemency that I charged him, maybe
too suddenly, with the doubt he had expressed in his letter to my Lord
Oxford. His face flushed deeply; but drawing up haughtily, as one
aggrieved, he said the manner of our marrying had been so unusual that
there were some, and those persons well qualified to judge, who
misdoubted if there did not exist a flaw in its validity. That he
should himself be loth to think so, but that to seek at that moment to
prove the contrary, when his fortunes hung on a thread, would be to
ruin him.'

"There she paused, and clasped her hands together as if scarce able to
proceed; but soon raising her head, she related in a passionate manner
how her heart had then swelled well-nigh to bursting, pride and
tenderness restraining the utterance of such resentful thoughts as
rose in her when she remembered his father's last letter, wherein he
said his chief prop and stay in his fallen estate should be the wife
he had bestowed on him; of her own lands sold for the supply of his
prodigal courtiership; of her long patience and pleading for him to
others; and this his present treatment of her, which no wife could
brook, even if of mean birth and virtue, much loss one his equal in
condition, as well dowered as any in the land,  and as faithful
and tender to him as he did prove untoward to her. But none of these
reproaches passed her lips; for it was an impossible thing to her, she
said, to urge her own deserts, or so much as mention the fortune she
had brought him. Only twice she repeated, 'Ruin your fortunes, my
lord! ruin your fortunes! God help me, I had thought rather to mend
them!' And then, when he tried to answer her in some sort of evading
fashion, as if unsaying, and yet not wholly denying his former speech,
she broke forth (and in the relation of this scene the passion of her
grief renewed itself) in vehement adjurations, which seemed somewhat
to move him, not to be so unjust to her or to himself as to leave that
in uncertainty which so nearly touched both their honors; and if the
thought of a mutual love once existing between them, and a firm bond
of marriage relied on with unshaken security, and his father's dying
blessing on it, and the humble duty she had shown him from the time
she had borne his name, sufficed not to resolve him thereunto, yet for
the sake of justice to one fatherless and brotherless as herself, she
charged him without delay to make that clear which, left uncertain,
concerned her more nearly than fortune or state, and without which no,
not one day, would she abide in his house. Then the sweet soul said
she hoped, from his not ungracious silence and the working of his
features, which visibly revealed an inward struggle, that his next
words should have been of comfort to her; but when she had drawn nigh
to him, and, taking his hand, called him by his name with so much of
reproachful endearment as could be expressed in the utterance of it, a
gentleman broke into the room crying out: 'My lord, my lord, the
trumpets do sound! The queen's coach is in sight.' Upon which, she
said that, with a muttered oath, he started up and almost thrust her
from him, saying, 'For God's sake, be gone!' And by a back-door,' she
added, 'I went out of mine own house into the street, where I had left
my Lord Arundel's coach, and crept into it, very faint and giddy, the
while the queen's coach did enter the court with gay banners waving,
and striking-up of music, and the people crying out, "God bless the
queen!" I cry God mercy for it,' she said, 'but I could not say amen.'
Now she is resolved," my Lady Lumley continued, "never to set her foot
again in any of her husband's houses, except he doth himself entreat
her to it, and makes that matter clear touching his belief in the
validity of their marriage; and methinks she is right therein. My Lord
Arundel hath written to remonstrate with his grandson touching his
ill-usage of his lady, and hath also addressed her majesty thereupon.
But all the comment she did make on his letter, I have been told, was
this: 'That she had heard my Lord Arundel was in his dotage; and
verily she did now hold it to be so, for that she had never received a
more foolish letter; and she did pity the old white horse, which was
now only fit to be turned out to grass;' and other biting jests,
which, when a sovereign doth utter them, carry with them a rare
poignancy."

Then my Lady Lumley wiped her eyes, and bade me to be of good cheer,
and not to grieve overmuch for Lady Surrey's troubles (but all the
while her own tears continued to flow), for that she had so noble and
religious a disposition, with germs of so much virtue in it, that she
thought her to be one of those souls whom Almighty God draws to
himself by means of such trials as would sink common natures; and that
she had already marked how, in much prayer, ever-increasing good
works, and reading of books which treat of wholesome doctrine and
instruction, she presently recalled the teachings of her childhood,
and took occasion, when any Catholics came to the house, to converse
with them touching religion. Then, with many kind expressions, she
dismissed me; and on the stairs, as I went out, I met  Lady
Surrey, who noticed mine eyes to be red with weeping, and, embracing
me, said:

"I ween Lady Lumley hath been no hider of my griefs, good Constance,
and, i' faith, I am obliged to her if she hath told thee that which I
would fain not speak of, even to thee, dear wench. There are sorrows
best borne in silence; and since the last days we talked together mine
have grown to be of that sort. And so farewell for to-day, and may God
comfort thee in thy nobler troubles, and send his angels to thine
aid."

When I returned to Holborn, Mistress Ward met me with the news that
she had been to the prison, and heard that Mr. Watson was to be
strenuously examined on an approaching day--and it is well known what
that doth signify--touching the names of the persons which had
harbored him since his coming to England. And albeit he was now
purposed steadily to endure extreme torments sooner than to deny his
faith or injure others, she did so much apprehend the weakness of
nature should betray him, that her resolve was taken to attempt the
next day, or rather on the following night, to further his escape. But
how, she asked, could my father be dealt with in time touching that
matter? I told her I was to see him on the morrow, by means of an
order from Sir Francis Walsingham, and should then lay before him the
issues offered unto his election. She said she was very much contented
to hear it; and added, she must now secure boatmen to assist in the
escape who should be reliable Catholic men; and if in this she did
succeed, she feared not to fail in her design.

At the hour I had fixed upon with Hubert, on the next day, he came to
carry me to the prison at Bridewell. Mistress Ward prevailed on Mr.
Congleton to go thither with us, for she was loth to be seen there in
company with known persons, and added privily in mine ear, "The more
so at a time when it may happen I should get into trouble touching the
matter I have in hand." When we reached the place, Hubert presented to
the gaoler Sir Francis's letter, which was also signed by the
governor, and I was forthwith conducted to my father's cell. When I
entered it, and advanced toward that dear prisoner, I dared not in the
man's presence to show either the joy or grief I felt at that meeting,
but stood by his side like one deprived of the power of speech, and
only struggling to restrain my tears. I feared we should not have been
left alone, and then this interview should have proved of little use
or comfort; but after setting for me a chair, which he had sent
for--for there was only one small bench in the cell--this officer
withdrew, and locked the door on me and that dear parent, whose face
was very white and wan, but who spoke in as cheerful and kind a manner
as can be thought of, albeit taxing me with wilfulness for that I had
not complied with his behest that none should come to visit him. I
would not have the chair which had been sent for me--for I did hold
it to be an unbecoming thing for a daughter to sit down in her
father's presence (and he a priest), who had only a poor bench to rest
his limbs on--but placed myself on the ground at his feet; which at
first he misliked, but afterward said it should be as I pleased. Then,
after some affectionate speeches, wherein his great goodness toward me
was shown, and my answers to them, which disburthened my heart of some
of the weight which oppressed it, as did likewise the shedding of a
few tears on his hand, which was clasped in mine, I spoke, in case
time should press, of Sir Francis's offer, and the condition thereunto
attached, which I did with a trembling voice, and yet such indifferent
tones as I could affect, as if showing no leaning to one way of
thinking or the other, touching his acceptance of these terms. In the
brief time which did elapse between my speaking and his reply,
methinks I had an equal fear lest he should  assent or dissent
therein--filial love mightfully prompting me to desire his acceptance
of this means of deliverance, yet coupled with an apprehension that in
that case he should stand one degree less high in the favor of God and
the eyes of men. But I was angered with myself that I should have mine
own thoughts therein, or in any way form a judgment forestalling his,
which peradventure would see no evil in this concession; and
forecasting also the consequences which should ensue if he refused, I
resolved to move him thereunto by some such words as these: "My dearly
beloved father, if it be possible, I pray you yield this small matter
to those that seek to save your life. Let the minister come to satisfy
Sir Francis, and all shall be well, yea, without your speaking one
word, or by so much as one look assenting to his arguments."

I dared not to meet his eyes, which he fixed on me, but kept kissing
his hand whilst he said: "Daughter Constance, labor not to move me in
this matter; for far above all other things I may have to suffer,
nothing would touch me so near, or be so grievous to me, as to see
you, my well-beloved child, try to persuade me unto that which in
respect of my soul I will never consent to. For, I pray you, first as
regards religion, can I suffer any to think, albeit I should give no
cause for it but silence, that my faith is in any wise shaken, which
peradventure would prove a stumbling-block to others? or, touching
truth and honesty, shall I accept life and freedom on some such
supposition as that I am like to change my religion, when I should as
soon think to cast myself into hell of mine own free will as to deny
one point of Catholic belief? No, no, mine own good child; 'tis a
narrow path which doth lead to heaven, and maybe it shall prove
exceeding narrow for me ere I reach its end, and not over easy to the
feet or pleasant to the eye; but God defend I should by so much as one
hair's-breadth overpass a narrowness which tendeth to so good a
conclusion; and verily, to be short, my good child, tender my thanks
to Sir Francis Walsingham--who I doubt not meaneth excellently well by
me--and to young Master Rookwood, who hath dealt with him therein;
but tell them I am very well pleased with my present abode as long as
it shall please God to keep me in this world; and when he willeth me
to leave it, believe me, daughter Constance, the quickest road to
heaven shall be the most pleasing to me."

His manner was so resolved that I urged him no further, and only
heaved a deep sigh. Then he said, kindly: "Come, mine own good child,
give me so much comfort as to let me hear that thou art of the same
way of thinking in this matter as thy unworthy but very resolved
father."

"My dear father," I replied, "methinks I never loved you so well, or
honored you one half so much as now, when you have cast off all human
consolation, yea, and a certain hope of deliverance, rather than give
occasion to the enemies of our faith to boast they had prevailed on
you, in ever so small a matter, to falter in the open profession
thereof; and I pray God, if ever I should be in a like plight, I may
not prove myself to be otherwise than your true child in spirit as in
nature. As to what shall now follow your refusal, it lieth in God's
hands, and I know he can deliver you, if he doth will it, from this
great peril you are in."

"There's my brave wench," quoth he then, laying his scarred hand on my
head; "thy mother had a prophetic spirit, I ween, when she said of
thee when yet a puling girl, 'As her days, so shall her strength be.'
Verily God is very good, who hath granted us these moments of peaceful
converse in a place where we had once little thought for to meet."

As I looked upon him, sitting on a poor bench in that comfortless
cell, his noble fair visage oldened by hardships and toils rather than
years, his eyes so full of peace, yea of contentment, that  joy
seemed to beam in them, I thought of the words of Holy Writ, which do
foretell which shall be said hereafter of the just by such as have
afflicted them and taken away their labors: "There are they whom we
had some time in derision and for a parable of reproach. We fools
esteemed their life madness and their end without honor. Behold, how
they are numbered with the children of God, and their lot amongst the
saints."

At that time a knock against the wall was heard, and my father set his
ear against it, counting the number of such knocks; for it was Mr.
Watson, he said, beginning to converse with him in their wonted
fashion. "I will tell him I am engaged," quoth he, in his turn tapping
in the same manner. "But peradventure he hath somewhat to
communicate," I said.

"No," he answered, "for in that case he would have knocked three times
at first, for on this signal we have agreed." Smiling, he added, "We
do confess to each other in this way. 'Tis somewhat tedious, I do
admit; but thanks be to God we lack not leisure here for such duties."

Then I briefly told him of Mistress Ward's intent to procure Mr.
Watson's escape.

"Ay," he said, "I am privy to it, and I do pray God it may succeed. It
should be to me the greatest joy in the world to hear that good man
was set free, or made free by any good means."

"Then," I added, "will you not join in the attempt, if so be she can
convey to you a cord? and the same boat should carry you both off."

"Nay," he replied; "for more reasons than one I am resolved against
that in mine own case which in Mr. Watson's I do commend. This
enterprise must needs bring that good woman, Mrs. Ward, into some sort
of danger, which she doth well to run for his sake, and which he doth
not wrong to consent unto, she being of a willing mind to encounter
it. For if the extremity of torture should extort the admissions they
do seek from him, many should then grievously suffer, and mostly his
own soul. But I have that trust in God, who hath given me in all my
late perils what nature had verily not furnished me with, an undaunted
spirit to meet sufferings with somewhat more than fortitude, with a
very great joy such as his grace can only bestow, that he will
continue to do so, whatever straits I do find myself in; and being so
minded, I am resolved not again by mine own doing to put mine own and
others' lives in jeopardy; but to take what he shall send in the
ordinary course of things, throwing all my care on him, without whose
knowledge and will not so much as one hair of our heads doth fall to
the ground. But I am glad to be privy to the matter in hand for Mr.
Watson, so as to pray for him this day and night, and also for that
noble soul who doth show herself so true a Christian in her care for
his weal and salvation."

Then, changing to other themes, he inquired of me at some length
touching the passages of my life since he had parted with me, and my
dispositions touching the state of life I was about to embrace,
concerning which he gave me the most profitable instructions which can
be thought of, and rules of virtue, which, albeit imperfectly
observed, have proved of so great and wholesome guidance to my
inexperienced years that I do stand more indebted to him for this fine
advice, there given me, than for all other benefits besides. He then
spoke of Edmund Genings, who, by a special dispensation of the Pope,
had lately been ordained priest, being but twenty-three years of age,
and said the preparation he had made for receiving this holy order was
very great, and the impression the greatness of the charge made upon
his mind so strong, that it produced a wonderful effect in his very
body, affecting for a time his health. He was infirmarian at Rheims,
and labored among the sick students, a very model of piety and
humility; but _vivamus in spe_ was still, as heretofore, his motto,
and that hope in which he lived was to be sent upon the English
mission. These, my father said, were the last tidings he had heard of
him. His mother he did believe was dead, and his younger brother had
left La Rochelle and was in Paris, leading a more gay life than was
desirable. "And now I pray you, mine own dear honored father," I said,
"favor me, I beseech you, with a recital of your own haps since you
landed in England, and I ceased to receive letters from you." He
condescended to my request, in the words which do follow:

"Well, my good child, I arrived in this country one year and five
months back, having by earnest suit and no small difficulty obtained
from my superiors to be sent on the English mission; for by reason of
the weakness of my health, and some use I was of in the college, owing
to my acquaintanceship with the French and the English languages, Dr.
Allen was loth to permit my departure. I crossed the seas in a small
merchant-vessel, and landed at Lynn. The port-officers searched me to
the skin, and found nothing on me; but one Sledd, an informer, which
had met me in an inn at Honfleur, where I had lodged for some days
before sailing for England, had taken my marks very precisely; and
arriving in London some time before I landed in Norfolk, having been
stayed by contrary winds in my longer passage, he there presented my
name and marks; upon which the queen's council sent to the searchers
of the ports. These found the said marks very apparent in me; but for
the avoiding of charges, the mayor of the place, one Mr. Alcock, and
Rawlins the searcher, requested a gentleman which had landed at the
same time with me, and who called himself Haward, to carry me as a
prisoner to the lord-lieutenant of the county. He agreed very easily
thereunto; but as soon as we were out of the town, 'I cannot,' says
this gentleman, 'in conscience, nor will not, being myself a Catholic,
deliver you, a Catholic priest, prisoner to the lord-lieutenant. But
we will go straight to Norwich, and when we come there, shift for
yourself, as I will do for myself.'

"Coming to Norwich, I went immediately to one of the gaols, and
conferred with a Catholic, a friend of mine, which by chance I found
out to be there imprisoned for recusancy. I recounted to him the order
of my apprehension and escape; and he told me that in conscience I
could not make that escape, and persuaded me I ought to yield myself
prisoner; whereupon I went to my friend Haward, whom, through the
aforesaid Catholic prisoner, I found to be no other than Dr. Ely, a
professor of canon and civil law at Douay. I requested him to deliver
to me the mayor's letter to the lord-lieutenant. 'Why, what will you
do with it?' said he. 'I will go,' I said, 'and carry it to him, and
yield myself a prisoner; for I am not satisfied I can make this escape
in conscience, having had a contrary opinion thereon.' And I told him
what that prisoner I had just seen had urged. 'Why,' said Haward,
'this counsel which hath been given you proceedeth, I confess, from a
zealous mind; but I doubt whether it carrieth with it the weight of
knowledge. You shall not have the letter, nor you may not in
conscience yield yourself to the persecutors, having so good means
offered to escape their cruelty.' But as I still persisted in my
demand, 'Well,' said Mr. Haward, 'seeing you will not be turned by me
from this opinion, let us go first and consult with such a man,' and
he named one newly come over, who was concealed at the house of a
Catholic not very far off. This was a man of singular wit aid
learning, and of such rare virtues that I honored and reverenced him
greatly, which Mr. Haward perceiving, he said, with a smile, 'If he be
of your opinion, you shall have the letter, and go in God's name!'
When we came  to him, he utterly disliked of my intention, and
dissuaded me from what he said was a fond cogitation. So being
assuaged, I went quietly about my business, and travelled for the
space of more than a year from one Catholic house to another in
Norfolk and Suffolk, ministering the sacraments to recusants, and
reconciling many to the Church, which, from fear or lack of
instruction or spiritual counsel, or only indifferency, had conformed
to the times. Methinks, daughter Constance, for one such year a man
should be willing to lay down a thousand lives, albeit, or rather
because, as St. Paul saith, he be 'in journeyings often, in perils
from his own nation, in perils from false brethren' (oh, how true and
applicable do these words prove to the Catholics of this land!), 'in
perils in the city, in perils of the wilderness, in perils of the
sea.' And if it pleases God now to send me labors of another sort, so
that I may be in prisons frequently, in stripes above measure, and,
finally, in death itself, his true servant,--oh, believe me, my good
child, the right fair house I once had, with its library and garden
and orchard, and everything so handsome about us, and the company of
thy sweet mother, and thy winsome childish looks of love, never gave
me so much heartfelt joy and comfort as the new similitude I
experience, and greater I hope to come, to my loved and only Master's
sufferings and death!"

At this time of his recital my tears flowed abundantly; but with an
imparted sweetness, which, like a reflected light, shone from his soul
on mine. But to stay my weeping he changed his tone, and said with
good cheer:

"Come now, my wench, I will presently make thee merry by the recital
of a strait in which I once found myself, and which maketh me to laugh
to think on it, albeit at the time, I warrant thee, it was like to
prove no laughable matter. It happened that year I speak of that I was
once secretly sent for by a courtlike gentleman of good wealth that
had lived in much bravery, and was then sick and lying in great pain.
He had fallen into a vehement agitation and deep study of the life to
come; and thereupon called for a priest--for in mind and opinion he
was Catholic--that he might learn from him to die well. According to
the custom of the Church, I did admonish him, among other things, that
if he had any way hurt or injured any man, or unjustly possessed other
men's goods, he should go about by-and-by to make restitution
according to his ability. He agreed to do so, and called to mind that
he had taken away something from a certain Calvinist, under pretence
of law indeed, but not under any good assurance for a Catholic
conscience to trust to. Therefore, he took order for restitution to be
made, and died. The widow, his wife, was very anxious to accomplish
her husband's will; but being afraid to commit the matter to any one,
her perplexed mind was entangled in briers of doubtfulness. She one
day declared her grief unto me, and beseeched me, for God's sake, to
help her with my counsel and travail. So, seeing her distress, I
proffered to put myself in any peril that might befall in the doing of
this thing; but, indeed, persuaded myself that no man would be so
perverse as of a benefit to desire revengement. Therefore committing
the matter to God, I mounted on horseback, and away I went on my
journey. When I came to the town where the man did dwell to whom the
money was to be delivered, I set up my horse in the next inn, that I
might be readier at hand to scape immediately after my business was
despatched. I then went to the creditor's house, and called the man
forth alone, taking him by the hand and leading him aside from the
company of others. Then I declared to him that I had money for him,
which I would deliver into his hands with this condition, that he
inquired no further either who sent or who brought it unto him, or
what  the cause and matter was, but only receive the money and
use it as his own. The old fellow promised fair, and with a good will
gave his word faithfully so to do, and with many thanks sent me away.
With all the speed I was able to make, I hastened to mine host's
house, for to catch hold of my horse and fly away. But forthwith the
deceitful old fellow betrayed me, and sent men after to apprehend me,
not supposing me this time to be a priest, but making the surmise
against me that forsooth I was not a man but a devil, which had
brought money of mine own making to bewitch him. All the people of the
town, when they heard the rumor, confirmed the argument, with this
proof among others, that I had a black horse, and gave orders for to
watch the animal diligently, whether he did eat hay as other horses,
or no. As for me, they put a horse-lock about my leg, shut me up close
in a strong chamber, and appointed a fellow to be with me continually,
night and day, which should watch if I did put off my boots at any
time, and if my feet were like horses' feet, or that I was
cloven-footed, or had feet slit and forked as beasts have; for this
they affirmed to be a special mark whereby to know the devil when he
lieth lurking under the shape and likeness of a man. Then the people
assembled about the house in great numbers, and proffered money
largely that they might see this monster with their own eyes; for by
this time they were persuaded that I was indeed an ill spirit, or the
very devil. 'For what man was ever heard of,' said they, 'which, if he
had the mind, understanding, and sense of a man, would, of his own
voluntary will, and without any respect or consideration at all, give
or proffer such a sum of money to a man utterly unknown?' God knowcth
what should have ensued if some hours later it had not chanced that
Sir Henry Stafford did ride into the town, and, seeing a great
concourse of people at the door of the inn, he stopped to inquire into
the cause; which when it was related to him, he said he was a
magistrate, and should himself examine, face to face, this limb of
Satan. So I was taken before him into the parlor; and being alone with
him, and knowing him to be well-disposed in religion, albeit
conforming to the times, I explained in a general manner what sort of
an errand had brought me to that place. Methinks he guessed me to be a
priest, although he said nothing thereon, but only licensed me to
depart and go away whither I would, himself letting me out of the
house through a back-door. I have heard since that he harangued the
people from the balcony, and told them, that whilst he was examining
me a strong smell of sulphur had come into the chamber, and a pack of
devils carried me off through the window into the air; and he doubted
not I had by that time returned to mine own lodging in hell. Which he
did, I knew, for to prevent their pursuing me and using such violence
as he might not have had means to hinder."

"It was not, then," I asked, "on this occasion you were apprehended
and taken to Wisbeach?"

"No," he answered; "nor indeed can I be said to have been apprehended
at all, for it happened in this wise that I became a prisoner. I was
one day in Norwich, whither I had gone to baptize a child, and, as
Providence would have it, met with Haward, by whose means I had been
set at liberty one year before. After ordinary salutations, he said to
me, 'Mr. Tunstall' (for by that name only he knew me), 'the host of
the inn where you were taken last year says I have undone him, by
suffering the prisoner I had promised to deliver to escape; for he
having been my surety with the mayor, he is threatened with eight
months' imprisonment, or the payment of a large fine. He hath come to
this town for to seek me, and hath seized upon me on this charge; so
that I be only at liberty for six hours, for I  promised that I
would bring you to him by four o'clock (a Catholic merchant yielding
him security thereof), or else that I should deliver him my body
again. 'I am content,' he said, 'so that I have one of you two.' So
either you, Mr. Tunstall, or I, must needs go to prison. You know my
state and condition, and may guess how I shall be treated, if once I
appear under my right name before them. You know, also, your own
state. Now, it is in your choice whether of us shall go; for one must
go; there is no remedy; and to force you I will not, for I had rather
sustain any punishment whatsoever.' 'Now God be blessed,' I cried,
'that he hath thrown me in your way at this time, for I should never
while I lived have been without scruple if you had gone to prison in
my stead. Nothing grieveth me in this but that I have not finished off
some business I had in this town touching a person in some distress of
mind.' 'Why,' said Haward, 'it is but ten o'clock yet; you may
despatch your business by four of the clock, and then you may go to
the sign of the Star and inquire for one Mr. Andrews, the
lord-lieutenant's deputy, and to him you may surrender yourself.' 'So
I will,' I said; and so we parted. At four of the clock I surrendered
myself, and was straightway despatched to Wisbeach Castle, where I
remained for three months. A message reached me there that a Catholic
which had led a very wicked life, and was lying on his death-bed, was
almost beside himself for that he could get no priest to come to him.
The person which delivered this advertisement left some ropes with me,
by which means I escaped out of the window into the moat with such
damage to my hands that I was like to lose the use of them, and
perhaps of my life, if these wounds had mortified before good Lady
l'Estrange dressed them. But I reached the poor sinner, which had
proved the occasion of my escaping, in time for to give him
absolution, and from Mr. Rugeley's house visited many Catholics in
that neighborhood. The rest is well known to thee, my good child. . . ."

As he was speaking these words the door of the cell opened, and the
gaoler advertised me I could tarry no longer; so, with many blessings,
my dear father dismissed me, and I went home with Mr. Congleton and
Hubert, who anxiously inquired what his answer had been to the
proposal I had carried to him.

"A most resolved denial of the conditions attached to it," I said,
"joined to many grateful acknowledgments to Sir Francis and to you
also for your efforts in his favor."

"'Tis madness!" he exclaimed.

"Yea," I answered, "such madness as the heathen governor did charge
St. Paul with."

And so no more passed between us whilst we rode back to Holborn. Mr.
Congleton put questions to me touching my father's health and his
looks,--if he seemed of good cheer, and spoke merrily as he used to
do; and then we all continued silent. When we arrived at Ely Place,
Hubert refused to come into the house, but detained me on the outward
steps, as if desirous to converse with me alone. Thinking I had spoken
to him in the coach in an abrupt manner which savored of ingratitude,
I said more gently, "I am very much beholden to you, Hubert, for your
well-meaning toward my father."

"I would fain continue to help you," he answered in an agitated voice.
"Constance," he exclaimed, after a pause, "your father is in a very
dangerous plight."

"I know it," said I, quickly; "but I know, too, he is resolved and
content to die rather than swerve an inch from his duty to God and his
Church."

"But," quoth he then, "do you wish to save him?"

I looked at him amazed. "Wish it! God knoweth that to see him in
safety I would have my hand cut off,--yea, and my head also."


"What, and rob him of his expectant crown--the martyr's palm, and all
the rest of it?" he said, with a perceptible sneer.

"Hubert!" I passionately exclaimed, "you are investigable to me; you
chill my soul with your half-uttered sentences and uncertain meanings!
Once, I remember, you could speak nobly,--yea, and feel so too, as
much as any one. Heaven shield you be not wholly changed!"

"Changed!" quoth he, in a low voice, "I am changed;" and then abruptly
altering his manner, and leaving me in doubt as to the change he did
intend to speak of, he pressed me to take no measures touching my
father's release till he had spoken with me again; for he said if his
real name became known, or others dealt in the matter, all hope on Sir
Francis's side should be at an end. He then asked me if I had heard of
Basil lately. I told him of the letter I had had from him at
Kenninghall some weeks back. He said a report had reached him that he
had landed at Dover and was coming to London; but he hoped it was not
true, for that Sir Henry Stafford was very urgent he should continue
abroad till the expiration of his wardship.

I said, "If he was returned, it must surely be for some sufficient
cause, but that I had heard nothing thereof, and had no reason to
expect it."

"But you would know it, I presume, if he was in London?" he urged. I
misliked his manner, which always put me in mind of one in the dark,
which feeleth his way as he advances, and goeth not straight to the
point.

"_Is_ Basil in England?" I inquired, fixing mine eyes on him, and with
a flutter at my heart from the thought that it should be possible.

"I heard he was," he answered in a careless tone; "but I think it not
to be true. If he should come whilst this matter is in hand, I do
conjure you, Constance, if you value your father's existence and
Basil's also, let him not into this secret."

"Wherefore not?" I quickly answered. "Why should one meet to be
trusted, and by me above all other persons in the world, be kept
ignorant of what so nearly doth touch me?"

"Because," he said, "there is a rashness in his nature which will
assuredly cause him to run headlong into danger if not forcibly
withheld from the occasions of it."

"I have seen no tokens of such rashness as you speak of in him," I
replied; "only of a boldness such as well becomes a Christian and a
gentleman."

"Constance Sherwood!" Hubert exclaimed, and seized hold of my hand
with a vehemency which caused me to start, "I do entreat you, yea, on
my bended knees, if needs be, I will beseech you to beware of that
indomitable and resolved spirit which sets at defiance restraint,
prudence, pity even; which leads you to brave your friends, spurn
wholesome counsel, rush headlong into perils which I forewarn you do
hang thickly about your path. If I can conjure them, I care not by
what means, I will do so; but for the sake of all you do hold dear,
curb your natural impetuosity, which may prove the undoing of those
you most desire to serve."

There was a plausibility in this speech, and in mine own knowledge of
myself some sort of a confirmation of what he did charge me with,
which inclined me somewhat to diffide of mine own judgment in this
matter, and not to turn a wholly deaf ear to his advertisement. He had
the most persuasive tongue in the world, and a rare art at
representing things under whatever aspect he chose. He dealt so
cunningly therein with me that day, and used so many ingenious
arguments, that I said I should be very careful how I disclosed
anything to Basil or any one else touching my father's imprisonment,
who Mr. Tunstall was, and my near concern in his fate; but would give
no promise thereupon: so he was forced to content himself with as much
as he could obtain, and  withdrew himself for that day, he said;
but promised to return on the morrow.


CHAPTER XVIII.

When at last I entered the house I sought Mistress Ward; for I desired
to hear what assistance she had procured for the escape of the
prisoners, and to inform her of my father's resolved purpose not
himself to attempt this flight, albeit commending her for moving Mr.
Watson to it and assisting him therein. Not finding her in the parlor,
nor in her bed-chamber, I opened the door of my aunt's room, who was
now very weak, and yet more so in mind than in body. She was lying
with her eyes shut, and Mistress Ward standing by her bedside. I
marked her intent gaze on the aged, placid face of the poor lady, and
one tear I saw roll down her cheek. Then she stooped to kiss her
forehead. A noise I made with the handle of the door caused her to
turn round, and hastening toward me, she took me by the hand and led
me to her chamber, where Muriel was folding some biscuits and cakes in
paper and stowing them in a basket. The thought came to me of the
first day I had arrived in London, and the comfort I had found in this
room, when all except her were strangers to me in that house. She sat
down betwixt Muriel and me, and smiling, said: "Now, mine own dear
children, for such my heart holds you both to be, and ever will whilst
I live, I am come here for to tell you that I purpose not to return to
this house to-night, nor can I foresee when, if ever, I shall be free
to do so."

"O, what dismal news!" I exclaimed, "and more sad than I did expect."

Muriel said nothing, but lifting her hand to her lips kissed it.

"You both know," she continued, "that in order to save one in cruel
risk and temptation of apostasy, and others perhaps, also, whom his
possible speaking should imperil, I be about to put myself in some
kind of danger, who of all persons in the world possess the best right
to do so, as having neither parents, or husband, or children, or any
on earth who depend on my care. Yea, it is true," she added, fixing
her eyes on Muriel's composed, but oh how sorrowful, countenance,
"none dependent on my care, albeit some very dear to me, and which
hang on me, and I on them, in the way of fond affection. God knoweth
my heart, and that it is very closely and tenderly entwined about each
one in this house. Good Mr. Congleton and your dear mother, who hath
clung to me so long, though I thank God not so much of late by reason
of the weakening of her mind, which hath ceased greatly to notice
changes about her, and you, Constance, my good child, since your
coming hither a little lass commended to my keeping. . . . ." There
she stopped; and I felt she could not name Muriel, or then so much as
look on her; for if ever two souls were bound together by an
unperishable bond of affection, begun on earth to last in heaven,
theirs were so united. I ween Muriel was already acquainted with her
purpose, for she asked no questions thereon; whereas I exclaimed, "I
do very well know, good Mistress Ward, what perils you do run in this
charitable enterprise; but wherefore, I pray you, this final manner of
parting? God's providence may shield you from harm in this passage,
and, indeed, human probability should lead us to hope for your safety
if becoming precautions be observed. Then why, I say, this certain
farewell?"

"Because," she answered, "whatever comes of this night's enterprise, I
return not to this house."

"And wherefore not?" I cried; "this is indeed a cruel resolve, a hard
misfortune."

"Heretofore," she answered, "I had noways offended against the laws of
the country, except in respect  of recusancy, wherein all here
are alike involved; but by mine act tonight I do expose myself to so
serious a charge (conscience obliging me to prefer the law of divine
charity to that of human authority), that I may at any time and
without the least hope of mercy be exposed to detection and
apprehension; and so am resolved not to draw down sorrow and obloquy
on the gray hairs of my closest friends and on your young years such
perils as I do willingly in mine own person incur, but would not have
others to be involved in. Therefore I will lodge, leastwise for a
time, with one who feareth not any more than I do persecution, who
hath no ties and little or nothing on earth to lose, and if she had
would willingly yield it a thousand times over for to save a soul for
whom Christ died. Nor will I have you privy, my dear children, to the
place of mine abode, that if questioned on it you may with truth aver
yourselves to be ignorant thereof. And now," she said, turning to me,
"is Mr. Sherwood willing for to try to escape by the same means as Mr.
Watson? for methinks I have found a way to convey to him a cord, and,
by means of the management he knoweth of instructions how to use it."

"Nay," I answered, "he will not himself avail himself of this means,
albeit he is much rejoiced you have it in hand for Mr. Watson's
deliverance from his tormentors; and he doth pray fervently for it to
succeed."

"Everything promiseth well," she replied. "I dealt this day with an
honest Catholic boatman, a servant of Mr. Hodgson, who is willing to
assist in it. Two men are needed for to row the boat with so much
speed as shall be necessary to carry it quickly beyond reach of
pursuers. He knoweth none of his own craft which should be reliable or
else disposed to risk the enterprise; but he says at a house of resort
for Catholics which he doth frequent, he chanced to fall in with a
young gentleman, lately landed from France, whom he doth make sure
will lend his aid in it. As dextrous a man," he saith, "to handle an
oar, and of as courageous a spirit, as can be found in England."

As soon as she had uttered these words, I thought of what Hubert had
said touching a report of Basil being in London and of his rashness in
plunging into dangers; a cold shiver ran through me. "Did he tell you
this gentleman's name?" I asked.

"No," she answered, "he would not mention it; but only that he was one
who could be trusted with the lives of ten thousand persons, and so
zealous a Catholic he would any day risk his life to do some good
service to a priest."

"And hath this boatman promised," I inquired, "to wait for Mr. Watson
and convey him away?"

"Yea, most strictly," she answered, "at twelve o'clock of the night he
and his companion shall approach a boat to the side of some
scaffolding which lieth under the wall of the prison; and when the
clock of the tower striketh, Mr. Watson shall open his window, the
bars of which he hath found it possible to remove, and by means of the
cord, which is of the length he measured should be necessary, he will
let himself down on the planks, whence he can step into the boat, and
be carried to a place of concealment in a close part of the city till
it shall be convenient for him to cross the sea to France."

"Must you go?" I said, seeing her rise, and feeling a dull hard
heaviness at my heart which did well-nigh impede my utterance. I was
not willing to let her know the fear I had conceived; "of what use
should it be," I inwardly argued, "to disturb her in the discharge of
her perilous task by a surmise which might prove groundless; and,
indeed, were it certainly true, could she, nay, would she, alter her
intent, or could I so much as ask her to do it?" Whilst, with Muriel's
assistance, she concluded the packing of her basket, wherein the
weighty cord was concealed in an ingenious  manner, I stood by
watching the doing of it, fearing to see her depart, yet unable to
think of any means by which to delay that which I could not, even if I
had willed it, prevent. When the last contents were placed in the
basket, and Muriel was pressing down the lid, I said: "Do you,
peradventure, know the name of the inn where you said that gentleman
doth tarry which the boatman spake of?"

"No," she replied; "nor so much as where the good boatman himself
lodgeth. I met with him at Mr. Hodgson's house, and there made this
agreement."

"But if," I said, "it should happen by any reason that Mr. Watson
changed his mind, how should you, then, inform him of it?"

"In that case," she answered, "he would hang a white kerchief outside
his window, by which they should be advertised to withdraw themselves.
And now," she added, "I have always been of the way of thinking that
farewells should be brief; and 'God speed you,' and 'God bless you,'
enough for those which do hope, if it shall please God, on earth, but
for a surety in heaven, to meet again."

So, kissing us both somewhat hurriedly, she took up her basket on her
arm, and said she should send a messenger on the morrow for her
clothes; at which Muriel, for the first time, shed some tears, which
was an instance of what I have often noticed, that grief, howsoever
heavy, doth not always overflow in the eyes unless some familiar words
or homely circumstance doth substantiate the verity of a sorrow known
indeed, but not wholly apparent till its common effects be seen. Then
we two sat awhile alone in that empty chamber--empty of her which for
so long years had tenanted it to our no small comfort and benefit.
When the light waned, Muriel lit a candle, and said she must go for to
attend on her mother, for that duty did now devolve chiefly on her;
and I could see in her sad but composed face the conquering peace
which doth exceed all human consolation.

For mine own part, I was so unhinged by doubtful suspense that I
lacked ability to employ my mind in reading or my fingers in
stitch-work; and so descended for relief into the garden, where I
wandered to and fro like an uneasy ghost, seeking rest but finding
none. The dried shaking leaves made a light noise in falling, which
caused me each time to think I heard a footstep behind me. And despite
the increasing darkness, after I had paced up and down for near unto
an hour, some one verily did come walking along the alley where I was,
seeking to overtake me. Turning round I perceived it to be mine own
dear aged friend, Mr. Roper. Oh, what great comfort I experienced in
the sight of this good man! How eager was my greeting of him! How full
my heart as I poured into his ear the narrative of the passages which
had befallen me since we had met! Of the most weighty he knew
somewhat; but nothing of the last haunting fear I had lest my dear
Basil should be in London, and this very night engaged in the perilous
attempt to carry off Mr. Watson. When I told him of it, he started and
exclaimed:

"God defend it!" but quickly corrected himself and cried, "God's
mercy, that my first feeling should have led me to think rather of
Basil's safety than of the fine spirit he showed in all instances
where a good action had to be done, or a service rendered to those in
affliction."

"Indeed, Mr. Roper," I said, as he led me back to the house and into
the solitary parlor (where my uncle now seldom came, but remained
sitting alone in his library, chiefly engaged in praying and reading),
"I do condemn mine own weakness in this, and pray God to give me
strength for what may come upon us; but I do promise you 'tis no easy
matter to carry always so high a heart that it shall not sink with
human fears and griefs in such passages as these."


"My dear," the good man answered, "God knoweth 'tis no easy matter to
attain to the courage you speak of. I have myself seen the sweetest,
the lovingest, and the most brave creature which ever did breathe give
marks of extraordinary sorrow when her father, that generous martyr of
Christ, was to die."

"I pray you tell me," I answered, "what her behavior was like in that
trial; for to converse on such themes doth allay somewhat the torment
of suspense, and I may learn lessons from her example, who, you say,
joined to natural weakness so courageous a spirit in like straits."

Upon which he, willing to divert and yet not violently change the
current of my thoughts, spake as followeth:

"On the day when Sir Thomas More came from Westminster to the
Tower-ward, my wife, desirous to see her father, whom she thought she
should never see in this world after, and also to have his final
blessing, gave attendance about the wharf where she knew he should
pass before he could enter into the Tower. As soon as she saw him,
after his blessing upon her knees reverently received, hastening
toward him without care or consideration of herself, passing in
amongst the throng and company of the guard, she ran to him and took
him about the neck and kissed him; who, well liking her most natural
and dear daughterly affection toward him, gave her his fatherly
blessing and godly words of comfort beside; from whom, after she was
departed, not satisfied with the former sight of him, and like one
that had forgotten herself, being all ravished with the entire love of
her father, suddenly turned back again, ran to him as before, took him
about the neck, and divers times kissed him lovingly, till at last,
with a full and heavy heart, she was fain to depart from him; the
beholding thereof was to many that were present so lamentable, and
mostly so to me, that for very sorrow we could not forbear to weep
with her. The wife of John Harris, Sir Thomas's secretary, was moved
to such a transport of grief, that she suddenly flew to his neck and
kissed him, as he had reclined his head on his daughter's shoulder;
and he who, in the midst of the greatest straits, had ever a merry
manner of speaking, cried, 'This is kind, albeit rather unpolitely
done.'"

"And the day he suffered," I asked, "what was this good daughter's
behavior?"

"She went," quoth he, "to the different churches, and distributed
abundant alms to the poor. When she had given all her money away, she
withdrew to pray in a certain church, where she on a sudden did
remember she had no linen in which to wrap up her father's body. She
had heard that the remains of the Bishop of Rochester had been thrown
into the ground, without priest, cross, lights, or shroud, for the
dread of the king had prevented his relations from attempting to bury
him. But Margaret resolved her father's body should not meet with such
unchristian treatment. Her maid advised her to buy some linen in the
next shop, albeit having given away all her money to the poor, there
was no likelihood she should get credit from strangers. She ventured,
howsoever, and having agreed about the price, she put her hand in her
pocket, which she knew was empty, to show she forgot the money, and
ask credit under that pretence. But to her surprise, she found in her
purse the exact price of the linen, neither more or less; and so
buried the martyr of Christ with honor, nor was there any one so
inhuman found as to hinder her."

"Mr. Roper," I said, when he had ended his recital, "methinks this
angelic lady's trial was most hard: but how much harder should it yet
have been if you, her husband, had been in a like peril at that time
as her father?"


A half kind of melancholy, half smiling look came into the good old
man's face as he answered:

"Her father was Sir Thomas More, and he so worthy of a daughter's
passionate love, and the affection betwixt them so entire and
absolute, compounded of filial love on her part, unmitigated
reverence, and unrestrained confidence, that there was left in her
heart no great space for wifely doating. But to be moderately
affectioned by such a woman, and to stand next in her esteem to her
incomparable father, was of greater honor and worth to her unworthy
husband, than should have been the undivided, yea idolatrous, love of
one not so perfect as herself."

After a pause, during which his thoughts, I ween, reverted to the
past, and mine investigated mine own soul, I said to Mr. Roper:

"Think you, sir, that love to be idolatrous which is indeed so
absolute that it should be no difficulty to die for him who doth
inspire it; which would prefer a prison in his company, howsoever dark
and loathsome (yea consider it a very paradise), to the beautifullest
palace in the world, which without him would seem nothing but a vile
dungeon; which should with a good-will suffer all the torments in the
world for to see the object of its affection enjoy good men's esteem
on earth, and a noble place in heaven; but which should be,
nevertheless, founded and so wholly built up on a high estimate of his
virtues; on the quality he holdeth of God's servant; on the likeness
of Christ stamped on his soul, and each day exemplified in his manner
of living, that albeit to lose his love or his company in this world
should be like the uprooting of all happiness and turning the
brightness of noonday to the darkness of the night, it should a
thousand times rather endure this mishap than that the least shade or
approach of a stain should alter the unsullied opinion till then held
of his perfections?"

Mr. Roper smiled, and said that was a too weighty question to answer
at once; for he should be loth to condemn or yet altogether to absolve
from some degree of overweeningness such an affection as I described,
which did seem indeed to savor somewhat of excess; but yet if noble in
its uses and held in subjection to the higher claims of the Creator,
whose perfections the creature doth at best only imperfectly mirror,
it might be commendable and a means of attaining ourselves to the like
virtues we doated on in another.

As he did utter these words a servant came into the parlor, and
whispered in mine ear:

"Master Basil Rookwood is outside the door, and craves--"

I suffered him not to finish his speech, but bounded into the hall,
where Basil was indeed standing with a traveller's cloak on him, and a
slouched hat over his face. After such a greeting as may be conceived
(alas, all greetings then did seem to combine strange admixtures of
joy and pain!), I led him into the parlor, where Mr. Roper in his turn
received him with fatherly words of kindness mixed with amazement at
his return.

"And whence," he exclaimed, "so sudden a coming, my good Basil?
Verily, you do appear to have descended from the skies!"

Basil looked at me and replied: "I heard in Paris, Mr. Roper, that a
gentleman in whom I do take a very lively interest, one Mr. Tunstall,
was in prison at London; and I bethought me I could be of some service
to him by coming over at this time."

"O Basil," I cried, "do you then know he is my father?"

"Yea," he joyfully answered, "and I am right glad you do know it also,
for then there is no occasion for any feigning, which, albeit I deny
it not to be sometimes useful and necessary, doth so ill agree with my
bluntness, that it keepeth me in constant fear of stumbling in my
speech. I was in a manner forced to come over secretly; because if Sir
Henry Stafford, who willeth me to remain abroad till I have  got
out of my wardship, should hear of my being in London, and gain scent
of the object of my coming, he should have dealt in all sorts of ways
to send me out of it. But, prithee, dearest love, is Mrs. Ward in this
house?"

"Alas!" I said, "she is gone hence. Her mind is set on a very
dangerous enterprise."

"I know it," he saith (at which word my heart began to sink); "but,
verily, I see not much danger to be in it; and methinks if we do
succeed in carrying off your good father and that other priest
to-night in the ingenious manner she hath devised, it will be the best
night's work done by good heads, good arms, and good oars which can be
thought of."

"Oh, then," I exclaimed, "it is even as I feared, and you, Basil, have
engaged in this rash enterprise. O woe the day you came to London, and
met with that boatman!"

"Constance," he said reproachfully, "should it be a woful day to thee
the one on which, even at some great risk, which I deny doth exist in
this instance, I should aid in thy father's rescue?"

"Oh, but, my dear Basil," I cried, "he doth altogether refuse to stir
in this matter. I have had speech with him to-day, and he will by no
means attempt to escape again from prison. He hath done it once for
the sake of a soul in jeopardy; but only to save his life, he is
resolved not to involve others in peril of theirs. And oh, how
confirmed he would be in his purpose if he knew who it was who doth
throw himself into so great a risk! I' faith, I cannot and will not
suffer it!" I exclaimed impetuously, for the sudden joy of his
presence, the sight of his beloved countenance, lighted up with an
inexpressible look of love and kindness, more beautiful than my poor
words can describe, worked in me a rebellion against the thought of
more suffering, further parting, greater fears than I had hitherto
sustained.

He said, "He could wish my father had been otherwise disposed, for to
have aided in his escape should have been to him the greatest joy he
could think of; but that having promised likewise to assist in Mr.
Watson's flight, he would never fail to do so, if he was to die for
it."

"'Tis very easy," I cried, "to speak of dying, Basil, nor do I doubt
that to one of your courage and faith the doing of it should have
nothing very terrible in it. But I pray you remember that that life,
which you make so little account of, is not now yours alone to dispose
of as you list. Mine, dear Basil, is wrapped up with it; for if I lose
you, I care not to live, or what becomes of me, any more."

Mr. Roper said he should think on it well before he made this venture;
for, as I had truly urged, I had a right over him now, and he should
not dispose of himself as one wholly free might do.

"Dear sir," quoth he in answer, "my sweet Constance and you also might
perhaps have prevailed with me some hours ago to forego this
intention, before I had given a promise to Mr. Hodgson's boatman, and
through him to Mistress Ward and Mr. Watson; I should then have been
free to refuse my assistance if I had listed; and albeit methinks in
so doing I should have played a pitiful part, none could justly have
condemned me. But I am assured neither her great heart nor your
honorable spirit would desire me so much as to place in doubt the
fulfilment of a promise wherein the safety of a man, and he one of
God's priests, is concerned. I pray thee, sweetheart, say thou wouldst
not have me do it."

Alas! this was the second time that day my poor heart had been called
upon to raise itself higher than nature can afford to reach. But the
present struggle was harder than the first. My father had long been to
me as a distant angel, severed from my daily life and any future hope
in this world. His was an expectant martyrdom, an exile from his true
home, a daily  dying on earth, tending but to one desired end.
Nature could be more easily reconciled in the one case than in the
other to thoughts of parting. Basil was my all, my second self, my
sole treasure,--the prop on which rested youth's hopes, earth's joys,
life's sole comfort; and chance (as it seemed, and men would have
called it), not a determined seeking, had thrust on him this danger,
and I must needs see him plunged into it, and not so much as say a
word to stay him or prevent it. . . . . I was striving to constrain my
lips to utter the words my rebelling heart disavowed, and he kneeling
before me, with his dear eyes fixed on mine, awaiting my consent, when
a loud noise of laughter in the hall caused us both to start up, and
then the door was thrown open, and Kate and Polly ran into the room so
gaily attired, the one in a yellow and the other in a crimson gown
bedecked with lace and jewels, that nothing finer could be seen.

"Lackaday!" Polly cried, when she perceived Basil; "who have we here?
I scarce can credit mine eyes! Why, Sir Lover, methought you were in
France. By what magic come you here? Mr. Roper, your humble servant.
'Tis like you did not expect so much good company to-night, Con, for
you have but one poor candle or two to light up this dingy room, and I
fear there will not be light enough for these gentlemen to see our
fine dresses, which we do wear for the first time at Mrs. Yates's
house this evening."

"I thought you were both in the country," I said, striving to disguise
how much their coming did discompose me.

"Methinks," answered Polly, laughing, "your wish was father to that
thought, Con, and that you desired to have the company of this fine
gentleman to yourself alone, and Mr. Roper's also, and no one else for
to disturb you. But, in good sooth, we were both at Mr. Benham's seat
in Berkshire when we heard of this good entertainment at so great a
friend's house, and so prevailed on our lords and governors for to
hire a coach and bring us to London for one night. We lie at Kate's
house, and she and I have supped on a cold capon and a veal pie we
brought with us, and Sir Ralph and Mr. Lacy do sup at a tavern in the
Strand, and shall fetch us here when it shall be convenient to them to
carry us to this grand ball, which I would not have missed, no, not
for all the world. So I pray you let us be merry till they do come,
and pass the time pleasantly."

"Ay," said Kate, in a lamentable voice, "you would force me to dress
and go abroad, when I would sooner be at home; for John's stomach is
disordered, and baby doth cut her teeth, and he pulled at my ribbons
and said I should not leave him; and beshrew me if I would have done
so, but for your overpersuading me. But you are always so absolute! I
wonder you love not more to stay at home, Polly."

Basil smiled with a better heart than I could do, and said he would
promise her John should sleep never the less well for her absence, and
she should find baby's tooth through on the morrow; and sitting down
by her side, talked to her of her children with a kindliness which
never did forsake him. Mr. Roper set himself to converse with Polly; I
ween for to shield me from the torrent of her words, which, as I sat
between them, seemed to buzz in mine ear without any meaning; and yet
I must needs have heard them, for to this day I remember what they
talked of;--that Polly said, "Have you seen the ingenious poesy which
the queen's saucy godson, the merry wit Harrington, left behind her
cushion on Wednesday, and now 'tis in every one's hands?"

"Not in mine," quoth Mr. Roper; "so, if your memory doth serve you,
Lady Ingoldsby, will you rehearse it?" which she did as follows; and
albeit I only did hear those lines  that once, they still remain
in my mind:

  "For ever dear, for ever dreaded prince,
  You read a verse of mine a little since,
  And so pronounced each word and every letter,
  Your gracious reading graced my verse the better;
  Sith then your highness doth by gift exceeding
  Make what you read the better for your reading,
  Let my poor muse your pains thus far importune,
  Like as you read my verse--so read my fortune!"

"Tis an artful and witty petition," Mr. Roper observed; "but I have
been told her majesty mislikes the poet's satirical writings, and
chiefly the metamorphosis of Ajax."

"She signified," Polly answered, "some outward displeasure at it, but
Robert Markham affirms she likes well the marrow of the book, and is
minded to take the author to her favor, but sweareth she believes he
will make epigrams on her and all her court. Howsoever, I do allow she
conceived much disquiet on being told he had aimed a shaft at
Leicester. By the way, but you, cousin Constance, should best know the
truth thereon" (this she said turning to me), "'tis said that Lord
Arundel is exceeding sick again, and like to die very soon. Indeed his
physicians are of opinion, so report speaketh, that he will not last
many days now, for as often as he hath rallied before."

"Yesterday," I said, "when I saw Lady Surrey, he was no worse than
usual."

"Oh, have you heard," Polly cried, running from one theme to another,
as was her wont, "that Leicester is about to marry Lettice Knollys, my
Lady Essex?"

"'Tis impossible," Basil exclaimed, who was now listening to her
speeches, for Kate had finished her discourse touching her Johnny's
disease in his stomach. The cause thereof, she said, both herself
thought, and all in Mr. Benham's house did judge to have been, the
taking in the morning a confection of barley sodden with water and
sugar, and made exceeding thick with bread. This breakfast lost him
both his dinner and supper, and surely the better half of his sleep;
but God be thanked, she hoped now the worst was past, and that the
dear urchin would shortly be as merry and well-disposed as afore he
left London. Basil said he hoped so too; and in a pause which ensued,
he heard Polly speak of Lord Leicester's intended marriage, which
seemed to move him to some sort of indignation, the cause of which I
only learnt many years later; for that when Lady Douglas Howard's
cause came before the Star-Chamber, in his present majesty's reign, he
told me he had been privy, through information received in France, of
her secret marriage with that lord.

"'Tis not impossible," Polly retorted, "by the same token that the new
favorite, young Robert Devereux, maketh no concealment of it, and
calleth my Lord Leicester his father elect. But I pray you, what is
impossible in these days? Oh, I think they are the most whimsical,
entertaining days which the world hath ever known; and the merriest,
if people have a will to make them so."

"Oh, Polly," I cried, unable to restrain myself, "I pray God you may
never find cause to change your mind thereon."

"Yea, amen to that prayer," quoth she; "I'll promise you, my grave
little coz, that I have no mind to be sad till I grow old--and there
be yet some years to come before that shall befall me. When Mistress
Helen Ingoldsby shall reach to the height of my shoulder, then,
methinks, I may begin to take heed unto my ways. What think you the
little wench said to me yesterday? 'What times is it we do conform to,
mother? dinner-times or bed-times?'" "She should have been answered,
'The devil's times,'" Basil muttered; and Kate told Polly she should
be ashamed to speak in her father's house of the conformity she
practised when others were suffering for their religion.  And,
methought, albeit I had scarcely endured the jesting which had
preceded it, I could less bear any talk of religion, least-ways of
that kind, just then. But, in sooth, the constraint I suffered almost
overpassed my strength. There appeared no hope of their going, and
they fell into an eager discourse concerning the bear-baiting they had
been to see in Berkshire, and a great sort of ban-dogs, which had been
tied in an outer court, let loose on thirteen bears that were baited
in the inner; and my dear Basil, who doth delight in all kinds of
sports, listened eagerly to the description they gave of this
diversion. Oh, how I counted the minutes! what a pressure weighted my
heart! how the sound of their voices pained mine ears! how long an
hour seemed! and yet too short for my desires, for I feared the time
must soon come when Basil should go, and lamented that these
unthinking women's tarrying should rob me of all possibility to talk
with him alone. Howsoever, when Mr. Roper rose to depart, I followed
him into the hall and waited near the door for Basil, who was bidding
farewell to Kate and Polly. I heard him beseech them to do him so much
favor as not to mention they had seen him; for that he had not
informed Sir Henry Stafford of his coming over from France, which if
he heard of it otherwise than from himself, it should peradventure
offend him. They laughed, and promised to be as silent as graves
thereon; and Polly said he had learnt French fashions she perceived,
and taken lessons in wooing from mounseer; but she hoped his stealthy
visit should in the end prove more conformable to his desires than
mounseer's had done. At last they let him go; and Mr. Roper, who had
waited for him, wrung his hand, and the manner of his doing it made my
eyes overflow. I turned my face away, but Basil caught both my hands
in his and said, "Be of good cheer, sweetheart. I have not words
wherewith to express how much I love thee, but God knoweth it is very
dearly."

"O Basil! mine own dear Basil," I murmured, laying my forehead on his
coat-sleeve, and could not then utter another word. Ere I lifted it
again, the hall-door opened, and who, I pray you, should I then see
(with more affright, I confess, than was reasonable) but Hubert? My
voice shook as he said to Basil, whose back was turned from the door,
"Here is your brother."

"Ah, Hubert!" he exclaimed; "I be glad to see thee!" and held out his
hand to him with a frank smile, which the other took, but in the doing
of it a deadly paleness spread over his face.

"I have no leisure to tarry so much as one minute," Basil said; "but
this sweet lady will tell thee what weighty reasons I have for
presently remaining concealed; and so farewell, my dear love, and
farewell, my good brother. Be, I pray you, my bedes-woman this night,
Constance; and you too, Hubert,--if you do yet say your prayers like a
good Christian, which I pray God you do,--mind you say an ave for me
before you sleep."

When the door closed on him I sunk down on a chair, and hid my face
with my hands.

"You have not told him anything?" Hubert whispered; and I, "God help
you, Hubert! he hath come to London for this very matter, and hath
already, I fear, albeit not in any way that shall advantage my father,
yet in seeking to assist him, run himself into danger of death, or
leastways banishment."

As I said this mine eyes raised themselves toward him; and I would
they had not, for I saw in his visage an expression I have tried these
many years to forget, but which sometimes even now comes back to me
painfully.

"I told you so," he answered. "He hath an invariable aptness to miss
his aim, and to hurt himself by the shafts he looseth. What plan hath
he now formed, and what shall come of it?"


But, somewhat recovered from my surprise, I bethought myself it
should not be prudent, albeit I grieved to think so, to let him know
what sort of enterprise it was Basil had in hand; so I did evade his
question, which indeed he did not show himself very careful to have
answered. He said he was yet dealing with Sir Francis Walsingham, and
had hopes of success touching my father's liberation, and so prayed me
not to yield to despondency; but it would take time to bring matters
to a successful issue, and patience was greatly needed, and likewise
prudence toward that end. He requested me very urgently to take no
other steps for the present in his behalf, which might ruin all. And
above all things not to suffer Basil to come forward in it, for that
he had made himself obnoxious to Sir Francis by speeches which he had
used, and which some one had reported to him, touching Lady Ridley's
compliance with his (Sir Francis's) request that she should have a
minister in her house for to read Protestant prayers to her household,
albeit herself, being bedridden, did not attend; and if he should now
stir in this matter, all hope would be at an end. So he left me, and I
returned to the parlor, and Kate and Polly declared my behavior to
them not to be over and above civil; but they supposed when folks were
in love, they had a warrant to treat their friends as they pleased.
Then finding me very dull and heavy, I ween, they bethought themselves
at the last of going to visit their mother in her bed, and paying
their respects to their father, whom they found asleep in his chair,
his prayer-book, with which he was engaged most of the day, lying open
by his side. Polly kissed his forehead, and then the picture of our
Blessed Lady in the first page of this much-used volume; which sudden
acts of hers comforted me not a little.

Muriel came out of her mother's chamber to greet them, but would not
suffer them to see her at this unexpected time, for that the least
change in her customable habits disordered her; and then whispered to
me that she had often asked for Mistress Ward, and complained of her
absence.

At the last Sir Ralph came, but not Mr. Lacy, who he said was tired
with his long ride, and had gone home to bed. Thereupon Kate began to
weep; for she said she would not go without him to this fine ball, for
it was an unbecoming thing for a woman to be seen abroad when her
husband was at home, and a thing she had not yet done, nor did intend
to do. But that it was a very hard thing she should have been at the
pains to dress herself so handsomely, and not so much as one person to
see her in this fine suit; and she wished she had not been so foolish
as to be persuaded to it, and that Polly was very much to blame
therein. At the which, "I' faith, I think so too," Polly exclaimed;
"and I wish you had stayed in the country, my dear."

Kate's pitiful visage and whineful complaint moved me, in my then
apprehensive humor, to an unmerry but not to be resisted fit of
laughter, which she did very much resent; but I must have laughed or
died, and yet it made me angry to hear her utter such lamentations who
had no true cause for displeasure.

When they were gone,--she, still shedding tears, in a chair Sir Ralph
sent for to convey her to Gray's Inn Lane, and he and Polly in their
coach to Mrs. Yates's,--the relief I had from their absence proved so
great that at first it did seem to ease my heart. I went slowly up to
mine own chamber, and stood there a while at the casement looking at
the quiet sky above and the unquiet city beneath it, and chiefly in
the distant direction where I knew the prison to be, picturing to
myself my father in his bare cell. Mistress Ward regaining her obscure
lodging, Mr. Watson's dangerous descent, and mostly the boat which
Basil was to row,--that boat freighted with so perilous a burthen.
These scenes seemed to rise before mine eyes as I remained motionless,
straining  their sight to pierce the darkness of the night and of
the fog which hung over the town. When the clock struck twelve, a
shiver ran through me, for I thought of the like striking at Lynn
Court, and what had followed. Upon which I betook myself to my
prayers, and thinking on Basil, said, "Speak for him, O Blessed Virgin
Mary! Entreat for him, O ye apostles! Make intercession for him, all
ye martyrs! Pray for him, all ye confessors and all ye company of
heaven, that my prayers for him may take effect before our Lord Jesus
Christ!" Then my head waxed heavy with sleep, and I sank on the
cushion of my kneeling-stool. I wot not for how many hours I slumbered
in this wise; but I know I had some terrible dreams.

When I awoke it was daylight. A load knocking at the door of the house
had aroused me. Before I had well bethought me where I was, Muriel's
white face appeared at my door. The pursuivants, she said, were come
to seek for Mistress Ward.


CHAPTER XIX.

My first thought, when Muriel had announced to me the coming of the
pursuivants in search of Mistress Ward, was to thank God she was
beyond their reach, and with so much prudence had left us in ignorance
of her abode. Then making haste to dress--for I apprehended these
officers should visit every chamber in the house--I quickly repaired
to my aunt's room, who was persuaded by Muriel that they had sent for
to take an inventory of the furniture, which she said was a very
commendable thing to do, but she wished they had waited until such
time as she had had her breakfast. By an especial mercy, it so
happened that these officers--or, leastways, two out of three of
them--were quiet, well-disposed men, who exercised their office with
as much mildness as could be hoped for, and rather diminished by their
behavior than in any way increased the hardships of this invasion of
domestic privacy. We were all in turns questioned touching Mistress
Ward's abode except my aunt, whose mental infirmity was pleaded for to
exempt her from this ordeal. The one officer who was churlish said,
"If the lady's mind be unsound, 'tis most like she will let the cat
out of the bag," and would have forced questions on her; but the
others forcibly restrained him from it, and likewise from openly
insulting us, when we denied all knowledge of the place she had
resorted to. Howsoever, he vented his displeasure in scornful looks
and cutting speeches. They carried away sundry prayer-books, and
notably the "Spiritual Combat," which Mrs. Engerfield had gifted me
with, when I slept at her house at Northampton, the loss of which
grieved me not a little, but yet not so much as it would have done at
another time, for my thoughts were then wholly set on discovering who
had betrayed Mistress Ward's intervention, and what had been Mr.
Watson's fate, and if Basil also had been implicated. I addressed
myself to the most seemly of the three men, and asked him what her
offence had been.

"She assisted," he answered, "in the escape of a prisoner from
Bridewell."

"In what manner?" I said, with so much of indifferency as I could
assume.

"By the smuggling of a rope into his cell," he answered, "which was
found yet hanging unto his window, and which none other than that
pestilent woman could have furnished him with."

Alas! this was what I feared would happen, when she first formed this
project; but she had assured us Mr. Watson would let himself down,
holding the two ends of the cord in his hands, and so would be enabled
to carry it away with him after he had got down, and so it would never
be discovered by what means he had made his escape.

"And this prisoner hath then escaped?" I said, in a careless manner.

"Marry, out of one cage," he answered; "but I'll warrant you he is by
this time lodged in a more safe dungeon, and with such bracelets on
his hands and feet as shall not suffer him again to cheat the
gallows."

I dared not question him further;  and finding nothing more to
their purpose, the pursuivants retired.

When Mr. Congleton, Muriel, and I afterward met in the parlor, none of
us seemed disposed to speak. There be times when grief is loquacious,
but others when the weight of apprehension doth check speech. At last
I broke this silence by such words as "What should now be done?" and
"How can we learn what hath occurred?"

Then Mr. Congleton turned toward me, and with much gravity and unusual
vehemency,

"Constance," quoth he, "when Margaret Ward resolved on this bold
action, which in the eyes of some savored of rashness, I warned her to
count the cost before undertaking it, for that it was replete with
many dangers, and none should embark in it which was not prepared to
meet with a terrible death. She told me thereupon that for many past
years her chief desire had been to end her life by such a death, if it
should be for the sake of religion, and that the day she should be
sentenced to it would prove the joyfullest she had yet known. This she
said in an inflamed manner, and I question not but it was her true
thinking. I do not gainsay the merit of this pining, though I could
wish her virtue had been of a commoner sort. But such being her aim,
her choice, and desire, I am not of opinion that I should now disturb
the peace of my wife's helpless days or mine own either (who have not,
I cry God mercy for it, the same wish to suffer the pains reserved to
recusants, albeit I hope in him he would give me strength, to do so if
conscience required it), not to speak of you and Muriel and my other
daughters, for the sake of unavailing efforts in her so desperate
case, who hath made her own bed (and I deny it not to be a glorious
one) and, as she hath made it, must lie on it. So I will betake myself
to prayer for her, which she said was the whole scope of the favor she
desired from her friends, if she fell into trouble, and dreaded
nothing so much as any other dealings in her behalf; and if Mr. Roper,
or Brian Lacy, or young Rookwood, have any means by which to send her
money for her convenience in prison, I will give it; but other
measures I will not take, nor by any open show of interest in her fate
draw down suspicions on us as parties and abettors in her so-called
treason."

Neither of us replied to this speech; and after that our short meal
was ended, Muriel went to her mother's chamber, and I set myself to
consider what I should do; for to sit and wait in this terrible
ignorance of what had happened seemed an impossible thing. So taking
my maid with me, albeit it rained a little, I walked to Kate's house,
and found she and her husband had left it an hour before for to return
to Mr. Benham's seat. Polly and Sir Ralph, who slept there also, were
yet abed, and had given orders, the servant said, not to be disturbed.
So I turned sorrowfully from the door, doubting whither to apply
myself; for Mr. Roper lived at Richmond, and Mr. and Mrs. Wells were
abroad. I thought to go to Mr. Hodgson, whose boatman had drawn Basil
into this enterprise, and was standing forecasting which way to turn,
when all of a sudden who should I see but Basil himself coming down
the lane toward me! I tried to go for to meet him, but my legs failed
me, and I was forced to lean against my maid till he came up to us and
drew my arm in his. Then I felt strong again, and bidding her to go
home, walked a little way with him. The first words he said were:

"Mr. Watson is safe, but hath broke his leg and his arm. Know you
aught of Mistress Ward?"

"There is a warrant out against her," I answered, and told him of the
pursuivants coming to seek for her at our house.

"God shield," he said, "she be not apprehended! for sentence of death
would then be certainly passed upon her."


"Oh, Basil," I exclaimed, "why was the cord left?"

"Ah, the devil would have it," he began; but chiding himself, lifted
off his hat, and said, "Almighty God did so permit it to happen that
this mishap occurred. But I see," he subjoined, "you are not fit to
walk or stand, sweetheart. Come into Mr. Wells's house. Albeit they
are not at home, we may go and sit in the parlor; and it may be more
prudent I should not be  seen abroad to-day. I pray God Mr. Watson and
I will sail to-night for Calais."

So we rang the bell at the door of Mr. Wells's house; and his
housekeeper, who opened it, smiled when she saw Basil, for he was a
great favorite with her, as, indeed, methinks he always was with all
kinds of people. She showed us into Mr. Wells's study, which she said
was the most comfortable room and best aired in the house, for that,
for the sake of the books, she did often light a fire in it; and
nothing would serve her but she must do so now. And then she asked if
we had breakfasted, and Basil said i' faith he had not, and should be
very glad of somewhat to eat, if she would fetch it for him. So when
the fire was kindled--and methought it never would burn, the wood was
so damp--she went away for a little while, and he then told me the
haps of the past night.

"Tom Price (Hodgson's boatman) and I," he said, "rowed his boat close
onto the shore, near to the prison, and laid there under the cover of
some penthouses which stood betwixt the river and the prison's wall.
When the clock struck twelve, I promise you my heart began to beat as
any girl's, I was so frightened lest Mr. Watson should not have
received the cord, or that his courage should fail. Howsoever, in less
than one minute I thought I perceived something moving about one of
the windows, and then a body appeared sitting at first on the ledge,
but afterward it turned itself round, and, facing the wall, sank down
slowly, hanging on by a cord."

"Oh, Basil!" I exclaimed, "could you keep on looking?"

"Yea," he answered; "as if mine eyes should start out of my head. He
came down slowly, helping himself, I ween, with his feet against the
wall; but when he got to about twenty or thirty feet, I guess it to
have been, from the roof of the shed, he stopped of a sudden, and hung
motionless. 'He is out of breath,' I said to Tom. 'Or the rope proves
too short,' quoth he. We watched him for a moment. He swung to and
fro, then rested again, his feet against the wall. 'Beshrew me, but I
will climb on to that roof myself, and get nigh to him,' I whispered
to Tom, and was springing out of the boat, when we heard a noise more
loud than can be thought of. 'I'll warrant you he hath fallen on the
planks,' quoth Tom. 'Marry, but we will pick him up then,' quoth I;
and found myself soon on the edge of the roof, which was broken in at
one place, and, looking down, I thought I saw him lying on the ground.
I cried as loud as I durst, 'Mr. Watson, be you there? Hist! Are you
hurt? Speak if you can.' Methinks he was stunned by the fall, for he
did not answer; so there remained nothing left to do but to leap
myself through the opening into the shed, where I found him with his
eyes shut, and moaning. But when I spake to him he came to himself,
'and tried to rise, but could not stand, one of his legs being much
hurt. 'Climb on to my back, reverend sir,' I said 'and with God's help
we shall get out.' Howsoever, the way out did not appear manifest, and
mostly with another beside one's self to carry. But glancing round the
inside of the shed, I perceived a door, the fastening of which, when I
shook it, roughly enough I promise you, gave way; and the boat lay,
God be praised, close to it outside. I gave one look up to the prison,
and saw lights flashing in some of the windows. 'They be astir,' I
said to Tom. 'Hist! lend a hand, man, and take the reverend gentleman
from off my back and into  the boat.' Mr. Watson uttered a groan.
He most have suffered cruel pain; for, as we since found, his leg and
also his arm were broken, and he looked more dead than alive.

"We began to row as fast as we could; but now he, coming to himself,
feels in his coat, and cries out:

"'Oh, kind sirs--the cord, the cord! Stop, I pray you; stop, turn
back.'

"'Not for the world,' I cried, 'reverend sir.'

"Then he, in a lamentable voice:

"'Oh, if you turn not back and bring away the cord, the poor
gentlewoman which did give it unto me must needs fall into sore
trouble. Oh, for God's sake, turn back!'

"I gave a hasty glance at the prison, where increasing stir of lights
was visible, and resolved that to return should be certain ruin to
ourselves and to him for whom Mistress Ward had risked her life, and
little or no hope in it for her, as it was not possible there should
be time to get the cord and then escape, which with best speed now
could with difficulty be effected. So I turned a deaf ear to Mr.
Watson's pleadings, with an assured conscience she should have wished
no otherwise herself; and by God's mercy we made such way before they
could put out a boat, landing unseen beyond the next bridge, that we
could secretly convey him to the house of a Catholic not far from the
river on the other side, where he doth lie concealed. I promise you,
sweetheart, we did row hard. Albeit I strove very much last year when
I won the boat-match at Richmond, by my troth it was but child's play
to last night's racing. Poor Mr. Watson fainted before we landed, and
neither of us dared venture to stop from pulling for to assist him.
But, God be praised, he is now in a good bed; and I fetched for him at
daybreak a leech I know in the Borough, who hath set his broken limbs;
and to-night if the weather be not foul, when it gets dark, we will
convey him in a boat to a vessel at the river's mouth, which I have
retained for to take us to Calais. But I would Mistress Ward was on
board of it also."

"Oh, Basil," I exclaimed, "if we can discover where she doth lodge, it
would not then be impossible. If we had forecasted this yesterday, she
would be saved. Yet she had perhaps refused to tell us."

"Most like she would," he answered; "but if you do hit by any means
upon her abode to-day, forthwith despatch a trusty messenger unto me
at Mr. Hodgson's, and I promise you, sweetheart, she shall, will she
nill she, if I have to use force for it, be carried away to France,
and stowed with a good madame I know at Calais."

The housekeeper then came in with bread and meat and beer, which my
dear Basil did very gladly partake of, for he had eat nothing since
the day before, and was greatly in want of food. I waited on him,
forestalling housewifely duties, with so great a contentment in this
quiet hour spent in his company that nothing could surpass it. The
fire now burned brightly; and whilst he ate, we talked of the time
when we should be married and live at Euston, so retired from the busy
world without as should be most safe and peaceful in these troublesome
times, even as in that silent house we were for a short time shut out
from the noisy city, the sounds of which reached without disturbing
us. Oh how welcome was that little interval of peace which we then
enjoyed! I ween we were both very tired; and when the good housekeeper
came in for to fetch away his plate he had fallen asleep, with his
head resting on his hands; and I was likewise dozing in a high-backed
chair opposite to him. The noise she made awoke me, but not him, who
slept most soundly. She smiled, and in a motherly manner moved him to
a more comfortable position, and said she would lay a wager on it he
had not been abed at all that night.


"Well, I'll warrant you to be a good guesser, Mistress Mason," I
answered. "And if you did but know what a hard and a good work he hath
been engaged in, methinks you would never tarry in his praise."

"Ah, Mistress Sherwood," she replied, "I have known Master Basil these
many years; and a more noble, kindly, generous heart never, I ween,
did beat in a man's bosom. He very often came here with his father and
his brother when both were striplings; and Master Hubert was the
sharpest and some said the most well-behaved of the twain. But beshrew
me if I liked not better Master Basil, albeit he was sometimes very
troublesome, but not techey or rude as some boys be. I remember it
well how I laughed one day when these young masters--methinks this
one was no more than five years and the other four--were at play
together in this room, and Basil had a new jerkin on, and colored hose
for the first time. Hubert wore a kirtle, which displeasured him, for
he said folks should take him to be a wench. So he comes to me,
half-crying, and says, 'Why hath Baz that fine new suit and me not the
same?' 'Because, little sir, he is the eldest,' I said. 'Ah,' quoth
the shrewd imp, 'the next time I be born methinketh I will push Baz
aside and be the eldest.' If I should live one hundred years I shall
never forget it, the little urchin looked so resolved and spiteful."

I smiled somewhat sadly, I ween, but with better cheer when she
related how tender a heart Basil had from his infant years toward the
poor, taking off his clothes for to give them to the beggars he met,
and one day, she said, praying very hard Mrs. Wells for to harbor a
strolling man which had complained he had no lodging.

"'Mistress,' quoth he, 'you have many chambers in your house, and he
hath not so much as a bed to lie in tonight;' and would not be
contented till she had charged a servant to get the fellow a lodging.
And me he once abused very roundly in his older years for the same
cause. There was one Jack Morris, an old man which worked sometimes in
Mr. Wells's stable, but did lie at a cottage out of the town. And one
day in winter, when it snowed, Master Basil would have me make this
fellow sleep in the house, because he was sick, he said, and he would
give him his own bed and lie himself on straw in the stable; and went
into so great a passion when I said he should not do so, for that he
was a mean person and could not lie in a gentleman's chamber, that my
young master cries out, 'Have a care. Mistress Mason, I do not come in
the night and shake you out of your own bed, for to give you a taste
of the cold floor, which yet is not, I promise you, so cold as the
street into which you would turn this poor diseased man.' And then he
fell to coaxing of me till I consented for to send a mattress and a
warm rug to the stable for this pestilent old man, who I warrant you
was not so sick as he did assume to be, but had sufficient cunning for
to cozen Master Basil out of his money. Lord bless the lad! I have
seen him run out with his dinner in his hand, if he did but see a
ragged urchin in the streets, and gift him with it; and then would
slug lustily about the house--methinks I do hear him now--

  'Dinner, O dinner's a rare good thing
  Alike for a beggar, alike for a king.'"

Basil opened then his eyes and stared about him.

"Why, Mistress Mason," he cried, "beshrew me if you are not rehearsing
a rare piece of poesy!--the only one I ever did indite." At the which
speech we all laughed; but our merriment was short; for time had sped
faster than we thought, and Basil said he must needs return to the
Borough to forecast with Mr. Hodgson and Tom Price means to convey Mr.
Watson to the ship, which was out at sea nigh unto the shore, and a
boat must be had to carry them there, and withal such appliances
procured as should ease his broken limbs.

"Is there not danger" I asked, "in moving him so soon?"


"Yea," he said, "but a less fearful danger than in long tarrying in
this country."

This was too true to be gainsayed; and so thanking the good
housekeeper we left the house, which had seemed for those few hours
like onto a harbor from a stormy sea, wherein both our barks,
shattered by the waves, had refitted in peace.

"Farewell, Basil," I mournfully said; "God knoweth for how long."

"Not for very long," he answered. "In three months I shall have crept
out of my wardship. Then, if it please God, I will return, and so deal
with your good uncle that we shall soon after that be married."

"Yea," I answered, "if so be that my father is then in safety."

He said he meant not otherwise, but that he had great confidence it
should then be so. When at last we parted he went down Holborn Hill
very fast, and I slowly to Ely Place, many times stopping for to catch
one more sight of him in the crowd, which howsoever soon hid him from
me.

When I arrived at home I found Muriel in great affliction, for news
had reached her that Mistress Ward had been apprehended and thrown
into prison. Methinks we had both looked for no other issue than this,
which she had herself most desired; but nevertheless, when the
certainty thereof was confirmed to us, it should almost have seemed as
if we were but ill-prepared for it. The hope I had conceived a short
time before that she should escape in the same vessel with Basil and
Mr. Watson, made me less resigned to this mishap than I should have
been had no means of safety been at hand, and the sword, as it were,
hanging over her head from day to day. The messenger which had brought
this evil news being warranted reliable by a letter from Mr. Hodgson,
I intrusted him with a few lines to Basil, in which I informed him not
to stay his departure on her account, who was now within the walls of
the prison which Mr. Watson had escaped from, and that her best
comfort now should be to know he was beyond reach of his pursuers. The
rest of the day was spent in great heaviness of spirit. Mr. Congleton
sent a servant to Mr. Roper for to request him to come to London, and
wrote likewise to Mr. Lacy for to return to his house in town, and
confer with some Catholics touching Mistress Ward's imprisonment.
Muriel's eyes thanked him, but I ween she had no hope therein and did
resign herself to await the worst tidings. Her mother's unceasing
asking for her, whose plight she dared not so much as hint at in her
presence, did greatly aggravate her sufferings. I have often thought
Muriel did then undergo a martyrdom of the heart as sharp in its kind
as that which Mistress Ward endured in prison, if the reports which
did reach us were true. But more of that anon. The eventful day, which
had opened with so much of fear and sorrow, had yet in store other
haps, which I must now relate.

About four of the clock Hubert came to Ely Place, and found me alone
in the parlor, my fingers busied with some stitching, my thoughts
having wandered far away, where I pictured to myself the mouth of the
river, the receding tide, the little vessel which was to carry Basil
away once more to a foreign land, with its sails flapping in the wind;
and boats passing to and fro, plying on the fair bosom of the broad
river, and not leaving so much as a trace of their passage. And his
boat with its freight more precious than gold--the rescued life bought
at a great price--methought I saw it glide in the dark amidst those
hundred other boats unobserved (so I hoped), unstayed on its course.
Methought that so little bark should be a type of some lives which
carry with them, unwatched, undiscerned, a purpose, which doth freight
them on their way to eternity--somewhat hidden, somewhat close to
their hearts, somewhat engaging their whole strength; and all the
 while they seem to be doing the like of what others do; and God
only knoweth how different shall be the end!

"Ah, Hubert," I exclaimed when the door opened, "is it you? Methinks
in these days I see no one come into this house but a fear or a hope
doth seize me. What bringeth you? or hath nothing occurred?"

"Something may occur this day," he answered, "if you do but will it to
be so, Constance."

"What?" I asked eagerly; "what may occur?"

"Your father's deliverance," he said.

"Oh, Hubert," I cried, "it is not possible!"

"Go to!" he said in a resolved manner. "Don your most becoming suit,
and follow my directions in all ways. Lady Ingoldsby, I thank God,
hath not left London, and will be here anon to carry you to Sir
Francis Walsingham's house, where her familiar friend, Lady Sydney,
doth now abide during Sir Philip's absence. You shall thus get speech
with Sir Francis; and if you do behave with diffidency, and beware of
the violence of your nature and exorbitancy of your tongue, checking
needless speeches, and answering his questions with as many words as
courtesy doth command, and as few as civility doth permit, I doubt not
but you may obtain your father's release in the form of a sentence of
banishment; for he is not ill-disposed thereunto, having received
notice that his health is sinking under the hardships of his
confinement, and his strength so impaired that, once beyond seas, he
is not like to adventure himself again in this country."

"Alas!" I cried, "mine eyes had discerned in his shrunken form and
hollow cheeks tokens of such a decay as you speak of; and I pray God
Mr. Secretary may deal mercifully with him before it shall be too
late."

"I'll warrant you," he replied, "that if you do rightly deal with him,
he win sign an order which shall release this very night your father
from prison, and send him safe beyond seas before the week is ended."

"Think you so?" I said, my heart beating with an uncertain kind of
hope mixed with doubting.

"I am assured of it," Hubert confidently replied.

"I must ask my uncle's advice," doubtfully said, "before I go with
Polly."

A contemptuous smile curled his lip. "Yea," he said, "Be directed in
these weighty matters, I do advise you, by your aunt also, and the
saintly Muriel, and twenty hundred others beside, if you list; and the
while this last chance shall escape, and your father be doomed to
death. I have done my part, God knoweth. If he perish, his blood will
not be on my head; but mark my words, if he be not presently released,
he will appear before the council in two days, and the oath be
tendered to him, which you best know if he will take, and his refusal
without fail will send him to the scaffold."

"God defend," I exclaimed, greatly moved, "I should delay to do that
which may yet save him. I will go, Hubert. But I pray you, who are
familiar with Sir Francis, what means should be best for to move him
to compassion? Is there a soft corner in his heart which a woman's
tears can touch? I will kneel to him if needful, yea, kiss his
feet--mind him of his own fair daughter. Lady Sydney, which, if he was
in prison, and my father held his fate in his hands, would doubtless
sue to him with the like ardor, yea, the like agony of spirit, for
mercy. Oh, tell me, Hubert, what to say which shall drive the edge of
pity into his soul."

"Silence will take effect in this case sooner than the most moving
speeches," he answered. "Steel your soul to it, whatever he may say.
Your tears, your eyes, will, I warrant you, plead more mightfully than
your words. He is as obliging to the softer but predominant parts of
the world as he is  serviceable to the more severe. To him men's
faces speak as much as their tongues, and their countenances are
indexes of their hearts. Judge if yours, the liveliest piece of
eloquence which ever displayed itself in a fair visage, shall fail to
express that which passionate words, missing their aim, would of a
surety ill convey. And mind you, Mistress Constance, this man is of
extreme ability in the school of policy, and albeit inclined to
recusants with the view of winning them over by means of kindness, yet
an extreme hater of the Pope and Church of Rome, and moreover very
jealous to be considered as such; so if he do intend to show you favor
in this matter, make your reckoning that he will urge you to
conformity with many strenuous exhortations, which, if you remain
silent, no harm shall ensue to yourself or others."

"And not to mine own soul, Hubert?" I mournfully cried. "Methinks my
father and Basil would not counsel silence in such a case."

"God in heaven give me patience!" he exclaimed. "Is it a woman's
calling, I pray you, to preach? When the apostles were dismissed by
the judges, and charged no longer to teach the Christian faith, went
they not forth in silence, restraining their tongues then, albeit not
their actions when once at liberty? Methinks modesty alone should
forbid one of your years from dangerous retorts, which, like a
two-edged sword, wound alike friend and foe."

I had no courage left to withstand the promptings of mine own heart
and his urgency.

"God forgive me," I cried, "if I fail in aught wherein truth or
honesty are concerned. He knoweth I would do right, and yet save my
father's life."

Then falling on my knees, unmindful of his presence, I prayed with an
intense vehemency, which overcame all restraint, that my tongue might
be guided aright when I should be in his presence who under God did
hold my father's life in his hands. But hearing Polly's voice in the
hall, I started up, and noticed Hubert leaning his head on his hand,
seemingly more pitifully moved than was his wont. When she came in, he
met her, and said:

"Lady Ingoldsby, I pray you see that Mistress Constance doth so attire
herself as shall heighten her natural attractions; for, beshrew me, if
grave Mr. Secretary hath not, as well as other men, more pity for a
fair face than a plain one; and albeit hers is always fair, nature
doth nevertheless borrow additional charms from art."

"Tut, tut," quoth Polly. "She is a perfect fright in that hat, and her
ruff hideth all her neck, than which no swan hath a whiter; and I pray
you what a farthingale is that! Methinks it savors of the fashions of
the late queen's reign. Come, Con, cheer up, and let us to thy
chamber. I'll warrant you, Master Rookwood, she will be twice as
winsome when I have exercised my skill on her attire."

So she led me away, and I suffered her to dress mine hair herself and
choose such ornaments as she did deem most becoming. Albeit she
laughed and jested all the while, methinks the kindness of her heart
showed through this apparent gaiety; and when her task was done, and
she kissed my forehead, I threw my arms round her neck and wept.

"Nay, nay!" she cried; "no tears, coz--they do serve but to swell the
eyelids and paint the nose of a reddish hue;" and shaping her own
visage into a counterfeit of mine, she set me laughing against my
will, and drew me by the hand down the stairs and into the parlor.

"How now, sir?" she cried to Hubert "Think you I have indifferently
well performed the task you set me?"

"Most excellently well," he answered, and handed us to her coach,
which was to carry us to Seething Lane. When we were seated in it, she
told  me Hubert had disclosed to her the secret of my father's
plight, and that she was more concerned than she could well express at
so great a mishap, but nevertheless entertained a comfortable hope
this day should presently see the end of our troubles. Howsoever, she
did know but half of the trouble I was in, weighty as was the part she
was privy to. Hubert, she told me, had dealt with a marvellous great
zeal and ability in this matter, and proved himself so good a
negotiator that she doubted not Sir Francis himself must needs have
appreciated his ingenuity.

"That young gentleman," she added, "will never spoil his own market by
lack of timely boldness or opportune bashfulness. My Lady Arundel
related to me last night at Mrs. Yates's what passed on Monday at the
banquet-hall at Whitehall. Hath he told you his hap on that occasion?"

"No," I answered. "I pray you, Polly, what befel him there?'

"Well, her majesty was at dinner, and Master Hubert comes there to see
the fashion of the court. His handsome features and well-set shape
attract the queen's notice. With a kind of an affected frown she asks
Lady Arundel what he is. She answers she knows him not. Howsoever, an
inquiry is made from one to another who the youth should be, till at
length it is told the queen he is young Rookwood of Euston, in
Suffolk, and a ward of Sir Henry Stafford's."

"Mistaking him then for Basil?" I said.

Then she: "I think so; but howsoever this inquisition with the eye of
her majesty fixed upon him (as she is wont to fix it, and thereby to
daunt such as she doth make the mark of her gazing), stirred the blood
of our young gentleman, Lady Arundel said, insomuch that a deep color
rose in his pale cheek and straightway left it again; which the queen
observing, she called him unto her, and gave him her hand to kiss,
encouraging him with gracious words and looks; and then diverting her
speech to the lords and ladies, said that she no sooner observed him
than she did note there was in him good blood, and she ventured to
affirm good brains also; and then said to him, 'Fail not to come to
court, sir, and I will bethink myself to do you good.' Now I warrant
you, coz, this piece of a scholar lacked not the wit to use this his
hap in the furtherance of his and your suit to Sir Francis, whom he
adores as his saint, and courts as his Maecenas."

This recital of Polly's worked a tumultuous conflict in my soul; for
verily it strengthened hope touching my father's release; but methinks
any other channel of such hope should have been more welcome. A
jealousy, an unsubstantial fear, an uneasy misdoubt oppressed this
rising hope. I feared for Hubert the dawn of such favor as was shown
to him by her whose regal hand doth hold a magnet which hath
oftentimes caused Catholics to make shipwreck of their souls. And then
truth doth compel me to confess my weakness. Albeit God knoweth I
desired not for my true and noble sweetheart her majesty's gracious
smiles, or a higher fortune than Providence hath by inheritance
bestowed on him, a vain humane feeling worked in me some sort of
displeasure that his younger brother should stand in the queen's
presence as the supposed head of the house of Rookwood, and no more
mention made of him than if he had been outlawed or dead. Not that I
had then reason to lay this error to Hubert's door, for verily naught
in Polly's words did warrant such a suspicion; but my heart was sore,
and my spirits chafed with apprehensions. God forgive me if I then did
unjustly accuse him, and, in the retrospect of this passage in his
life, do suffer subsequent events to cast backward shadows on it,
whereby I may wrong him who did render to me (I write it with a
softened--yea, God is my witness--a truly loving, albeit sorrowing,
heart) a great service in a needful time. Oh, Hubert, Hubert! my heart
acheth for  thee. Methinks God will show thee great mercy yet,
but, I fear me, by such means only as I do tremble to think of.

CHAPTER XX.

When we reached Seething Lane, Polly bade me be of good heart, for
that Lady Sydney was a very affable and debonnaire lady, and Sir
Francis a person of toward and gentle manners, and exceedingly polite
to women. We were conducted to a neat parlor, where my Lady Sydney was
awaiting us. A more fair and accomplished lady is not, I ween, to be
found in England or any other country, than this daughter of a great
statesman, and wife at that time of Sir Philip Sydney, as she hath
since been of my Lords Essex and St. Albans. Methinks the matchless
gentleman, noble knight, and sweet writer, her first husband, who did
marry her portionless, not like as is the fashion with so many in our
days carrying his love in his purse, must have needs drawn from the
fair model in his own house the lovely pictures of beauteous women he
did portray in his "Arcadia." She greeted us with so much heartfelt
politeness, and so tempered gay discoursing with sundry marks of
delicate feeling, indicative, albeit not expressive, of a sense of my
then trouble, that, albeit a stranger, methinks her reserved
compassion and ingenious encouragements served to tranquillize my
discomposed mind more than Polly's efforts toward the same end. She
told us Lord Arundel had died that morning; which tidings turned my
thoughts awhile to Lady Surrey, with many cogitations as to the issue
of this event in her regard.

After a short space of time, a step neared the door, and Lady Sydney
smiled and said, "Here is my father." I had two or three times seen
Sir Francis Walsingham in public assemblies, but his features were
nevertheless not familiar to me. Now, after he had saluted Polly and
me, and made inquiry touching our relatives, while he conversed with
her on indifferent topics, I scanned his face with such careful
industry as if in it I should read the issue of my dear father's fate.
Methinks I never beheld so unreadable a countenance, or one which bore
the impress of so refined a penetration, so piercing an
inquisitiveness, so keen a research into others' thoughts, with so
close a concealment of his own. I have since heard what his son-in-law
did write of him, that he impoverished himself by the purchase of dear
intelligence; that, as if master of some invisible spring, all the
secrets of Christendom met in his closet, and he had even a key to
unlock the Pope's cabinet. His mottoes are said to be _video et
taceo_, and that knowledge can never be bought at too high a price.
And verily methinks they were writ in his face, in his quick-turning
eyes, his thin, compressed lips, and his soft but resolved accents,
minding one of steel cased in velvet. 'Tis reported he can read any
letter without breaking the seal. For mine own part, I am of opinion
he can see through parchment, yea, peradventure, through stone walls,
when bent on some discovery. After a few minutes he turned to me with
a gracious smile, and said he was very glad to hear that I was a young
gentlewoman of great prudence, and well disposed in all respects, and
that he doubted not that, if her majesty should by his means show me
any favor, I should requite it with such gratitude as should appear in
all my future conduct.

"God knoweth," I stammered, mine eyes filling with tears, "I would be
grateful to you, sir, if it should please you to move her majesty to
grant my prayer, and to her highness for the doing of it."

"And how would you show such gratitude, fair Mistress Constance?" he
said, smiling in an encouraging manner.


"By such humble duty," I answered, "as a poor obscure creature can pay
to her betters."

"And I hope, also," he said, "that such dutifulness will involve no
unpleasing effort, no painful constraint on your inclinations; for I
am assured her majesty will never desire from you anything but what
will well accord with your advantage in this world and in the next."

These words caused me some kind of uneasiness; but as they called for
no answer, I took refuge in silence; only methinks my face, which he
did seem carefully to study, betrayed anxiety.

"Providence," Sir Francis then said, "doth oftentimes marvellously
dispose events. What a rare instance of its gracious workings should
be seen in your case, Mistress Constance, if what your heart doth
secretly incline to should become a part of that dutifulness which you
do intend to practice in future!"

Before I had clearly apprehended the sense of his words, Lady Sydney
said to Polly:

"My father hath greatly commended to Sir Philip and me a young
gentleman which I understand. Lady Ingoldsby, to be a friend of yours,
Mr. Hubert Rookwood, of Euston. He says the gracefulness of his
person, his excellent parts, his strong and subtle capacity, do
excellently fit him to learn the discipline and garb of the times and
court."

"Ay," then quoth Sir Francis, "he hath as large a portion of gifts and
endowments as I have ever noticed in one of his age, and I'll warrant
he proves no mere vegetable of the court, springing up at night and
sinking at noon."

Polly did warmly assent to these praises of Hubert, for whom she had
always entertained a great liking; but she merrily said he was not gay
enough for her, which abhorred melancholy as cats do water.

"Oh, fair lady," quoth Sir Francis, "God defend we should be
melancholy; verily 'tis fitting we should be sometimes serious, for
while we laugh all things are serious round about us. The whole
creation is serious in serving God and us. The holy Scriptures bring
to our ears the most serious things in the world. All that are in
heaven and hell are serious. Then how should we be always gay?"

Polly said--for when had she not, I pray you, somewhat to say?--that
certain things in nature had a propensity to gaiety which naught could
quell, and instanced birds and streamlets, which never cease to sing
and babble as long as they do live or flow. And to be serious, she
thought, would kill her. The while this talk was ministered between
them, my Lady Sydney, on a sign from her father, I ween, took my hand
in hers, and offered to show me the garden; for the heat of the room,
she said, was like to give me the headache. Upon which I rose, and
followed her into a court planted with trees, and then on to an alley
of planes strewed with gravel. As we entered it I perceived several
persons walking toward us. When the first thought came into my mind
who should be the tall personage in the centre, of hair and complexion
fair, and of so stately and majestic deportment, I marvel my limbs
gave not way, but my head swam and a mist obscured mine eyes.
Methinks, as one dreaming, I heard Lady Sydney say, "The queen,
Mistress Sherwood; kneel down, and kiss her majesty's hand." Oh, in
the brief moment of time when my lips pressed that thin, white,
jewelled hand, what multiplied thoughts, resentful memories, trembling
awe, and instinctive, homage to royal greatness, met in my soul, and
worked confusion in my brain!

"Ah, mine own good Sydney," I heard her majesty exclaim; "is this the
young gentlewoman your wise father did speak of at Greenwich
yesterday? The daughter of one Sherwood now in prison for popish
contumacy?"


"Even so," said Lady Sydney; "and your sacred majesty hath it now in
her power to show

  "The quality of mercy is not strained--'"

  "'But droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
  Upon the place beneath,'"

interrupted the queen, taking the words out of her mouth. "We be not
ignorant of those lines. Will Shakespeare hath it,

  'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
  The throned monarch better than his crown.'

And i' faith we differ not from him, for verily mercy is our habit and
the propension of our soul; but, by God, the malice and ingratitude of
recusant traitors doth so increase, with manifold dangers to our
person and state, that mercy to them doth turn into treason against
ourselves, injury to religion, and an offence to God. Rise," her
majesty then said to me; and as I stood before her, the color, I ween,
deepening in my cheeks, "Thou hast a fair face, wench," she cried;
"and if I remember aright good Mr. Secretary's words, hast used it to
such purpose that a young gentleman we have of late taken into our
favor is somewhat excessive in his doting on it. Go to, go to; thou
couldst go further and fare worse. We ourselves are averse to
marriage; but if a woman must needs have a husband (and that deep
blushing betokeneth methinks thy bent thereon), she should set her
heart wisely, and govern it discreetly."

"Alas, madam!" I cried, "'tis not of marriage I now do think; but, on
my knees" (and falling again at her feet, I clasped them, with tears),
"of my father's release; I do crave your majesty's mercy."

"Content thee, wench; content thee. Mr. Secretary hath obtained from
us the order for that foolish man's banishment from our realm."

"Oh, madam!" I cried, "God bless you!"

Then my heart did smite me I should with so great vehemency bless her
who, albeit in this nearest instance pitiful to me, did so
relentlessly deal with others; and I bethought me of Mistress Ward,
and the ill-usage she was like to meet with. And her words touching
Hubert, and silence concerning Basil, weighed like lead on my soul;
yet I taxed myself with folly therein, for verily at this time the
less he was thought of the greater should be his safety. Sir Francis
had now approached the queen, and I did hear her commend to him his
garden, which she said was very neat and trim, and the pattern of it
most quaint and fanciful. Polly did also kiss her hand, and Sir Walter
Raleigh and Sir Christopher Hatton, which accompanied her majesty,
whilst she talked with Sir Francis, conversed with Lady Sydney. I ween
my Lord Leicester and many other noblemen and gentlemen were also in
her train, but mine eyes took scant note of what passed before them;
the queen herself was the only object I could contemplate, so
marvellous did it seem I should thus have approached her, and had so
much of her notice as she did bestow on me that day. And here I cannot
choose but marvel how strangely our hearts are made. How favors to
ourselves do alter the current of our feelings; how a near approach to
those which at a distance we do think of with unmitigated enmity, doth
soften even just resentments; and what a singular fascination doth lie
in royalty for to win unto itself a reverence which doth obliterate
memories which in common instances should never lose their sting.

The queen's barge, which had moored at the river-side of Sir Francis's
garden, was soon filled again with the goodly party it had set down;
and as it went up the stream, and I stood gazing on it, methought the
whole scene had been a dream.

Lady Sydney and Polly moved Sir Francis to repeat the assurance her
majesty had given me touching the commutation of my father's
imprisonment into an order of banishment. He satisfied me thereon, and
did promise to procure for me permission to see  him once more
before his departure; which interview did take place on the next day;
and when I observed the increased paleness of his face and feebleness
of his gait, the pain of bidding that dear parent farewell equalled
not the joy I felt in the hope that liberty and the care of those good
friends to whose society he would now return, should prolong and cheer
the remaining days of his life. Methinks there was some sadness in him
that the issue he had so resolutely prepared for, and confidently
looked to, should be changed to one so different, and that only by
means of death would he have desired to leave the English mission; but
he meekly bowed his will to that of God, and said in an humble manner
he was not worthy of so exalted an end as he had hoped for, and he
refused not to live if so be he might yet serve God in obscure and
unnoticed ways.

When I returned home after this comfortable, albeit very sad, parting,
I was too weary in body and in mind for to do aught but lie down for a
while on a settle, and revolve in my mind the changes which had taken
place around me. Hubert came for a brief time that evening; and
methinks he had heard from Polly the haps at Seething Lane. He strove
for to move me to speak of the queen, and to tell him the very words
she had uttered. The eager sparkling of his eyes, the ill-repressed
smilingness of his countenance, the manner of his questioning, worked
in me a secret anger, which caused the thanks I gave him for his
successful dealings in my father's behalf to come more coldly from
mine heart than they should otherwise have done, albeit I strove to
frame them in such kind terms as were befitting the great service he
had rendered us. But to disguise my thoughts my tongue at last
refused, and I burst forth:

"But, for all that I do thank you, Hubert, yea, and am for ever
indebted to you, which you will never have reason, from my conduct and
exceedingly kind sisterly love, to doubt: bear with me, I pray you,
when I say (albeit you may think me a very foolish creature) that I
wish you not joy, but rather for your sake do lament, the new favor
you do stand in with the queen. O Hubert, bethink you, ere you set
your foot on the first step of that slippery ladder, court favor, that
no man can serve two masters."

"Marry," he answered in a light manner, "by that same token or text,
papists can then not serve the queen and also the Pope!"

There be nothing which so chilleth or else cutteth the heart as a
jesting retort to a fervent speech.

I hid my face on my arm to hide some tears.

"Constance," he softly said, seeing me moved, "do you weep for me?"

"Yea," I murmured; "God knoweth what these new friendships and this
dangerous favor shall work in you contrary to conscience, truth, and
virtue. Oh! heaven shield Basil's brother should be a favorite of the
queen!"

"Talk not of Basil," he fiercely cried, "I warrant you the day may be
at hand when his fate shall hang on my favor with those who can make
and mar a man, or ruin and mend his fortunes, as they will, by one
stroke of a pen!"

"Yea," I replied; "I doubt not his fortune is at their mercy. His
soul, God be praised, their arts cannot reach."

"Constance," he then said, fixedly gazing on me, "if you only love me,
there is no ambition too noble, no heights of virtue too exalted, no
sacrifices too entire, but I will aim at, aspire to, resolve on, at
your bidding."

"Love _you_!" I said, raising mine eyes to his, somewhat scornfully I
fear, albeit not meaning it, if I judge by his sudden passion.

"God defend," he cried, "I do not arrive at hating you with as great
fervency as I have, yea, as even yet I do love you! O Constance, if I
should one day be what I do yet abhor to think  of, the guilt
thereof shall lie with you if there be justice on Earth or in heaven!"

I shook my head, and laying my hand on his, sadly answered:

"I choose not to bandy words with you, Hubert, or charge you with
what, if I spoke the truth, would be too keen and resentful reproaches
for your unbrotherly manner of dealing with Basil and me; for it would
ill become the close of this day, on which I do owe you, under God, my
dear father's life, to upbraid where I would fain only from my heart
yield thanks. I pray you, let us part in peace. My strength is
well-nigh spent and my head acheth sorely."

He knelt down by my side, and whispered, "One word more before I go.
You do hold in your keeping Basil's fate and mine. I will not forsake
the hope that alone keepeth me from desperation. Hush! say not the
word which would change me from a friend to a foe, from a Catholic to
an apostate, from a man to a fiend. I have gone well-nigh into the
gate of hell; a slender thread yet holds me back; snap it not in
twain."

I spoke not, for verily my tongue clove to the roof of my mouth, and a
fainting sensation of a sudden came over me. I felt his lips pressed
on my hand, and then he left me; and that night I felt very ill, and
for nigh unto a fortnight could by no means leave my bed.

One morning, being somewhat easier, I sat up in a high-backed chair,
in what had once been our school-room; and when Muriel, who had been a
most diligent nurse to me in that sickness, came to visit me, I
pressed her for to tell me truly if she had heard aught of Basil or of
Mistress Ward; for every day when I had questioned her thereon she had
denied all knowledge of their haps, which now began to work in me a
suspicion she did conceal from me some misfortune, which doubt, I told
her, was more grievous to me than to be informed what had befallen
them; and so constrained her to admit that, albeit of Basil she had in
truth no tidings, which she judged to be favorable to our hopes, of
Mistress Ward she had heard, in the first instance, a report, eight or
ten days before, that she had been hung up by the hands and cruelly
scourged; which torments she was said by the jailors, which Mr. Lacy
had spoken with, to have borne with exceeding great courage, saying
they were the preludes of martyrdom, with which, by the grace of God,
she hoped she should be honored. Then Mr. Roper and Mr. Wells, who was
now returned to London, had brought tidings the evening before that on
the preceding day she had been brought to the bar, where, being asked
by the judges if she was guilty of that treachery to the queen and to
the laws of the realm of furnishing the means by which a traitor of a
priest had escaped from justice, she answered with a cheerful
countenance in the affirmative; and that she never in her life had
done anything of which she less repented than of the delivering that
innocent lamb from the wolves which should have devoured him.

"Oh, Muriel," I cried, "cannot you see her dear resolved face and the
lighting up of her eyes, and the quick fashion of her speech, when she
said this?"

"I do picture her to myself," Muriel answered in a low voice, "at all
hours of the day, and marvel at mine own quietness therein. But I
doubt not her prayers do win for me the grace of resignation. They
sought to oblige her to confess where Mr. Watson was, but in vain; and
therefore they proceeded to pronounce sentence upon her. But withal
telling her that the queen was merciful, and that if she would ask
pardon of her majesty, and would promise to go to church, she should
be set at liberty; otherwise that she must look for nothing but
certain death."

I drew a deep breath then, and said, "The issue is, then, not
doubtful."

"She answered," Muriel said, "that  as to the queen, she had
never offended her majesty; that as to what she had done in favoring
Mr. Watson's escape, she believed the queen herself, if she had the
bowels of a woman, would have done as mach if she had known the
ill-treatment he underwent; and as to going to church, she had for
many years been convinced that it was not lawful for her so to do, and
that she found no reason now for to change her mind, and would not act
against her conscience; and therefore they might proceed to the
execution of the sentence pronounced against her; for that death for
such a cause would be very welcome, and that she was willing to lay
down not one life only, but many, if she had them, rather than act
against her religion."

"And she is then condemned to death without any hope?" I said.

Muriel remained silent.

"Oh, Muriel!" I cried; "it is not done? it is not over?"

She wiped one tear that trickled down her cheek, and said, "Yesterday
she suffered at Tyburn with a wonderful constancy and alacrity."

I hid my face in my hands; for the sight of the familiar room, of the
chair in which she was sitting what time she took leave of us, of a
little picture pinned to the wall, which she had gifted me with, moved
me too much. But when I closed mine eyes, there arose remembrances of
my journeying with her; of my foolish speeches touching robbers; of
her motherly reproofs of my so great confidence, and comfort in her
guidance; and I was fain to seek comfort from her who should have
needed it rather than me, but who indeed had it straight from heaven,
and thereby could impart some share of it to others.

"Muriel," I said, resting my tired head on her bosom, "the day you say
she suffered, I now mind me, I was most ill, and you tended me as
cheerfully as if you had no grief."

"Oh, 'tis no common grief," she answered, "no casting-down sorrow, her
end doth cause me; rather some kind of holy jealousy, some over-eager
pining to follow her."

A waiting-woman then came in, and I saw her give a letter to Muriel,
who I noticed did strive to hide it from me. But I detected it in her
hand, and cried, "'Tis from Basil; how hath it come?" and took it from
her; but trembling so much, my fingers could scarce untie the strings,
for I was yet very unwell from my sickness.

"Mr. Hodgson hath sent it," quoth Muriel; "God yield it be good news!"

Then my eyes fell on the loved writing, and read what doth follow:

"DEAR HEART AND SWEET WIFE
soon to be--God be praised, we are now safe in port at Calais, but
have not lacked dangers in our voyage. But all is well, I ween, that
doth end well; and I do begin my letter with the tokens of that good
ending that mine own sweet love should have no fears, only much
thankfulness to God, whilst she doth read of the perils we have
escaped. We carried Mr. Watson--Tom and I and two others--into the
boat, on the evening of the day when I last saw you, and made for the
Dutch vessel out at sea near the river's mouth. The light was waning,
but not yet so far gone but that objects were discernible; and we had
not rowed a very long time before we heard a splashing of oars behind
us, and turning round what should we see but one of the Queen's
barges, and by the floating pennon at the stem discerned her majesty
to be on board! We hastily turned our boat, and I my back toward the
bank; threw a cloak over Mr. Watson, who, by reason of his broken
limbs, was lying on a mattress at the bottom of it; and Tom and the
others feigned to be fishing. When the royal barge passed by, some one
did shout, railing at us for that we did fish in the dark, and a storm
coming up the river; and verily it did of a sudden begin to blow very
strong. Sundry small craft were coming from the sea into the river for
shelter; and as they did meet as, expressed marvel we  should
adventure forth, jeering us for our thinking to catch fish and a storm
menacing. None of us, albeit good rowers, were much skilled in the
mariner's art; but we commended ourselves to God and went onward all
the night; and when the morning was breaking, to our unspeakable
comfort, we discovered the Dutch vessel but a few strokes distant at
anchor, when, as we bethought ourselves nearly in safety, a huge
rolling wave (for now the weather had waxed exceedingly rough) upset
our boat."

"O Muriel," I exclaimed, "that night I tossed about in a high fever,
and saw Basil come dripping wet at the foot of my bed: I warrant you
'twas second sight."

"Read on, read on," Muriel said; "nor delude yourself touching
visions."

"Tom, the other boatman, and I, being good swimmers, soon regained the
boat, the which floated keel upwards, whereon we climbed, but
well-nigh demented were we to find Mr. Watson could nowhere be seen.
In desperation I plunged again into the sea, swimming at hazard, with
difficulty buffeting the waves; when nearly spent I descried the good
priest, and seized him in a most unmannerly fashion by the collar, and
dragging him along, made shift to regain the floating keel; and Tom,
climbing to the top, waved high his kerchief, hoping to be seen by the
Dutchman, who by good hap did espy our signal. Soon had we the joy to
see a boat lowered and advance toward us. With much difficulty it
neared us, by reason of the fury of the waves; but, God be thanked, it
did at last reach us; and Mr. Watson, insensible and motionless, was
hoisted therein, and soon in safety conveyed on board the vessel. I
much feared for his life; for, I pray you, was such a cold, long bath,
succeeding to a painful exposed night, meet medicine for broken limbs,
and the fever which doth accompany such hurts? I wot not; but yet, God
be praised, he is now in the hospital of a monastery in this town,
well tended and cared for, and the leeches do assure me like to do
well. Thou mayest think, sweetheart, that after seeing him safely
stowed in that good lodgment, I waited not for to change my clothes or
break my fast, before I went to the church; and on my knees blessed
the Almighty for his protection, and hung a thank-offering on to our
Lady's image; for I warrant you, when I was fishing for Mr. Watson in
that raging sea, I missed not to put up Hail Marys as fast as I could
think them, for beshrew me if I had breath to spare for to utter. I do
now pen this letter at my good friend Mr. Wells's brother's, and Tom
will take it with him to London, and Mr. Hodgson convey it to thee.
Thy affectionate and humble obedient (albeit intending to lord it over
thee some coming day) servant and lover, BASIL ROOKWOOD.

"Oh, how the days do creep till I be out of my wardship! Methinks I do
feel somewhat like Mrs. Helen Ingoldsby, who doth hate patience, she
saith, by reason that it doth always keep her waiting. I would not be
patient, sweet one, I fear, if impatience would carry me quicker to
thy dear side."

"Well," said Muriel, sweetly smiling when I had finished reading this
comfortable letter, "the twain which we have accompanied this past
fortnight with our thoughts and prayers have both, God be praised,
escaped from a raging sea into a safe harbor, albeit not of the same
sort--the one earthly, the other heavenly. Oh, but I am very glad,
dear Constance, thou art spared a greater trial than hath yet touched
thee!" and so pure a joy beamed in her eyes, that methought no one
more truly fulfilled that bidding, "to rejoice with such as rejoice,
as well as to weep with such as weep."

This letter of my dear Basil hastened my recovery; and three days
later, having received an invitation thereunto, I went to visit the
Countess of Surrey, now also of Arundel, at Arundel House. The trouble
she was in by  reason of her grandfather's death, and of my Lady
Lumley's, who had preceded her father to the grave, exceeded anything
she had yet endured. The earl her husband continued the same hard
usage toward her, and never so much as came to visit her at that time
of her affliction, but remained in Norfolk, attending to his sports of
hunting and the like. Howsoever, as he had satisfied her uncles, Mr.
Francis and Mr. Leonard Dacre, Mr. James Labourn, and also Lord
Montague, and his own sister Lady Margaret Sackville, and likewise
Lord Thomas and Lord William Howard, his brothers, that he put not in
any doubt, albeit words to that effect had once escaped him, the
validity of his marriage, she, with great wisdom and patience, and
prudence very commendable in one of her years, being destitute of any
fitting place to dwell in, resolved to return to his house in London.
At the which at first he seemed not a little displeased, but yet took
no measures for to drive her from it. And in the ordering of the
household and care of his property manifested the same zeal, and
obtained the same good results, as she had procured whilst she lived
at Kenninghall. Methought she had waxed older by some years, not
weeks, since I had seen her, so staid and composed had become the
fashion of her speech and of her carriage. She conversed with me on
mine own troubles and comforts, and the various and opposite haps
which had befallen me; which I told her served to strengthen in me my
early thinking, that sorrows are oftentimes so intermixed with joys
that our lives do more resemble variable April days than the cloudless
skies of June, or the dark climate of winter.

Whilst we did thus discourse, mine eyes fell on a quaint piece of work
in silk and silver, which was lying on a table, as if lately unfolded.
Lady Arundel smiled in a somewhat sad fashion, and said:

"I warrant thou art curious, Constance, to examine that piece of
embroidery; and verily as regards the hands which hath worked it, and
the kind intent with which it was wrought, a more notable one should
not easily be found. Look at it, and see if thou canst read the
ingenious meaning of it."

This was the design therein executed with exceeding great neatness and
beauty: there was a tree framed, whereon two turtle-doves sat, on
either side one, with this difference, that by that on the right hand
there were two or three green leaves remaining, by the other none at
all--the tree on that side being wholly bare. Over the top of the tree
were these words, wrought in silver: "Amoris sorte pares." At the
bottom of the tree, on the side where the first turtle-dove did sit by
the green leaves, these words were also embroidered: "Haec ademptum,"
with an anchor under them. On the other side, under the other dove,
were these words, in like manner wrought: "Illa peremptum," with
pieces of broken board underneath.

"See you what this doth mean?" the countess asked.

"Nay," I answered; "my wit is herein at fault."

"You will," she said, "when you know whence this gift comes to me.
Methought, save by a few near to me in blood, or by marriage
connected, and one or two friends--thou, my Constance, being the
chiefest--I was unknown to all the world; but a sad royal heart having
had notice, in the midst of its own sore griefs, how the earl my
husband doth, through evil counsel, absent and estrange himself from
me, partly to comfort, and partly to show her love to one she once
thought should be her daughter-in-law, for a token thereof she sent me
this gift, contrived by her own thinking, and wrought with her own
hands. Those two doves do represent herself and me. On my side an
anchor and a few green leaves (symbols of hope), show I may yet
flourish, because my lord is alive; though, by reason of his absence
and unkindness, I mourn as a  lone turtle-dove. But the bare
boughs and broken boards on her side signify that her hopes are wholly
wrecked by the death of the duke, for whom she doth mourn without hope
of comfort or redress."

The pathetic manner in which Lady Arundel made this speech moved me
almost to tears.

"If Philip," she said, "doth visit me again at any time, I will hang
up this ingenious conceit where he should see it. Methinks it will
recall to him the past, and move him to show me kindness. Help me,
Constance," she said after a pause, "for to compose such an answer as
my needle can express, which shall convey to this royal prisoner both
thanks, and somewhat of hope also, albeit not of the sort she doth
disclaim.'"

I mused for a while, and then with a pencil drew a pattern of a like
tree to that of the Scottish queen's design; and the dove which did
typify the Countess of Arundel I did represent fastened to the branch,
whereon she sat and mourned, by many strings wound round her heart,
and tied to the anchor of an earthly hope, whereas the one which was
the symbol of the forlorn royal captive did spread her wings toward
the sky, unfettered by the shattered relics strewn at her feet. Lady
Arundel put her arm round my neck, and said she liked well this
design; and bade me for to pray for her, that the invisible strings,
which verily did restrain in her heavenward motions, should not always
keep her from soaring thither where only true joys are to be found.

During some succeeding weeks I often visited her, and we wrought
together at the same frame in the working of this design, which she
had set on hand by a cunning artificer from the rough pattern I had
drawn. Much talk the while was ministered between us touching
religion, which did more and more engage her thoughts; Mr. Bayley, a
Catholic gentleman who belonged to the earl her husband, and whom she
did at that time employ to carry relief to sick and poor persons,
helping her greatly therein, being well instructed himself, and
haunting such priests as did reside secretly in London at that time.

About the period when Basil was expected to return, my health was
again much affected, not so sharply as before, but a weakness and
fading of strength did show the effects of such sufferings as I had
endured. Hubert's behavior did tend at that time for to keep me in
great uneasiness. When he came to the house, albeit he spake but
seldom to me, if we ever were alone he gave sundry hints of a
persistent hope and a possible desperation, mingled with vague
threats, which disturbed me more than can be thought of. Methinks
Kate, Polly, and Muriel held council touching my health; and thence
arose a very welcome proposal, from my Lady Tregony, that I should
visit her at her seat in Norfolk, close on the borders of Suffolk,
whither she had retired since Thomas Sherwood's death. Polly, who had
a good head and a good heart albeit too light a mind, forecasted the
comfort it should be to Basil and me, when he returned, to be so near
neighbors until we were married (which could not be before some months
after he came of age), that we could meet every day; Lady Tregony's
seat being only three miles distant from Euston. They wrote to him
thereon; and when his answer came, the joy he expressed was such that
nothing could be greater. And on a fair day in the spring, when the
blossoms of the pear and apple-trees were showing on the bare
branches, even as my hopes of coming joys did bud afresh after long
pangs of separation, I rode from London, by slow journeys, to Banham
Hall, and amidst the sweet silence of rural scenes, quiet fields, and
a small but convenient house, where I was greeted with maternal
kindness by one in whom age retained the warmth of heart of youth, I
did regain so much strength and good looks, that when, one day, a
 horsemen, when I least thought of it, rode to the door, and I
turned white and red in turns, speechless with delight, perceiving it
to be Basil, he took me by both hands, looked into my face and cried:

"Hang the leeches! Suffolk air was all thou didst need, for all they
did so fright me."

"Norfolk air, I pray you," quoth my Lady Tregony, smiling.

"Nay, nay," quoth Basil. "It
doth blow over the border from Suffolk."

"Happiness, leastways, bloweth thence," I whispered.

"Yea," he answered; for he was not one for to make long speeches.

But, ah me! the sight of him was a cure to all mine ailments.


CHAPTER XXI.

It is not to be credited with how great an admixture of pleasure and
pain I do set myself to my daily task of writing, for the thought of
those spring and summer months spent in Lady Tregony's house doth stir
up old feelings, the sweetness of which hath yet some bitterness in
it, which I would fain separate from the memories of that happy time.

Basil had taken up his abode at Euston, whither I so often went and
whence he so often came, that methinks we could both have told (for
mine own part I can yet do it, even after the lapse of so many years)
the shape of each tree, the rising of each bank, the every winding of
the fair river Ouse betwixt one house and the other. Yea, when I now
sit down on the shore, gazing on the far-off sea, bethinking myself it
doth break on the coast of England, I sometimes newly draw on memory's
tablet that old large house, the biggest in all Suffolk, albeit homely
in its exterior and interior plainness, which sitteth in a green
hollow between two graceful swelling hills. Its opposite meadows
starred in the spring-tide with so many daisies and buttercups that
the grass scantily showeth amidst these gay intruders; the ascending
walk, a mile in length, with four rows of ash-trees on each side, the
tender green of which in those early April days mocked the sober tints
of the darksome tufts of fir; and the noble deer underneath the old
oaks, carrying in a stately manner their horned heads, and darting
along the glades with so swift a course that the eye could scarce
follow them. But mostly the little wooden bridge where, when Basil did
fish, I was wont to sit and watch the sport, I said, but verily him,
of whose sight I was somewhat covetous after his long absence. And I
mind me that one day when we were thus seated, he on the margin of the
stream and I leaning against the bridge, we held an argument touching
country diversions, which began in this wise:

"Methinks," I said, "of all disports fishing hath this advantage, that
if one faileth in the success he looketh for, he hath at least a
wholesome walk, a sweet air, a fragrant savor of the mead flowers. He
seeth the young swans, herons, ducks, and many other fowls with their
broods, which is surely better than the noise of hounds, the blast of
horns, and the cries the hunters make. And if it be in part used for
the increasing of the body's health and the solace of the mind, it can
also be advantageously employed for the health of the soul, for it is
not needful in this diversion to have a great many persons with you,
and this solitude doth favor thought and the serving of God by
sometimes repeating devout prayers."

To this Basil replied: "That as there be many men, there be also many
minds; and, for his part, when the woods and fields and skies seemed
in all one loud cry and confusion with the earning of the hounds, the
gallopping of the horses, the hallowing of the huntsmen, and the
excellent echo resounding from the hills and valleys, he did not think
there could be a  more delectable pastime or a more tuneable
sound by any degree than this, and specially in that place which is
formed so meet for the purpose. And if he should wish anything, it
would be that it had been the time of year for it, and for me to ride
by his side on a sweet misty mornings to hear this goodly music and to
be recreated with this excellent diversion. And for the matter of
prayers," he added, smiling, "I warrant thee, sweet preacher, that as
wholesome cogitations touching Almighty God and his goodness, and
brief inward thanking of him for good limbs and an easy heart, have
come into my mind on a horse's back with a brave westerly wind blowing
about my head, as in the quiet sitting by a stream listing to the
fowls singing."

"Oh, but Basil," I rejoined, "there are more virtues to be practised
by an angler than by a hunter."

"How prove you that, sweetheart?" he asked.

Then I: "Well, he must be of a well-settled and constant belief to
enjoy the benefit of his expectation. He must be full of love to his
neighbor, that he neither give offence in any particular, nor be
guilty of any general destruction; then he must be exceeding patient,
not chafing in losing the prey when it is almost in hand, or in
breaking his tools, but with pleased sufferance, as I have witnessed
in thyself, amend errors and think mischances instructions to better
carefulness. He must be also full of humble thoughts, not disdaining
to kneel, lie down, or wet his fingers when occasion commands. Then
must he be prudent, apprehending the reasons why the fish will not
bite; and of a thankful nature, showing a large gratefulness for the
least satisfaction."

"Tut, tut," Basil replied, laughing; "thinkest thou no patience be
needful when the dogs do lose the scent, or your horse refuseth to
take a gate; no prudence to forecast which way to turn when the issue
be doubtful; no humility to brook a fall with twenty fellows passing
by a-jeering of you; no thankfulness your head be not broken; no love
of your neighbor for to abstain in the heat of the chase from treading
down his corn, or for to make amends when it be done? Go to, go to,
sweetheart; thou art a dextrous pleader, but hast failed to prove thy
point. Methinks there doth exist greater temptations for to swear or
to quarrel in hunting than in fishing, and, if resisted, more
excellent virtues then observed. One day last year, when I was in
Cheshire, Sir Peter Lee of Lime did invite me to hunt the stag, and
there being a great stag in chase and many gentlemen hot in the
pursuit, the stag took soil, and divers, whereof I was one, alighted
and stood with sword drawn to have a cut at him."

"Oh, the poor stag!" I cried; "I do always sorely grieve for him."

"Well," he continued, "the stags there be wonderfully fierce and
dangerous, which made us youths more eager to be at him. But he
escaped us all; and it was my misfortune to be hindered in my coming
near him, the way being slippery, by a fall which gave occasion to
some which did not know me to speak as if I had failed for fear; which
being told me, I followed the gentleman who first spoke it, intending
for to pick a quarrel with him, and, peradventure, measure my sword
with his, so be his denial and repentance did not appear. But, I thank
God, afore I reached him my purpose had changed, and in its stead I
turned back to pursue the stag, and happened to be the only horseman
in when the dogs set him up at bay; and approaching near him, he broke
through the dogs and ran at me, and took my horse's side with his
horns. Then I quitted my horse, and of a sudden getting behind him,
got on his back and cut his throat with my sword."

"Alack!" I cried, "I do mislike these bloody pastimes, and love not to
think of the violent death of any living creature."


"Well, dear heart," he answered, "I will not make thee sad again by
the mention of the killing of so much as a rat, if it displeaseth
thee. But truly I mislike not to think of that day, for I warrant
thee, in turning back from the pursuit of that injurious gentleman,
somewhat more of virtue did exist than it hath been my hap often to
practice. For, look you, sweet one, to some it doth cause no pain to
forgive an injury which toucheth not their honor, or to plunge into
the sea to fish out a drowning man; but to be styled a coward, and yet
to act as a Christian man should do, not seeking for to be revenged,
why, methinks, there should be a little merit in it."

"Yea," I said, "much in every way; but truly, sir, if your thinking is
just that easy virtue is little or no virtue, I shall be the least
virtuous wife in the world."

Upon this he laughed so loud that I told him he would fright all the
fishes away.

"I' faith, let them go if they list," he cried, and cast away his rod.
Then coming to where I was sitting, he invited me to walk with him
alongside the stream, and then asked me for to explain my last speech.

"Why, Basil," I said, "what, I pray you, should be the duty of a
virtuous wife but to love her husband?"

So then he, catching my meaning, smiled and replied,

"If that duty shall prove easy to thy affectionate heart, I doubt not
but others will arise which shall call for the exercise of more
difficult virtue."

When we came to a sweet nook, where the shade made it too dark for
grass to grow, and only moss yielded a soil carpet for the feet, we
sat down on a shelving slope of broken stones, and I exclaimed,

"Oh, Basil, methinks we shall be too happy in this fair place; and I
do tax myself presently with hardness of heart, that in thy company,
and the forecasting of a blissful time to come, I lose the sense of
recent sorrows."

"God doth yield thee this comfort," he answered, "for to refresh thy
body and strengthen thy soul, which have both been verily sorely
afflicted of late. I ween he doth send us breathing-times with this
merciful intent."

By such discourses as these we entertained ourselves at sundry times;
but some of the sweetest hours we spent were occupied in planning the
future manner of our lives, the good we should strive to do amongst
our poor neighbors, and the sweet exercise of Catholic religion we
should observe.

Foreseeing the frequent concealing of priests in his house, Basil sent
one day for a young carpenter, one Master Owen, who hath since been so
noted for the contriving of hiding-places in all the recusants' houses
in England; and verily what I noticed in him during the days he was at
work at Euston did agree with the great repute of sanctity he hath
since obtained. His so small stature, his trick of silence, his
exceeding recollected and composed manner filled me with admiration;
and Basil told me nothing would serve him, the morning he arrived,
when he found a priest was in the house, but to go to shrift and holy
communion, which was his practice, before ever he set to work at his
good business. I took much pleasure in watching his progress. He
scooped out a cell in the walls of the gallery, contriving a door such
as I remembered at Sherwood Hall, which none could see to open unless
they did know of the spring. All the time he was laboring thereat, I
could discern him to be praying; and when he wot not any to be near
him, sang hymns in a loud and exceeding sweet voice. I have never
observed in any one a more religious behavior than in this youth, who,
by his subtle and ingenious art, hath saved the lives of many priests,
and procured mass to be said in houses where none should have durst
for to say or hear it if a refuge of this kind did not exist, wherein
a man may lie ensconced for years, and none can find him, if he come
not forth himself.


When he was gone, other sort of workmen were called in, for to make
more habitable and convenient a portion of this large house. For in
this the entire consenting of our minds did appear, that neither of us
desired for to spend money on showy improvements, or to inhabit ten
chambers when five should suffice. What one proposed, the other always
liked well; and if in tastes we did sometimes differ, yet no
disagreement ensued. For, albeit Basil cared not as much as I did for
the good ordering of the library, his indulgent kindness did
nevertheless incline him to favor me with a promise that one hundred
fair, commendable books should be added to those his good father had
collected. He said that Hubert should aid us to choose these goodly
volumes, holy treatises, and histories in French and English, if it
liked me, and poetry also. One pleasant chamber he did laughingly
appoint for to be the scholar's room, in the which he should never so
much as show his face, but Hubert and I read and write, if we listed,
our very heads off. The ancient chapel was now a hall; and, save some
carving on the walls which could not be recovered, no traces did
remain of its old use. But at the top-most part of the house, at the
head of a narrow staircase, was a chamber wherein mass was sometimes
said; and since Basil's return, he had procured that each Saturday a
priest should come and spend the night with him, for the convenience
of all the neighboring Catholics who resorted there for to go to their
duty. Lady Tregony and her household--which were mostly Catholic, but
had not the same commodities in her house, where to conceal any one
was more hard, for that it stood almost in the village of Fakenham,
and all comers and goers proved visible to the inhabitants--did repair
on Sundays, at break of day, to Euston. How sweet were those rides in
the fair morning light, the dew bespangling every herb and tree, and
the wild flowers filling the air with their fresh fragrance! The pale
primroses, the azure harebell, the wood-anemone, and the dark-blue
hyacinth--what dainty nosegays they furnished us with for our Blessed
Lady's altar! of which the fairest image I ever beheld stood in the
little secret chapel at Euston. Basil did much affection this image of
Blessed Mary; for as far back as he could remember he had been used to
say his prayers before it; and when his mother died, he being only
seven years of age, he knelt before this so lively representation of
God's Mother, beseeching of her to be a mother to him also; which
prayer methinks verily did take effect, his life having been marked by
singular tokens of her maternal care.

In the Holy Week, which fell that year in the second week of April, he
procured the aid of three priests, and had all the ceremonies
performed which do appertain to that sacred season. On Wednesday,
toward evening began _Tenebrae_, with the mysterious candlestick of
fifteen lights, fourteen of them representing, by the extinguishing of
them, the disciples which forsook Christ; the fifteenth on the top,
which was not put out, his dear Mother, who from the crib to the
cross, was not severed from him. On Thursday we decked the sepulchre
wherein the Blessed Sacrament reposed with flowers and all such jewels
as we possessed, and namely with a very fair diamond cross which Basil
had gifted me with, and reverently attended it day and night. "God
defend," I said to Basil, when the sepulchre was removed, "I should
retain for vain uses what was lent to our Lord yester eve!" and
straightway hung on the cross to our Lady's neck. On Friday we all
crept to the crucifix, and kissing, bathed it with our tears. On
Saturday every fire was extinguished in the house, and kindled again
with hallowed fire. Then ensued the benediction of the paschal candle,
and the rest of the divine ceremonies, till mass. At mass, as soon as
the priest pronounced "Gloria in excelsis," a cloth, contrived by Lady
Tregony and me,  and which veiled the altar, made resplendent
with lights and flowers, was suddenly snatched away, and many little
bells we had prepared for that purpose rung, in imitation of what was
done in England in Catholic times, and now in foreign countries. On
Easter Sunday, after mass, a benediction was given to divers sorts of
meat, and, in remembrance of the Lamb sacrificed two days before, a
great proportion of lamb. Nigh one hundred recusants had repaired to
Euston that day for their paschal communion. Basil did invite them all
to break Lent's neck with us, in honor of Christ's joyful
resurrection; and many blessings were showered that day, I ween, on
Master Rookwood, and for his sake, I ween, on Mistress Sherwood also.
The sun did shine that Easter morning with more than usual brightness.
The common people do say it danceth for joy at this glorious tide. For
my part, methought it had a rare youthful brilliancy, more cheering
than hot, more lightsome than dazzling. All nature seemed to rejoice
that Christ was risen; and pastoral art had devised arches of flowers
and gay wreaths hanging from pole to pole and gladdening every
thicket.

Verily, if the sun danced in the sky, my poor heart danced in my
bosom. At Basil's wishing, anticipating future duties, I went to the
kitchen for to order the tansy-cakes which were to be prizes at the
hand-ball playing on the next day. Like a foolish creature, I was
ready to smile at every jest, howsoever trifling; and when Basil put
in his head at the door and cried, "Prithee, let each one that eateth
of tansy-cake to-morrow, which signifieth bitter herbs, take also of
bacon, to show he is no Jew," the wenches and I did laugh till the
tears ran down our cheeks. Ah me! when the heart doth overflow with
joy 'tis marvellous how the least word maketh merriment.

One day late in April I rode with Basil for to see some hawking, which
verily is a pleasure for high and mounting spirits; howsoever, I wore
not the dress which the ladies in this country do use on such
occasions, for I have always thought it an unbecoming thing for women
to array themselves in male attire, or ride in fashion like a man, and
Basil is of my thinking thereon. It was a dear, calm, sun-shiny
evening, about an hour before the sun doth usually mask himself, that
we went to the river. There we dismounted and, for the first time, I
did behold this noble pastime. For is it not rare to consider how a
wild bird should be so brought to hand and so well managed as to make
us such pleasure in the air; but most of all to forego her native
liberty and feeding, and return to her servitude and diet? And what a
lesson do they read to us when our wanton wills and thoughts take no
heed of reason and conscience's voices luring us back to duty's perch.

When we had stood a brief time watching for a mallard, Basil perceived
one and whistled off his falcon. She flew from him as if she would
never have turned her head again, yet upon a shout came in. Then by
degrees, little by little, flying about and about, she mounted so high
as if she had made the moon the place of her flight, but presently
came down like a stone at the sound of his lure. I waxed very eager in
the noticing of these haps, and was well content to be an eye-witness
of this sport. Methought it should be a very pleasant thing to be
Basil's companion in it, and wear a dainty glove and a gentle tasel on
my fist which should never cast off but at my bidding, and when I let
it fly would return at my call. And this thought minded me of a
faithful love never diverted from its resting-place save by heavenward
aspirations alternating betwixt earthly duties and ghostly soarings.
But oh, what a tragedy was enacted in the air when Basil, having
detected by a little white feather in its tail a cock in a brake, cast
off a tasel gentle, who never ceased his circular motion till he had
recovered his place. Then suddenly  upon the flushing of the cock
he came down, and missing of it in that down-come, lo what working
there was on both sides! The cock mounting as if he would have pierced
the skies; the hawk flying a contrary way until he had made the wind
his friend; what speed the cock made to save himself! What hasty
pursuit the hawk made of the fugitive! after long flying killing of
it, but alack in killing of it killing himself!

"Ah, a fatal ending to a fatal strife!" exclaimed a known voice close
unto mine ear, a melodious one, albeit now harsh to my hearing. Mine
eyes were dazzled with gazing upward, and I confusedly discerned two
gentlemen standing near me, one of which I knew to be Hubert. I gave
him my hand, and then Basil turning round and beholding him and his
companion, came up to them with a joyful greeting:

"Oh, Sir Henry," he exclaimed, "I be truly glad to see you; and you,
Hubert, what a welcome surprise is this!"

Then he introduced me to Sir Henry Jemingham; for he it was who,
bowing in a courteous fashion, addressed to me such compliments as
gentlemen are wont to pay to ladies at the outset of their
acquaintanceship.

These visitors had left their horses a few paces off, and then Sir
Henry explained that Hubert had been abiding with him at his seat for
a few days, and that certain law-business in which Basil was concerned
as well as his brother, and himself also, as having been for one year
his guardian, did necessitate a meeting wherein these matters should
be brought to a close.

"So," quoth he then, "Master Basil, I proposed we should invade your
solitude in place of withdrawing you from it, which methought of the
two evils should be the least, seeing what attractions do detain you
at Euston at this time."

I foolishly dared not look at Hubert when Sir Henry made this speech,
and Basil with hearty cheer thanked him for his obliging conduct and
the great honor he did him for to visit him in this amicable manner.
Then he craved his permission for to accompany me to Lady Tregony's
house, trusting, he said, to Hubert to conduct him to Euston, and to
perform there all hospitable duties during the short time he should be
absent himself.

"Nay, nay," quoth Sir Henry, "but, with your license, Master Basil, we
will ride with you and this lady to Banham Hall. Methinks, seeing you
are such near neighbors, that Mistress Sherwood lacketh not
opportunities to enjoy your company, and that you should not deprive
me of the pleasure of a short conversation with her whilst Hubert and
you entertain yourselves for the nonce in the best way you can."

Basil smiled, and said it contented him very much that Sir Henry
should enjoy my conversation, which he hoped in future should make
amends to his friends for his own deficiencies. So we all mounted our
horses, and Sir Henry rode alongside of me, and Basil and Hubert
behind us; for only two could hold abreast in the narrow lane which
led to Fakenham. A chill had fallen on my heart since Hubert's
arrival, which I can only liken to the sudden overcasting of a bright
sun-shiny day by a dark, cold cloud.

At first Sir Henry entered into discourse with me touching hawking,
which he talked of in a merry fashion, drawing many similitudes
betwixt falconers and lovers, which he said were the likest people in
the world.

"For, I pray you," said he "are not hawks to the one what his mistress
is to the other? the objects of his care, admiration, labor, and all.
They be indeed his idols. To them he consecrates his amorous ditties,
and courts each one in a peculiar dialect. Oh, believe me, Mistress
Sherwood, that lady may style herself fortunate in love who shall meet
with so much thought, affection, and solicitude from a lover or a
husband as his birds do from a good ostringen."


Then diverting his speech to other topics, he told me it was bruited
that the queen did intend to make a progress in the eastern counties
that summer, and that her majesty should be entertained in a very
splendid manner at Kenninghall by my Lord Arundel and also at his
house in Norwich.

"It doth much grieve me to hear it," I answered.

Then he: "Wherefore, Mistress Sherwood?"

"Because," I said, "Lord Arundel hath already greatly impaired his
fortune and spent larger sums than can be thought of in the like
prodigal courtly expenses, and also lost a good part of the lands
which his grandfather and my Lady Lumley would have bequeathed to him
if he had not turned spendthrift and so greatly displeased them."

"But and if it be so," quoth he again, "wherefore doth this young
nobleman's imprudence displeasure you, Mistress Sherwood?"

I answered, "By reason of the pain which his follies do cause to his
sweet lady, which for many years hath been more of a friend to my poor
self, than unequal rank and, if possible, still more unequal merit
should warrant."

"Then I marvel not," replied Sir Henry, "at your resentment of her
husband's folly, for by all I have ever seen or heard of this lady she
doth show herself to be the pattern of a wife, the model of high-born
ladies; and 'tis said that albeit so young, there doth exist in her so
much merit and dignity that some noblemen confess that when they come
into her presence they dare not swear, as at other times they are wont
to do before the best of the kingdom. But I have heard, and am verily
inclined to believe it, that he is much changed in his dispositions
toward his lady; though pride, it may be, or shame at his ill-usage of
her, or fear that it should seem that, now his favor with the queen
doth visibly decline, he should turn to her whom, when fortune smiled
upon him, he did keep aloof from, seeking her only when clouds gather
round him, do hinder him from showing these new inclinations."

"How much he would err," I exclaimed, "and wrong his noble wife if he
misdoubted her heart in such a case! Methinks most women would be
ready to forgive one they loved when misfortune threatened them, but
she beyond all others, who never at any time allowed jealousy or
natural resentments to draw away her love from him to whom she hath
vowed it. But is Lord Arundel then indeed in less favor with her
majesty? And how doth this surmise agree with the report of her visit
to Kenninghall?"

"Ah, Mistress Sherwood," he answered, "declines in the human body
often do call for desperate remedies, and the like are often required
when they occur in court favor. 'Tis a dangerous expedient to spend
two or three thousands of pounds in one or two days for the
entertainment of the queen and the court; but if, on the report of her
intended progress, one of such high rank as Lord Arundel had failed to
place his house at her disposal, his own disgrace and his enemies'
triumph should have speedily ensued. I pray God my Lord Burleigh do
not think on Cottessy! Egad, I would as lief pay down at once one
year's income as to be so uncertainly mulcted. I warrant you Lord
Arundel shall have need to sell an estate to pay for the honor her
majesty will do him. He hath a spirit will not stop half-way in
anything he doth pursue."

"Then think you, sir," I said, "he will be one day as noted for his
virtues as now for his faults?"

Sir Henry smiled as he answered, "If Philip Howard doth set himself
one day to serve God, I promise you his zeal therein will far exceed
what he hath shown in the devil's service."

"I pray you prove a true prophet, sir," I said; and, as we now had
reached the door of Lady Tregony's house, I took leave of this
courteous gentlemen, and hastily turned toward  Basil--with an
uneasy desire to set him on his guard to use some reserve in his
speeches with Hubert, but withal at a loss how to frame a brief
warning, or to speak without being overheard. Howsoever, I drew him a
little aside, and whispered, "Prithee, be silent touching Owen's work,
even to Hubert."

He looked at me so much astonished, and methought with so great a look
of pain, that my heart smote me. We exchanged a brief farewell; and
when they had all ridden away, I felt sad. Our partings were wont to
be more protracted; for he would most times ask me to walk back with
him to the gate, and then made it an excuse that it should be
unmannerly not to see me home, and so three or four times we used to
walk to and fro, till at last I did laughingly shut the door on him,
and refused to open it again. But, ah me! that evening the chill I
spoke of had fallen on our simple joys like a blight on a fair
landscape.

On the next day two missives came to me from Euston, sent by private
hand, but not by the same messenger. I leave the reader to judge what
I felt in reading these proofs of the dispositions of two brothers, so
alike in features, so different in soul. This was Basil's letter:

"MINE OWN DEAR HEART--
The business which hath brought Sir Henry and Hubert here will, I be
frightened, hold me engaged all to-morrow. But, before I sleep, I must
needs write thee (poor penman as I be) how much it misliketh me to see
in thee an ill opinion of mine only and dear brother, and such
suspicion as verily no one should entertain of a friend, but much less
of one so near in blood. I do yield thee that he is not as zealous as
I could wish in devout practices, and something too fond of worldly
pleasures; but God is my witness, I should as soon think of doubting
mine own existence as his fidelity to his religion, or his kindness to
myself. So, prithee, dear love, pain me not again by the utterance of
such injurious words to Hubert as that I should not trust him with any
secrets howsoever weighty, or should observe any manner of restraint
in communicating with him touching common dangers and interests.
Methinks he is very sad at this time, and that the sight of his
paternal home hath made him melancholy. Verily, his lot hath in it
none of the brightness which doth attend mine, and I would we could
anyways make him a partaker in the happiness we do enjoy. I pray God
he may help me to effect this, by the forwarding of any wish he hath
at heart; but he was always of a very reserved habit of mind, and not
prone to speak of his own concernments. Forgive, sweetheart, this
loving reproof, from thy most loving friend and servant,"
"BASIL ROOKWOOD."

Hubert's was as followeth:

"MADAM--
My presumption toward you hath doubtless been a sin calling
for severe punishment; but I pray you leave not the cause of it
unremembered. The doubtful mind you once showed in my regard, and of
which the last time I saw you some marks methought did yet appear,
should be my excuse if I have erred in a persistency of love, which
most women would less deserve indeed, but would more appreciate than
you have done. If this day no token doth reach me of your changed
mind, be it so. I depart hence as changed as you do remain unchanged.
It may be for mine own weal, albeit passion deems of it otherwise, if
you finally reject me whom once you did look upon with so great favor,
that the very thought of it works in me a revived tenderness as should
be mine own undoing if it prevailed, for this country hath laws which
are not broken in vain, and faithful loyal service is differently
requited than traitorous and obstinate malignity. I shall be the
greater for lacking your love, proud lady; but to have it I would
forego all a sovereign can bestow--all that ambition can desire.
These, then, are my last words. If we meet not to-day, God
knoweth with what sentiments we shall one day meet, when justice hath
overtaken you, and love in me hath turned to hatred!"

"HUBERT ROOKWOOD."

"Ay," I bitterly exclaimed, laying the two letters side by side before
me, "one endeth with love, the other with hate. The one showeth the
noble fruits of true affection, the other the bitter end of selfish
passion." Then I mused if I should send Basil, or show him later
Hubert's letter, clearing myself of any injustice toward him, but
destroying likewise for ever his virtuous confidence his brother's
honor. A short struggle with myself ensued, but I soon resolved, for
the present at least, on silence. If danger did seem to threaten
Basil, which his knowledge of his brother's baseness could avert, then
I must needs speak; but God defend I should without constraint pour a
poisoned drop into the dear fount of his undoubting soul. Passion may
die away, hatred may cease, repentance arise; but the evil done by the
revealing of another's sin worketh endless wrong to the doer and the
hearer.

The day on which I received these two letters did seem the longest I
had ever known. On the next Basil came to Banham Hall, and told me his
guests were gone. A load seemed lifted from my heart But, albeit we
resumed our wonted manner of life, and the same mutual kindness and
accustomed duties and pleasures filled our days, I felt less secure in
my happiness, less thoughtless of the world without, more subject to
sudden sinkings of heart in the midst of greatest merriment, than
before Hubert's visit.

In the early part of June, Mr. Congleton wrote in answer to Basil's
eager pressings that he would fix the day of our marriage, that he was
of opinion a better one could not be found than that of our Lady's
Visitation, on the 2d of July, and that, if it pleased God, he should
then take the first journey he had made for five-and-twenty years; for
nothing would serve Lady Tregony but that the wedding should take
place in her house, where a priest would marry us in secret at break
of day, and then we should ride to the parish church at Euston for the
public ceremony. He should, he added, carry Muriel with him, howsoever
reluctant she should be to leave London; but he promised us this
should be a welcome piece of constraint, for that she longed to see me
again more than can be told.

Verily, pleasant letters reached me that week; for my father wrote he
was in better health, and in great peace and contentment of mind at
Rheims, albeit somewhat sad, when he saw younger and more fortunate
men (for so he styled them) depart for the English mission; and by a
cypher we had agreed on he gave me to understand Edmund Genings was of
that number. And Lady Arundel, to whom I had reported the conversation
I had with Sir Henry Jemingham, sent me an answer which I will here
transcribe:

"MY WELL-BELOVED CONSTANCE
--You do rightly read my heart, and the hope you express in my regard,
with so tender a friendship and solicitous desire for my happiness,
hath indeed a better foundation than idle surmises. It hath truly
pleased God that Philip's disposition toward me should change; and
albeit this change is not as yet openly manifested, he nevertheless
doth oftentimes visit me, and testifies much regret for his past
neglect of one whom he doth now confess to be his truest friend, his
greatest lover, and best comfort. O mine own dear friend! my life has
known many strange accidents, but none greater or more strange than
this, that my so long indifferent husband should turn into a secret
lover who doth haunt me by stealth, and looking on me with new eyes,
appears to conceive so much admiration for my worthless beauty, and to
find such pleasure in my poor company, that it would seem as if a new
face and person had been given to me wherewith  to inspire him
with this love for her to whom he doth owe it. Oh, I promise thee this
husbandly wooing liketh me well, and methinks I would not at once
disclose to the world this new kindness he doth show me and revival of
conjugal affection, but rather hug it and cherish it like a secret
treasure until it doth take such deep root that nothing can again
separate his heart from me. His fears touching the queen's
ill-conception of him increase, and his enemies do wax more powerful
each day. The world hath become full of uneasiness to him. Methinks he
would gladly break with it; but like to one who walketh on a narrow
plank, with a precipice on each side of him, his safety lieth only in
advancing. The report is true--I would it were false--of the queen's
progress, and her intended visit to Kenninghall. I fear another fair
estate in the north must needs pay the cost thereof; but avoidance is
impossible. I am about to remove from London to Arundel Castle, where
my lord doth will me for the present to reside. The sea-breezes on
that coast, and the mild air of Sussex, he thinks should improve my
health, which doth at this time require care. Touching religion, I
have two or three times let fall words which implied an increased
inclination to Catholic religion. Each time his countenance did very
much alter, and assumed a painful expression. I fear he is as greatly
opposed to it as heretofore. But if once resolved on what conscience
doth prescribe, with God's help, I hope that neither new-found joys
nor future fears shall stay me from obeying its voice.

"And so thou art to be married come the early days of July! I' faith
thy Basil and thou have, like a pair of doves, cooed long enough, I
ween, amidst the tall trees of Euston; which, if you are to be
believed, should be the most delectable place in the whole world. And
yet some have told me it is but a huge plain building, and the country
about it, except for its luxuriant trees, of no notable beauty. The
sunshine of thine own heart sheddeth, I ween, a radiancy on the plain
walls and the unadorned gardens greater than nature or art can bestow.
I cry thee mercy for this malicious surmise, and give thee license,
when I shall write in the same strain touching my lord's castle at
Arundel to flout me in a like manner. Some do disdainfully style it a
huge old fortress; others a very grand and noble pile. If that good
befalleth me that he doth visit me there, then I doubt not but it will
be to me the cheerfullest place in existence. Thy loving servant to
command,

    "ANN ARUNDEL AND SURREY."

This letter came to my hand at Whitsuntide, when the village folks
were enacting a pastoral, the only merit of which did lie in the
innocent glee of the performers. The sheep-shearing feast, a very
pretty festival, ensued a few days later. A fat lamb was provided, and
the maidens of the town permitted to run after it, and she which took
hold of it declared the lady of the lamb. 'Tis then the custom to kill
and carry it on a long pole before the lady and her companions to the
green, attended with music and morisco dances. But this year I
ransomed the lamb, and had it crowned with blue corn-flowers and
poppies, and led to a small paddock, where for some time I visited and
fed it every day. Poor little lamb! like me, it had one short happy
time that summer.

In the evening I went with the lasses to the banks of the Ouse, and
scattered on the dimpling stream, as is their wont at the lamb-ale, a
thousand odorous flowers--new-born roses, the fleur-de-luce,
sweet-williams, and yellow coxcombs, the small-flowered
lady's-slipper, the prince's-feather and the clustered bell-flower,
the sweet-basil (the saucy wenches smiled when they furnished me with
a bunch thereof), and a great store of midsummer daisies. When, with
due observance, I threw on the water a handful of these golden-tufted
and  silver-crowned flowerets, I thought of Master Chaucer's
lines:

  "Above all the flowers in the mead
  These love I most--these flowers white and red.
      And in French called _la belle Marguerite_.
  O commendable flower, and most in mind!
  O flower and gracious excellence!
      O amiable Marguerite."

The great store of winsome and graciously-named flowers used that day
set me to plan a fair garden, wherein each month should yield in its
turn to the altar of our secret chapel a pure incense of nature's own
furnishing. Basil was helping me thereto, and my Lady Tregony smiling
at my quaint devices, when Mr. Cobham, a cousin of her ladyship,
arrived, bringing with him news of the queen's progress, which quickly
diverted us from other thoughts, and caused my pencil to stand idle in
mine hand.

CHAPTER XXII.

"Ah, ladies," exclaimed Mr. Cobham--pleased, I ween, to see how
eagerly we looked for his news--"I promise you the eastern counties do
exhibit their loyalty in a very commendable fashion, and so report
saith her majesty doth think. The gallant appearance and brave array
of the Suffolk esquires hath drawn from her highness sundry marks of
her approval. What think you, my Lady Tregony, of two hundred
bachelors, all gaily clad in white-velvet coats, and those of graver
years in black-velvet coats and fair gold chains, with fifteen hundred
men all mounted on horseback, and Sir William le Spring of Lavenham at
their head. I warrant you a more comely troop and a nobler sight
should not often be seen. Then, in Norfolk, what great sums of money
have been spent! Notably at Kenninghall, where for divers days not
only the queen herself was lodged and feasted, with all her household,
council, courtiers, and all their company, but all the gentlemen also,
and people of the country who came thither upon the occasion, in such
plentiful, bountiful, and splendid manner, as the like had never been
seen before in these counties. Every night she hath slept at some
gentleman's seat. At Holdstead Hall I had the honor to be presented to
her highness, and to see her dance a minuet. But an unlucky accident
did occur that evening."

"No lives were lost, I hope?" Lady Tregony said.

"No lives," Master Cobham answered; "but a very precious fan which her
majesty let drop into the moat--one of white and red feathers, which
Sir Francis Drake had gifted her with on New Year's day. It was
enamelled with a half-moon of mother-o'-pearl and had her majesty's
picture within it."

"And at Norwich, sir?" I asked. "Methinks, by some reports we heard,
the pageants there must have proved exceeding grand."

"Rare indeed," he replied. "On the 16th she did enter the town at
Harford Bridge. The mayor received her with a long Latin oration, very
tedious; and, moreover, presented her with a fair cup of silver,
saying, 'Here is one hundred pounds pure gold.' To my thinking, the
cup was to her liking more than the speech, and the gold most of all;
for when one of her footmen advanced for to take the cup, she said
sharply, 'Look to it: there is one hundred pounds.' Lord! what a
number of pageants were enacted that day and those which followed!
Deborah, Judith, Esther at one gate; Queen Martia at another; on the
heights near Blanche-flower Castle, King Gurgunt and his men. Then all
the heathen deities in turn: Mercury driving full speed through the
city in a fantastic car; Jupiter presenting her with a riding-rod, and
Venus with a white dove.  But the rarest of all had been designed
by Master Churchyard. Where her majesty was to take her barge, at the
back-door of my Lord Arundel's town-house, he had prepared a goodly
masque of water-nymphs concealed in a deep hole, and covered with
green canvas, which suddenly opening as if the ground gaped, first one
nymph was intended to pop up and make a speech to the queen, and then
another; and a very complete concert to sound secretly and strangely
out of the earth. But when the queen passed in her coach, a
thunder-shower came down like a water-spout, and great claps of
thunder silenced the concert; which some did presage to be an evil
omen of the young lord's fortunes."

"I' faith," cried Basil, "I be sorry for the young nobleman, and yet
more for the poor artificer of this ingenious pageant, to whom his
nymphs turned into drowned rats must needs have been a distressing
sight."

"He was heard to lament over it," Master Cobham said, "in very
pathetic terms: 'What shall I say' (were his words) 'of the loss of
velvets, silks, and cloths of gold? Well, nothing but the old
adage--Man doth purpose, but God dispose.' Well, the mayor hath been
knighted; and her majesty said she should never forget his city. On
her journey she looked back, and, with water in her eyes, shaked her
riding whip, and cried, 'Farewell Norwich!' Yesterday she was to sleep
at Sir Henry Jerningham's at Cottessy, and hunt in his park to-day."

"Oh, poor Sir Henry!" I said laughing. "Then he hath not escaped this
dear honor?"

"Notice of it was sent to him but two days before, from Norwich,"
Master Cobham rejoined; "and I ween he should have been glad for to be
excused."

Lady Tregony then reminded us that supper was ready, and we removed to
the dining-hall; but neither did this good gentleman weary of relating
nor we of listening to the various haps of the royal progress, which
he continued to describe whilst we sat at meat.

He was yet talking when the sound of a horse gallopping under the
windows surprised us, and we had scarce time to turn our heads before
Basil's steward came tumbling into the room head foremost, like one
demented.

"Sir, sir!" he cried, almost beside himself; "in God's name, what do
you here, and the queen coming for to sleep at your house to-morrow?"

Methinks a thunder-clap in the midst of the stilly clear evening
should not have startled us so much. Basil's face flushed very deeply;
Lady Tregony looked ready to faint; my heart beat as if it should
burst; Master Cobham threw his hat into the air, and cried, "Long live
Queen Elizabeth, and the old house of Rookwood!"

"Who hath brought these tidings?" Basil asked of the steward.

"Marry," replied the man, "one of her majesty's gentlemen and two
footmen have arrived from Cottessy, and brought this letter from Lord
Burleigh for your honor."

Basil broke the seal, read the missive, and then quietly looking up,
said, "It is true; and I must lose no time to prepare my poor house
for her majesty's abode in it."

He looked not now red, but somewhat pale. Methinks he was thinking of
the chapel, and what it held; and the queen's servants now in the
house. I would not stay him; but, taking my hand whilst he spoke, he
said to Lady Tregony,

"Dear lady, I shall lack yours and Constance's aid to-morrow. Will you
do me so much good as to come with her to Euston as early before
dinner as you can?"

"Yea, we will be with you, my good Basil," she answered, "before ten
of the clock."

"'Tis not," he said, "that I intend to cast about for fine silks and
cloths of gold, or contrive pageants--God  defend it!--or ransack
the country for rare and costly meats; but such honorable cheer and so
much of comfort as a plain gentleman's house can afford, I be bound to
provide for my sovereign when she deigneth to use mine house."

"Master Cobham, I do crave the honor of your company also," he added,
turning to that gentleman, who, with many acknowledgments of his
courtesy, excused himself on the plea that he must needs be at his own
seat the next day.

Then Basil, mounting his horse which the steward had brought with him,
rode away so fast that the old man could scarce keep up with him.

Not once that night did mine eyes close themselves. Either I sat bolt
upright in my bed counting each time the clock struck the number of
chimes, or else, unable to lie still, paced up and down my chamber.
The hours seemed to pass so slowly, more than in times of deep grief.
It seemed so strange a hap that the queen should come to Euston, I
almost fancied at moments the whole thing to be a dream, so fantastic
did it appear. Then a fear would seize me lest the chapel should have
been discovered before Basil could arrive. Minor cares likewise
troubled me; such as the scantiness and bad state of the furniture,
the lack of household conveniences, the difficulty that might arise to
procure sufficient food at a brief notice for so great a number of
persons. Oh, how my head did work all night with these various
thinkings! and it seemed as if the morning would never come, and when
it did that Lady Tregony would never ring her bell. Then I bethought
myself of the want of proper dresses for her and myself to appear in
before her majesty, if so be we were admitted to her presence.
Howsoever, I found she was indifferently well provided in that
respect, for her old good gowns stood in a closet where dust could not
reach them, and she bethought herself I could wear my wedding-dress,
which had come from the seamstress a few days before; and so we should
not be ashamed to be seen. I must needs confess that, though many
doubts and apprehensions filled me touching this day, I did feel some
contentment in the thought of the honor conferred on Basil. If there
was pride in this, I do cry God mercy for it. As we rode to Euston,
the fresh air, the eager looks of the people on the road--for now the
report had spread of the queen's coming--the stir which it caused, the
puttings up of flags, and buildings of green arches, strengthened this
gladness. Basil was awaiting us with much impatience, and immediately
drew me aside.

"I have locked," he said, "all the books and church furniture, and our
Blessed Lady's image, in Owen's hiding place; so methinks we be quite
secure. Beds and food I have sent for, and they keep coming in.
Prithee, dear love, look well thyself to her majesty's chamber, for to
make it as handsome and befitting as is possible with such poor means
thereunto. I pray God the lodging may be to her contentation for one
night."

So I hasted to the state-chamber--for so it was called, albeit except
for size it had but small signs of state about it. Howsoever, with the
maids' help, I gathered into it whatsoever furniture in the house was
most handsome, and the wenches made wreaths of ivy and laurel, which
we hung round the bare walls. Thence I went to the kitchen, and found
her majesty's cook was arrived, with as many scullions as should have
served a whole army; so, except speaking to him civilly, and inquiring
what provisions he wanted, I had not much to do there. Then we went
round the house with Mr. Bowyer, the gentleman-usher, for to assign
the chambers to the queen's ladies, and the lords and gentlemen and
the waiting-women. There was no lack of room, but much of proper
furniture; albeit chairs and tables were borrowed on all sides from
the neighboring cottages, and Lady  Tregony sent for a store from
her house. Mr. Bowyer held in his hand a list of the persons of the
court now journeying with the queen; Lord Burleigh, Sir Francis
Walsingham, Sir Christopher Hatton, Sir Walter Raleigh, and many other
famous courtiers were foremost in it. When their lodgings were fixed,
he glanced down the paper, and, mine eyes following his, I perceived
among the minor gentlemen there set down Hubert's name, which moved me
very much; for we did not of a surety know at that time he did belong
to the court, and I would fain he had not been present on this
occasion, and new uneasy thoughts touching what had passed at Sir
Francis Walsingham's house, and the words the queen had let fall
concerning him and me, crossed my mind in consequence. But in that
same list I soon saw another name which caused me so vehement an
emotion that Basil, noticing it, pulled me by the hand into another
room for to ask me the cause of that sudden passion.

"Basil," I whispered, "mine heart will break if that murthering
Richard Topcliffe must sleep under your roof."

"God defend it!" he exclaimed. But pausing in his speech leant his arm
against the chimney and his head on it for a brief space. Then raising
it, said, in an altered tone, "Mine own love, be patient. We must
needs drink this chalice to the dregs" (which showed me his thoughts
touching this visit had been from the first less hopeful than mine).
Taking my pencil out of mine hand, he walked straight to the door
before which Mr. Bowyer was standing, awaiting us, and wrote thereon
Master Topcliffe's name. Methought his hand shook a little in the
doing of it. I then whispered again in his ear:

"Know you that Hubert is in the queen's retinue?"

"No, indeed!" he exclaimed; and then with his bright winning smile,
"Prithee now, show him kindness for my sake. He had best sleep in my
chamber to-night. It will make room, and mind us of our boyish days."

The day was waning and long shadows falling on the grass when tidings
came that her majesty had been hunting that morning, and would not
arrive till late. About dusk warning was given of her approach. She
rode up on horseback to the house amidst the loud cheering of the
crowd, with all her train very richly attired. But it had waxed so
dark their countenances could not be seen. Her master of the horse
lifted her from the saddle, and she went straight to her own
apartments, being exceeding tired, it was said, with her day's sport
and long riding. Notice was given that her highness would admit none
to her presence that evening. Howsoever, she sent for Basil, and,
giving him her hand to kiss, thanked him in the customary manner for
the use of his house. It had not been intended that Lady Tregony and I
should sleep at Euston, where the room did scarcely suffice for the
queen's suite. So when it was signified her majesty should not leave
her chamber that night, but, after a slight refection, immediately
retire to rest, and her ladies likewise, who were almost dead with
fatigue, she ordered our horses to be brought to the back-door. Basil
stole away from the hall where the lords and gentlemen were assembled
for to bid us good-night. After he had lifted me on the saddle, he
threw his arm round the horse's neck as if for to detain him, and
addressing me very fondly, called me his own love, his sole comfort,
his best treasure, with many other endearing expressions.

Then I, loth to leave him alone amidst false friends and secret
enemies, felt tenderness overcome me, and I gave him in return some
very tender and passionate assurances of affection; upon which he
kissed mine hands over and over again, and our hearts, overcharged
with various emotions, found relief in this interchange of loving
looks and words. But, alas! this brief interview had an unthought
 of witness more than good Lady Tregony, who said once or twice,
"Come, children, bestir yourselves," or "Tut, tut, we should be off;'"
but still lingered herself for to pleasure us. I chanced to look up,
whilst Basil was fastening my horse's bit, and by the light of a lamp
projecting from the wall, I saw Hubert at an open window right over
above our heads. I doubt not but that he had seen the manner of our
parting, and heard the significant expressions therein used; for a
livid hue, and the old terrible look which I had noticed in him
before, disfigured his countenance. I am of opinion that until that
time he had not believed with certainty that my natural, unbiassed
inclination did prompt me to marry Basil, or that I loved him with
other than a convenient and moderate regard, which, if circumstances
reversed their positions, should not be a hindrance to his own suit.
Basil having finished his management with my bridle stepped back with
a smile and last good-night, all unconscious of that menacing visage
which my terrified eyes were now averted from, but which I still
seemed pursued by. It made me weep to think that these two brothers
should lie in the same chamber that coming night; the one so confiding
and guileless of heart, the other so full of envy and enmity.

I was so tired when I reached home that I fell heavily asleep for some
hours. But, awaking between five and six of the clock, and not able to
rest in my chamber, dressed myself and went into the garden. Not far
from the house there was an arbor, with a seat in it. Passing
alongside of it, I perceived, with no small terror, a man lying asleep
on this bench. And then, with increased affright, but not believing
mine own eyes, but rather thinking it to be a vision, saw Basil, as it
seemed to me, in the same dress he wore the day before, but with his
face much paler. A cry burst from me, for methought perhaps he should
be dead. But he awoke at my scream, looked somewhat wildly about him
for a minute, rubbed his eyes, and then with a kind of smile, albeit
an exceeding sad one, said,

"Is it you, my good angel?"

"O Basil," I cried, sitting down by his side, and taking hold of his
chilled hand, "what hath happened? Why are you here?"

He covered his face with his hands. Methinks he was praying. Then he
raised his pale, noble visage and said:

"About one hour after your departure, supper being just ended, I was
talking with Sir Walter Raleigh and some other gentlemen, when a
message was brought unto me from Lord Burleigh, who had retired to his
chamber, desiring for to speak with me. I thought it should be
somewhat anent the queen's pleasure for the ordering of the next day,
and waited at once on his lordship. When I came in, he looked at me
with a very severe and harsh countenance. 'Sir,' he said in an abrupt
manner, 'I am informed that you are excommunicated for papistry. How
durst you then attempt the royal presence, and to kiss her majesty's
hand? You--unfit to company with any Christian person--you are fitter
for a pair of stocks, and are forthwith commanded not to appear again
in her sight, but to hold yourself ready to attend her council's
pleasure.' Constance, God only knoweth what I felt; and oh, may he
forgive me that for one moment I did yield to a burning resentment,
and forgot the prayers I have so often put up, that when persecution
fell on me I might meet it, as the early Christians did, with
blessings, not with curses. But look you, love, a judicial sentence,
torture, death methinks, should be easier to bear than this insulting,
crushing, brutal tone, which is now used toward Catholics. Yet if
Christ was for us struck by a slave and bore it, we should also be
able for to endure their insolent scorn. Bitter words escaped me, I
think, albeit I know not very well what I said; but  his lordship
turned his back on the man he had insulted, and left the room without
listening to me. I be glad of it now. What doth it avail to
remonstrate against injuries done under pretence of law, or bandy
words with a judge which can compel you to silence?"

"Basil," I cried, "you may forgive that man; I cannot'.'

"Yea, but if you love me, you shall forgive him," he cried. "God
defend mine injuries should work in thee an unchristian resentment!
Nay, nay, love, weep not; think for what cause I am ill-used, and thou
wilt presently rejoice thereat rather than grieve."

"But what happened when that lord had left you?" I asked, not yet able
to speak composedly.

Then he: "I stood stock-still for a while in a kind of bewilderment,
hearing loud laughter in the hall below, and seeing, as it did happen,
a man the worse for liquor staggering about the court. To my heated
brain it did seem as if hell had been turned loose in my house, where
some hours before--" Then he stopped, and again sinking his head on
his hands, paused a little, and then continued without looking up:
"Well, I came down the stairs and walked straight out at the front
door. As I passed the hall I heard some one ask, 'Which is the master
of this huge house?' and another, whom by his voice I knew to be
Topcliffe, answered, 'Rookwood, a papist, newly crept out of his
wardship. As to his house, 'tis most fit for the blackguard, but not
for her gracious majesty to lodge in. But I hope she will serve God
with great and comfortable examples, and have all such notorious
papists presently committed to prison.' This man's speech seemed to
restore me to myself, and a firmer spirit came over me. I resolved not
to sleep under mine own roof, where, in the queen's name, such
ignominious treatment had been awarded me,' and went out of my house,
reciting those verses of the Psalms, 'O God, save me in thy name, and
in thy strength judge me. Because strangers have risen up against me,
and the strong have sought my soul.' I came here almost unwittingly,
and not choosing to disturb any one in the midst of the night, lay
down in this place, and, I thank God, soon fell asleep."

"You did not see Hubert?" I timidly inquired.

"No," he said, "neither before nor after my interview with Lord
Burleigh. I hope no one hath accused him of papistry, and so this time
he may escape."

"And who did accuse you?" I asked.

"I know not," he answered; "we are never safe for one hour. A
discontented groom or covetous neighbor may ruin us when they list."

"But are you not in danger of being called before the council?" I
said.

"Yea, more than in danger," he answered. "But I should hope a heavy
fine shall this time satisfy the judges; which, albeit we can ill
afford it, may yet be endured."

Then I drew him into the house, and we continued to converse till good
Lady Tregony joined us. When I briefly related to her what Basil had
told me, the color rose in her pale, aged cheek; but she only clasped
her hands and said,

"God's holy will be done."

"Constance," Basil exclaimed, whilst he was eating some breakfast we
had set before him, "prithee get me paper and ink for to write to
Hubert."

I looked at him inquiringly as I gave him what he asked for.

"I am banished from mine own house," he said; "but as long as it is
mine the queen should not lack anything I can supply for her comfort.
She is my guest, albeit I am deemed unworthy to come into her
presence; I must needs charge Hubert to act the host in my place, and
see to all hospitable duties."

My heart swelled at this speech. Methought, though I dared not utter
 my thinking for more reasons than one, that Hubert had most like
not waited for his brother's licence to assume the mastership of his
house. The messenger was despatched, and then a long silence ensued,
Basil walking to and fro before the house, and I embroidering, with
mine eyes often raised from my work to look toward him. When nine
o'clock struck I joined him, and we strolled outside the gate, and
without forecasting to do so walked along the well-known path leading
to Euston. When we reached a turn of the road whence the house is to
be seen, we stopped and sat down on a bank under a sycamore tree. We
could discern from thence persons going in and out of the doors, and
the country-folk crowding about the windows for to catch a glimpse of
the queen, the guard ever and anon pushing them back with their
halberds. The numbers of them continually increased, and deputations
began to arrive with processions and flags. It was passing strange for
to be sitting there gazing as strangers on this turmoil, and folks
crowding about that house the master of which was banished from it. At
last we noticed an increased agitation amongst the people which seemed
to presage the queen's coming out. Sounds of shouting proceeded from
inside the building, and then a number of men issued from the front
door, and pushing back the crowd advanced to the centre of the green
plot in front and made a circle there with ropes.

"What sport are they making ready for?" I said, turning to Basil.

"God knoweth," he answered in a despondent tone. Then came others
carrying a great armed-chair, which they placed on one side of the
circle and other chairs beside it, and some country people brought in
their arms loads of fagots, which they piled up in the midst of the
green space. A painful suspicion crossed my mind, and I stole a glance
at Basil for to see if the same thought had come to him. He was
looking another way. I cast about if it should be possible on some
pretence to draw him off from that spot, whence it misgave me a
sorrowful sight should meet his eyes. But at that moment both of us
were aroused by loud cries of "God save the queen!" "Long live Queen
Elizabeth!" and we beheld her issue from the house bowing to the
crowd, which filled the air with their cries and vociferous cheering.
She seated herself in the armed-chair, her ladies and the chief
persons of her train on each side of her. On the edge of this
half-circle I discerned Hubert. The straining of mine eyes was very
painful; they seemed to burn in their sockets. Basil had been watching
the forth-coming of the queen, but his sight was not so quick as mine,
and as yet no fear such as I entertained had struck him.

"What be they about?" he said to me with a good-natured smile. Before
I could answer--"Good God!" he exclaimed in an altered voice; "what
sound is that?" for suddenly yells and hooting noises arose, such as a
mob do salute criminals with, and a kind of procession issued from the
front door. "What, what is it?" cried Basil, seizing my hand with a
convulsive grasp; "what do they carry?--not Blessed Mary's image?"

"Yea," I said, "I see Topcliffe walking in front of them. They will
burn it. There, there--they do lift it in the air in mockery. Oh, some
people do avoid and turn away; now they lay it down and light the
fagots." Then I put my hand over his eyes for that he should not see a
sort of dance which was performed around the fire, mixed with yells
and insulting gestures, and the queen sitting and looking on. He
forced my hand away; and when I said, "Oh, prithee, Basil, stay not
here--come with me," he exclaimed.

"Let me go, Constance! let me go! Shall I stand aloof when at mine own
door the Blessed Mother of God is outraged? Am I a Jew or a heretic
that I should endure this sight and not smite this queen of earth,
which dareth  to insult the Queen of Saints? Yea, if I should be
torn to pieces, I will not suffer them to proceed."

I clung to him affrighted, and cried out, "Basil, you shall not go.
Our Blessed Lady forbids it; your passion doth blind you. You will
offend God and lose your soul if you do. Basil, dearest Basil, 'tis
human anger, not godly sorrow only, moves you now." Then he cast
himself down with his face on the ground and wept bitterly; which did
comfort me, for his inflamed countenance had been terrible, and these
tears came as a relief.

Meantime this disgusting scene ended, and the queen withdrew; after
which the crowd slowly dispersed, smouldering ashes alone remaining in
the midst of the burnt-up grass. Then Basil rose, folded his arms, and
gazed on the scene in silence. At last he said:

"Constance, this house shall no longer be mine. God knoweth I have
loved it well since my infancy. More dearly still since we forecasted
together to serve God in it. But this scene would never pass away from
my mind. This outrage hath stained the home of my fathers. This
people, whose yells do yet ring in mine ears, can no longer be to me
neighbors as heretofore, or this queen my queen. God forgive me if I
do err in this. I do not curse her. No, God defend it! I pray that on
her sad deathbed--for surely a sad one it must be--she shall cry for
mercy and obtain it; but her subject I will not remain. I will
compound my estate for a sum of money, and will go beyond seas, where
God is served in a Catholic manner and his Holy Mother not dishonored.
Wilt thou follow me there, Constance?"

I leant my head on his shoulder, weeping. "O, Basil," I cried, "I can
answer only in the words of Ruth: 'Whithersoever thou shalt go, I will
go; and where thou shalt dwell, I also will dwell. Thy people shall be
my people, and thy God my God.'"

He drew my arm in his, and we walked slowly away toward Fakenham.
Wishing to prepare his mind for a possible misfortune, I said: "We be
a thousand times happier than those which shall possess thy lands."

"What say you?" he quickly answered; "who shall possess them?"

"God knoweth," I replied, afraid to speak further.

"Good heavens!" he exclaimed: "a dreadful thought cometh to me; where
was Hubert this morning?"

I remained silent.

"Speak, speak! O Constance, God defend he was there!"

His grief and horror were so great I durst not reveal the truth, but
made some kind of evasive answer. To this day methinks he is ignorant
on that point.

The queen and the court departed from Euston soon after two of the
clock; not before, as I since heard, the church furniture and books
had been all destroyed, and a malicious report set about that a piece
of her majesty's plate was missing, as an excuse for to misuse the
poor servants which had showed grief at the destruction carried on
before their eyes. When notice of their departure reached Banham Hall,
whither we had returned, Basil immediately went back to Euston. I much
lamented he should be alone that evening, in the midst of so many sad
sights and thoughts as his house now should afford him, little
forecasting the event which, by a greater mishap, surmounted minor
subjects of grief.

About six of the clock, Sir Francis Walsingham, attended by an esquire
and two grooms, arrived at Lady Tregony's seat, and was received by
her with the courtesy she was wont to observe with every one. After
some brief discoursing with her on indifferent matters, he said his
business was with young Mistress Sherwood, and he desired to see her
alone. Thereupon I was fetched to him, and straightway he began to
speak of the queen's good opinion of me, and that her highness had
been well contented  with my behavior when I had been admitted
into her presence at his house; and that it should well please her
majesty I should marry a faithful subject of her majesty's, whom she
had taken into her favor, and then she would do us both good.

I looked in a doubtful manner at Sir Francis, feigning to misapprehend
his meaning, albeit too clear did it appear to me. Seeing I did not
speak, he went on:

"It is her majesty's gracious desire, Mistress Sherwood, that you
should marry young Rookwood, her newly appointed servant, and from
this time possessor of Euston House, and all lands appertaining unto
it, which have devolved upon him in virtue of his brother's recusancy
and his own recent conformity."

"Sir," I answered, "my troth is plighted to his brother, a good man
and an honorable gentleman, up to this time master of Euston and its
lands; and whatever shall betide him or his possessions, none but him
shall be my husband, if ten thousand queens as great as this one
should proffer me another."

"Madam," said Sir Francis, "be not too rash in your pledges. I should
be loth to think one so well trained in virtue and loyalty should
persist in maintaining a troth-plight with a convicted recusant, an
exceeding malignant papist, who is at this moment in the hands of the
pursuivants, and by order of her majesty's council committed to
Norwich gaol. If he should (which is doubtful) escape such a sentence
as should ordain him to a lasting imprisonment or perpetual banishment
from this realm, his poverty must needs constrain him to relinquish
all pretensions to your hand: for his brother, a most learned,
well-disposed, commendable young gentleman, with such good parts as
fit him to aspire to some high advancement in the state and at court,
having conformed some days ago to the established religion and given
many proofs of his zeal and sincerity therein, his brother's estates,
as is most just, have devolved on him, and a more worthy and, I may
add, from long and constant devotion and fervent humble passion long
since entertained for yourself, more desirable candidate for your hand
could not easily be found."

I looked fixedly at Sir Francis, and then said, subduing my voice as
much as possible, and restraining all gestures:

"Sir, you have, I ween, a more deep knowledge of men's hearts and a
more piercing insight into their thoughts than any other person in the
world. You are wiser than any other statesman, and your wit and
sagacity are spoken of all over Christendom. But methinketh, sir,
there are two things which, wise and learned as you are, you are yet
ignorant of, and these are a woman's heart and a Catholic's faith. I
would as soon wed the meanest clown which yelled this day at Blessed
Mary's image, as the future possessor of Euston, the apostate Hubert
Rookwood. Now, sir, I pray you, send for the pursuivants, and let me
be committed to gaol for the same crime as my betrothed husband, God
knoweth I will bless you for it."

"Madam," Sir Francis coldly answered, "the law taketh no heed of
persons out of their senses. A frantic passion and an immoderate
fanaticism have distracted your reason. Time and reflection will, I
doubt not, recall you to better and more comfortable sentiments; in
which case I pray you to have recourse to my good offices, which shall
ever be at your service."

Then bowing, he left me; and when he was gone, and the tumult of my
soul had subsided, I lamented my vehemency, for methought if I had
been more cunning in my speech, I could have done Basil some good; but
now it was too late, and verily, if again exposed to the same
temptation, I doubt if I could have dissembled the indignant feelings
which Sir Francis's advocacy of Hubert's suit worked in me.

Lady Tregony, pitying my unhappy plight, proposed to travel with me to
 London, where I was now desirous to return, for there I thought
some steps might be taken to procure Basil's release, with more hope
of success than if I tarried in the scene of our late happiness. She
did me also the good to go with me in the first place to Norwich,
where, by means of that same governor to whom Sir Hammond l'Estrange
had once written in my father's behalf, we obtained for to see Basil
for a few minutes. His brother's apostasy, and the painful suspicion
that it was by his means the secret of Owen's cell at Euston had been
betrayed, gave him infinite concern; but his own imprisonment and
losses he bore with very great cheerfulness; and we entertained
ourselves with the thought of a small cottage beyond seas, which
henceforward became the theme of such imaginings as lovers must needs
cherish to keep alive the flame of hope. Two days afterward I reached
London, having travelled very fast, and only slept one night on the
road.

It sometimes happens that certain misfortunes do overtake us which,
had we foreseen, we should well-nigh have despaired, and misdoubted
with what strength we should meet them; but God is very merciful, and
fitteth the back to the burthen. If at the time that Basil left me at
four of the clock to return to Euston, without any doubt on our minds
to meet the next day, I should have known how long a parting was at
hand, methinks all courage would have failed me. But hope worketh
patience, and patience in return breedeth hope, and the while the soul
is learning lessons of resignation, which at first would have seemed
too hard. At the outset of this trouble, I expected he should have
soon been set at liberty on the payment of a fine; but I had forgot he
was now a poor man, well-nigh beggared by the loss of his inheritance.
Mr. Swithin Wells, one of the best friends he and myself had--for,
alas! good Mr. Roper had died during my absence--told me that, when
Hubert heard of his brother's arrest, he fell into a great anguish of
mind, and dealt earnestly with his new patrons to procure his release,
but with no effect. Then, in a letter which he sent him, he offered to
remit unto him whatever moneys he desired out of his estates; but
Basil steadfastly refused to receive from him so much as one penny,
and to this day has persisted in this resolve. I have since seen the
letter which he wrote to him on this occasion, in which this
resolution was expressed, but in no angry or contumelious terms,
freely yielding him his entire forgiveness for his offence against
him, if indeed any did exist, but such as was next to nothing in
comparison of the offence toward God committed in the abandonment of
his faith; and with all earnestness beseeching him to think seriously
upon his present state, and to consider if the course he had taken,
contrary to the breeding and education he had received, should tend to
his true honor, reputation, contentment of mind, and eternal
salvation. This he said he did plainly, for the discharge of his own
conscience, and the declaration of an abiding love for him.

For the space of a year and two months he remained in prison at
Norwich, Mr. Wells and Mr. Lacy furnishing him with assistance,
without which he should have lacked the necessaries of life; leastways
such conveniences as made his sufferings tolerable. At the end of that
time, it may be by Hubert's or some other friend's efforts, a sentence
of banishment was passed upon him, and he went beyond seas. I would
fain have then joined him, but it pleased not God it should be at that
time possible. Some moneys which were owing to him by a well-disposed
debtor he looked for to recover, but till that happened he had not
means for his own subsistence, much less wherewith to support a wife
in howsoever humble a fashion. Dr. Allen (now cardinal) invited him to
Rheims, and received him there with open arms. My father, during the
last years of his life, found in him a most dutiful and affectionate
son,  who closed his eyes with a true filial reverence. Our love
waxed not for this long separation less ardent or less tender; only
more patient, more exalted, more inwardly binding, now so much the
more outwardly impeded. The greatest excellency I found in myself was
the power of apprehending and the virtue of loving his. If his name
appear not so frequently in this my writing as it hath hitherto done,
even as his visible presence was lacking in that portion of my life
which followed his departure, the thought of him never leaves me. If I
speak of virtue in any one else, my mind turns to him, the most
perfect exemplar I have met with of self-forgetting goodness; if of
love, my heart recalls the perfect exchange of affection which doth
link his soul with mine; if of joy, the memory of that pure happiness
I found in his society; if of sorrow, of the perpetual grief his
absence did cause me; if of hope, the abiding anchor whereon I rested
mine during the weary years of separation. Yea, when I do write the
words faith, honor, nobility, firmness, tenderness, then I think I am
writing my dear Basil's name.


CHAPTER XXIII.

The year which followed Basil's arrest, and during which he was in the
prison at Norwich, I wholly spent in London; not with any success
touching the procuring of his release, as I had expected, but with a
constant hope thereof which had its fulfilment later, albeit not by
any of the means I had looked to. I shared the while with Muriel the
care of her now aged and very infirm parents, taking her place at home
when she went abroad on her charitable errands, or employed by her in
the like good works when my ability would serve. A time cometh in most
persons' lives, when maturity doth supplant youthfulness. I say most
persons, because I have noticed that there are some who never do seem
to attain unto any maturity of mind, and do live and die with the same
childish spirit they had in youth. To others this change, albeit real,
is scarcely perceptible, so gradual are its effects; but some again,
either from a natural thoughtfulness, or by the influence of
circumstances tending to sober in them the exuberance of spirits which
appertaineth to early age, do wax mature in disposition before they
grow old in years; and this befel me at that time. The eager temper,
the intent desire and pursuit of enjoyment (of a good and innocent
sort, I thank God) which had belonged to me till then, did so much and
visibly abate, that it caused me some astonishment to see myself so
changed. Joyful hours I have since known, happy days wherein mine
heart hath been raised in adoring thankfulness to the Giver of all
good; but the color of my mind hath no more resembled that of former
years, than the hues of the evening sky can be likened to the roseate
flush of early morning. The joys have been tasted, the happiness
relished, but not with the same keenness as heretofore. Mine own
troubles, the crowning one of Basil's misfortune, and what I continued
then to witness in others of mine own faith, wrought in me these
effects. The life of a Catholic in England in these days must needs, I
think, produce one of two frames of mind. Either he will harbor angry
passions, which religion reproves, which change a natural indignation
into an unchristian temper of hatred, and lead him into plots and
treasons; or else he becomes detached from the world, very quiet,
given to prayer, ready to take at God's hands, and as from him at
men's also, sufferings of all kinds; and even those as yet removed
from so great perfection learn to be still, and to bethink themselves
rather of the next world than of the present one, more than even good
people did in old tunes.

The only friends I haunted at that time were Mr. and Mrs. Swithin
Wells.  In the summer of that year I heard one day, when in their
company, that Father Edmund Campion was soon to arrive in London.
Father Parsons was then lodging at Master George Gilbert's house, and
much talk was ministered touching this other priest's landing, and how
he should be conducted thither in safety. Bryan Lacy, Thomas James,
and many others, took it by turns to watch at the landing-place where
he was expected to disembark. Each evening Mr. Wells's friends came
for to hear news thereof. One day, when no tidings of it had yet
transpired, and the company was leaving, Mr. James comes in, and
having shut the door, and glanced round the room before speaking,
says, with a smile,

"What think you, sirs and ladies?"

"Master Campion is arrived," cries Mistress Wells.

"God be praised!" cries her husband, and all giving signs of joy do
gather round Mr. James for to hear the manner of his landing.

"Well," quoth he, "I had been pacing up and down the quay for
well-nigh five hours, when I discerned a boat, which (God only knoweth
wherefore) I straightway apprehended to be the one should bring Master
Campion. And when it reached the landing-place, beshrew me if I did
not at once see a man dressed in some kind of a merchant suit, which,
from the marks I had of his features from Master Parsons, I made sure
was the reverend father. So when he steps out of the boat I stand
close to him, and in an audible voice, 'Good morrow, Edmund,' says I,
which he hearing, turns round and looks me in the face. We both smile
and shake hands, and I lead him at once to Master Gilbert's house. Oh,
I promise you, it was with no small comfort to myself I brought that
work to a safe ending. But now, sir," he continued, turning to Mr.
Wells, "what think you of this? Nothing will serve Master Campion but
a place must be immediately hired, and a spacious one also, for him to
begin at once to preach, for he saith he is here but for that purpose,
and that he would not the pursuivants should catch him before he hath
opened his lips in England; albeit, if God will grant him for the
space of one year to exercise his ministry in this realm, he is most
content to lay down his life afterward. And methinks he considers
Almighty God doth accept this bargain, and is in haste for to begin."

"Hath Master Gilbert called his friends together for to consider of
it?" asked Mr. Wells.

"Yea," answered Mr. James. "Tomorrow, at ten of the clock, a meeting
will be held, not at his house, for greater security, but at Master
Brown's shop in Southwark, for this purpose, and he prayeth you to
attend it, sir, and you, and you, and you," he continued, turning to
Bryan Lacy, William Gresham, Godfrey Fuljambe, Gervase Pierpoint, and
Philip and Charles Bassett, which were all present.

The next day I heard from Mrs. Wells that my Lord Paget, at the
instigation of his friends which met at Mr. Brown's, had hired, in his
own name, Noel House, in the which one very large chamber should serve
as a chapel, and that on the feast of St. Peter and St. Paul, which
fell on the coming Sunday, Father Campion would say mass there, and
for the first time preach. She said the chief Catholics in London had
combined for to send there, in the night, some vestments, some
ornaments for the altar, books, and all that should be needful for
divine worship. And the young noblemen and gentlemen which had been at
her house the night before, and many others also, such as Lord Vaux,
William and Richard Griffith, Arthur Cresswell, Charles Tilvey,
Stephen Berkeley, James Hill, Thomas de Salisbury, Thomas Fitzherbert,
Jerom Bellamy, Thomas Pound, Richard Stanyhurst, Thomas Abington, and
Charles Arundel (this was one of the Queen's pages, but withal a
zealous Catholic), had joined themselves in a  company, for to
act, some as sacristans of this secret chapel, some as messengers, to
go round and give notice of the preachments, and some as porters,
which would be a very weighty office, for one unreliable person
admitted into that oratory should be the ruin of all concerned.

Muriel and I, with Mr. Wells, went at an early hour on the Sunday to
Noel House. Master Philip Bassett was at the door. He smiled when he
saw us, and said he supposed he needed not to ask us for the password.
The chamber into which we went was so large, and the altar so richly
adorned, that the like, I ween, had not been seen since the queen had
changed the religion of the country.

Mass was said by Father Campion, and that noble company of devout
gentlemen aforementioned almost all communicated thereat, and many
others beside, an ladies not a few. When mass was ended, and Father
Campion stood up for to begin his sermon, so deep a silence reigned in
that crowded assembly--for the chamber was more full than it could
well hold--that a pin should have been heard to drop. Some thirsting
for to hear Catholic preaching, so rare in these days, some eager to
listen to the words of a man famous for his learning and parts, both
before and after his conversion, beyond any other in this country. For
mine own part, methought his very countenance was a preachment. When
his eyes addressed themselves to heaven, it seemed as if they did
verily see God, so piercing, so awed, so reverent was their gaze. He
took for his text the words, "Thou art Peter, and on this rock I will
build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it."
My whole soul was fastened on his words; and albeit I have had but
scant occasion to compare one preacher with another, I do not think it
should be possible for a more pathetic and stirring eloquence to flow
from human lips than his who that day gave God's message to a
suffering and persecuted people. I had not taken mine eyes off his
pale and glowing face not for so much as one instant, until, near the
close of his discourse, I chanced to turn them to a place almost
hidden by the curtain of an altar, where some gentlemen were standing,
concealing themselves from sight. Alas! in one instant the fervent
glowing of my heart, the staid, rapt intentness with which I had
listened, the heavenward lifting up of my soul, vanished as if a
vision of death had risen before me. I had seen Hubert Rookwood's
face, that face so like--oh, what anguish was that likeness to me
then!--to my Basil's. No one but me could perceive him, he was so hid
by the curtain; but where I sat it opened a little, and disclosed the
stern, melancholy, beautiful visage of the apostate, the betrayer of
his own brother, the author of our ruin, the destroyer of our
happiness. I thank God that I first beheld him again in that holy
place, by the side of the altar whereon Jesus had lately descended,
whilst the words of his servant were in mine ears, speaking of love
and patience. It was not hatred, God knoweth it, I then felt for
Basil's brother, but only terror for all present, and for him also, if
peradventure he was there with an evil intent. Mine eyes were fixed as
by a spell on his pale face, the while Father Campion's closing words
were uttered, which spoke of St. Peter, of his crime and of his
penance, of his bitter tears and his burning love. "If," he cried,
"there be one here present on whose soul doth lie the guilt of a like
sin; one peradventure yet more guilty than Peter; one like Judas in
his crime; one like Judas in his despair--to him I say, There is mercy
for thee; there is hope for thee, there is heaven for thee, if thou
wilt have it. Doom not thyself, and God will never doom thee." These
or the like words (for memory doth ill serve me to recall the fervent
adjurations of that apostolical man) he used; and, lo, I beheld tears
running down like rain from Hubert's eyes--an unchecked,
vehement torrent which seemed to defy all restraint. How I blessed
those tears! what a yearning pity seized me for him who did shed them!
How I longed to clasp his hand and to weep with him! I lost sight of
him when the sermon was finished; but in the street, when we
departed--which was done slowly and by degrees, for to avoid notice,
four or five only going out at a time--I saw him on the other side of
the pavement. Our eyes met; he stopped in a hesitating manner, and I
also doubted what to do, for I thought Mistress Wells and Muriel would
be averse to speak to him. Then he rapidly crossed over, and said, in
a whisper:

"Will you see me, Constance, if I come to you this evening?"

I pondered; I feared to quench, it might be, a good resolve, or
precipitate an evil one by a refusal; and building hopes of the former
on the tears I had seen him shed, I said:

"Yea, if you come as Basil's brother and mine."

He turned and walked hastily away.

Mistress Wells and Muriel asked me with some affright if it was Hubert
who had spoken to me, for they had scarce seen his face, although from
his figure they had judged it was him; and when I told them he had
been at Noel House, "Then we are undone!" the one exclaimed; and
Muriel said, "We must straightway apprise Mr. Wells thereof; but there
should be hopes, I think, he came there in some good disposition."

"I think so too," I answered, and told them of the emotion which I had
noticed in him at the close of the sermon, which comforted them not a
little. But he came not that evening; and Mr. Wells discovered the
next day that it was Thomas Fitzherbert, who had lately arrived in
London, and was not privy to his late conformity, which had invited
him to come to Noel House. Father Campion continued to preach once a
day at the least, often twice, and sometimes thrice, and very
marvellous effects ensued. Each day greater crowds did seek admittance
for to hear him, and Noel House was as openly frequented as if it had
been a public church. Numbers of well-disposed Protestants came for to
hear him, and it was bruited at the time that Lord Arundel had been
amongst them. He converted many of the best sort, beside young
gentlemen students, and others of all conditions, which by day, and
some by night, sought to confer with him. I went to the preachments as
often as possible. We could scarce credit our eyes and ears, so
singular did it appear that one should dare to preach, and so many to
listen to Catholic doctrine, and to seek to be reconciled in the midst
of so great dangers, and under the pressure of tyrannic laws. Every
day some newcomer was to be seen at Noel House, sometimes their faces
concealed under great hats, sometimes stationed behind curtains or
open doors for to escape observation.

After some weeks had thus passed, when I ceased to expect Hubert
should come, he one day asked to see me, and having sent for Kate, who
was then in the house, I did receive him. Her presence appeared
greatly to displease him, but he began to speak to me in Italian; and
first he complained of Basil's pride, which would not suffer him to
receive any assistance from him who should be so willing to give it.

"Would you--" I said, and was about to add some cutting speech, but I
resolved to restrain myself and by no indiscreet words to harden his
soul against remorse, or perhaps endanger others. Then, after some
other talking, he told me in a cunning manner, making his meaning
clear, but not couching it in direct terms, that if I would conform to
the Protestant religion and marry him, Basil should be, he could
warrant it, set at liberty, and he would make over to him more than
one-half of the income of his estates yearly, which, being done in
secret, the law could not then touch him. I made no answer thereunto,
but fixing mine eyes on him, said, in English:


"Hubert, what should be your opinion of the sermon on St. Peter and
St. Paul's Day?" He changed color. "Was it not," I said, "a moving
one?" Biting his lip, he replied:

"I deny not the preacher's talent."

"O Hubert," I exclaimed, "fence not yourself with evasive answers. I
know you believe as a Catholic."

"The devils believe," he answered.

"Hubert," I then said, with all the energy of my soul, "if you would
not miserably perish--if you would not lose your soul--promise me this
night to retrace your steps; to seek Father Campion and be
reconciled." His lip quivered; methought I could almost see his good
angel on one side of him and a tempting fiend on the other. But the
last prevailed, for with a bitter sneer he said:

"Yea, willingly, fair saint, if you will marry me."

Kate, who till then had not much understood what had passed, cried
out, "Fie, Hubert, fie on thee to tempt her to abandon Basil, and he a
prisoner."

"Madam," he said, turning to her, "recusants should not be so bold in
their language. The laws of the land are transgressed in a very daring
manner now-a-days, and those who obey them taunted for the performance
of their duty to the queen and the country."

Oh, what a hard struggle it proved to be patient; to repress the
vehement reproaches which hovered on my lips. Kate looked at me
affrighted. I trembled from head to foot. Father Campion's life and
the fate of many others, it might be, were in the hands of this man,
this traitor, this spy. To upbraid him I dared not, but wringing my
hands, exclaimed:

"O Hubert, Hubert! for thy mother's sake, who looks down on us from
heaven, listen to me. There be no crimes which may not be forgiven;
but some there be which if one doth commit them he forgiveth not
himself, and is likely to perish miserably."

"Think you I know this not?" he fiercely cried; "think you not that I
suffer even now the torment you speak of, and envy the beggar in the
street his stupid apathy?" He drew a paper from his bosom and unfolded
it. A terrible gleam shot through his eyes. "I could compel you to be
my wife."

"No," I said, looking him in the face, "neither man nor fiends can
give you that power. God alone can do it, and he will not."

"Do you see this paper?" he asked. "Here are the names of all the
recusants who have been reconciled by the Pope's champion. I have but
to speak the word, and to-morrow they are lodged in the Marshalsea or
the Tower, and the priest first and foremost."

"But you will not do it," I said, with a singular calmness. "No,
Hubert; as God Almighty liveth, you will not. You cannot commit this
crime, this foul murther."

"If it should come to that," he fiercely cried, "if blood should be
shed, on your head it will fall. You can save them if you list."

"Would you compel me by a bloody threat to utter a false vow?" I said.
"O Hubert, Hubert! that you, you should threaten to betray a priest,
to denounce Catholics! There was a day--have you forgot it?--when at
the chapel at Euston, your father at your side, you knelt, an innocent
child, at the altar's rail, and a priest came to you and said,
'_Corpus Domini nostri Jesu Christi custodiat animam tuam ad vitam
aeternam_.' If any one had then told you"--

"Oh, for God's sake speak not of it!" he wildly cried; "that way
madness doth lie."

"No, no," I cried; "not madness, but hope and return."

A change came over his face; he thrust the paper in my hand. "Destroy
it," he cried; "destroy it, Constance!" And then bursting into tears,
"God knoweth I never meant to do it."

"O Hubert, you have been mad, dear brother, more mad than guilty.
Pray, and God will bless you."

"Call me not brother, Constance Would to God I had been _only_ mad!
But it is too late now to think on it."


"Nay, nay," I cried, "it never is too late."

"Pray for me then," he said, and went to the door: but, turning
suddenly, whispered in a scarce audible manner, "Ask Father Campion to
pray for me," and then rushed out.

Kate had now half-fainted, and would have it we were all going to be
killed. I pacified and sent her home, lest she should fright her
parents with her rambling speeches.

Albeit Hubert's last words had seemed to be sincere, I could not but
call to mind how, after he had been apparently cut to the heart and
moved even to tears by Father Campion's preaching, he had soon uttered
threats which, howsoever recalled, left me in doubt if it should be
safe to rely on his silence; so I privately informed Mr. Wells, and he
Master George Gilbert and Father Parsons, of what had passed between
us. At the same time, I have never known whether by Hubert's means, or
in any other way, her majesty's council got wind of the matter, and
gave out that great confederacies were made by the Pope and foreign
princes for the invasion of this country, and that Jesuits and
seminary priests were sent to prepare their ways. Exquisite diligence
was used for the apprehension of all such, but more particularly the
Pope's champion, as Master Campion was called. So in the certainty
that Hubert was privy to the existence of the chapel at Noel House,
and that many Protestants were also acquainted with it, and likewise
with his lodging at Master Elliot's, where not a few resorted to him
in the night, he was constrained by Father Parsons to leave London, to
the no small regret of Catholics and others also which greatly admired
his learning and eloquence, the like of which was not to be found in
any other person at that time. None of those which had attended the
preachments at Noel House were accused, nor the place wherein they had
met disclosed, which inclineth me to think Hubert did not reveal to
her majesty's government his knowledge thereof.

About two months afterward Basil's release and banishment happened. I
would fain have seen him on his way to the coast; but the order for
his departure was so sudden and peremptory, the queen's officers not
losing sight of him until he was embarked on a vessel going to France,
that I was deprived of that happiness. That he was no longer a
prisoner I rejoiced; but it seemed as if a second and more grievous
separation had ensued, now that the sea did divide me from the dear
object of my love.

Lady Arundel, whose affectionate heart resented with the most tender
pity the abrupt interruption of our happiness, had often written to me
during this year to urge my coming to Arundel Castle; "for," said she,
"methinks, my dear Constance, a third turtle-dove might now be added
to the two on the Queen of Scotland's design; and on thy tree, sweet
one, the leaves are, I warrant thee, very green yet, and future joys
shall blossom on its wholesome branches, which are pruned but not
destroyed, injured but not withered." She spoke with no small
contentment of her then residence, that noble castle, her husband's
worthiest possession (as she styled it), and the grandest jewel of his
earldom. For albeit (thus she wrote) "Kenninghall is larger in the
extent it doth cover and embrace, and far more rich in its decorations
and adornments, I hold it not to be comparable in true dignity to this
castle, which, for the strength of its walls, the massive grandeur of
its keep, the vast forests which do encircle it, the river which
bathes its feet, the sea in its vicinity and to be seen from its
tower, the stately trees about it, and the clinging ivy which softens
with abundant verdure the stern, frowning walls, hath not its like in
all England." But a letter I had from this dear lady a few months
after this one contained the most joyful news I could receive, as will
be seen by those who read it:

"My good Constance" (her ladyship wrote), "I would I had you a
prisoner in this fortress, to hold and detain at  my pleasure.
Methinks I will present thee as a recusant, and sue for the privilege
of thy custody. Verily, I should keep good watch over thee. There be
dungeons enough, I warrant you, in the keep, wherein to imprison
runaway friends. Master Bayley doth take great pains to explain to me
the names and old uses of the towers, chapels, and buildings within
and without the castle, which do testify to the zeal and piety of past
generations: the Chapel of St. Martin, in the keep, which was the
oratory of the garrison; the old collegiate buildings of the College
of the Holy Trinity; the b Maison-Dieu, designed by Richard, Earl of
Arundel, and built by his son on the right bank of the river, for the
harboring of twenty aged and poor men, either unmarried or widowers,
which, from infirmity, were unable to provide for their own support;
the Priory of the Friars Preachers, with the rising gardens behind it;
the Chapel of Blessed Mary, over the gate; that of St. James ad
Leprosos, which was attached to the Leper's Hospital; and St.
Lawrence's, which standeth on the hill above the tower; and in the
valley below, the Priory of St. Bartholomew, built by Queen Adeliza
for the monks of St. Austin. Verily the poor were well cared for when
all these monasteries and hospitals did exist; and it doth grieve me
to think that the moneys which were designed by so many pious men of
past ages for the good of religion should now be paid to my lord, and
spent in worldly and profane uses. Howsoever, I have better hopes than
heretofore that he will one day serve God in a Christian manner. And
now, methinks, after much doubting if I should dare for to commit so
weighty a secret unto paper, that I must needs tell thee, as this time
I send my letter by a trusty messenger, what, if I judge rightly, will
prove so great a comfort to thee, my dear Constance, that thine own
griefs shall seem the lighter for it. Thou dost well know how long I
have been well-affected to Catholic religion, increasing therein daily
more and more, but yet not wholly resolved to embrace and profess it.
But by reading a book treating of the danger of schism, soon after my
coming here, I was so efficaciously moved, that I made a firm purpose
to become a member of the Catholic and only true Church of God. I
charged Mr. Bayley to seek out a grave and ancient priest, and to
bring him here privately; for I desired very much that my
reconciliation, and meeting with this priest to that intent, should be
kept as secret as was possible, for the times are more troublesome
than ever, and I would fain have none to know of it until I can
disclose it myself to my lord in a prudent manner. I have, as thou
knoweth, no Catholic women about me, nor any one whom I durst acquaint
with this business; so I was forced to go alone at an unseasonable
hour from mine own lodging in the castle, by certain dark ways and
obscure passages, to the chamber where this priest (whose name, for
greater prudence, I mention not here) was lodged, there to make my
confession--it being thought, both by Mr. Bayley and myself, that
otherwise it could not possibly be done without discovery, or at least
great danger thereof. Oh, mine own dear Constance, when I returned by
the same way I had gone, lightened of a burthen so many years endured,
cheered by the thought of a reconcilement so long desired,
strengthened and raised, leasts ways for a while, above all worldly
fears, darkness appeared light, rough paths smooth; the moon, shining
through the chinks of the secret passage, which I thought had shed
before a ghastly light on the uneven walls, now seemed to yield a mild
and pleasant brightness, like unto that of God's grace in a heart at
peace. And this exceeding contentment and steadfastness of spirit have
not--praise him for it--since left me; albeit I have much cause for
apprehension in more ways than one; for what in these days is so
secret it becometh not known? But whatever now shall befal me--public
dangers or private sorrows--my  feet do rest on a rock, not on
the shifting sands of human thinkings, and I am not afraid of what man
can do unto me. Yea, Philip's displeasure I can now endure, which of
all things in the world I have heretofore most apprehended."

The infinite contentment this letter gave me distracted me somewhat
from the anxious thoughts that filled my mind at the time it reached
me, which was soon after Hubert's visit. A few days afterward Lady
Arundel wrote again:

"My lord has been here, but stayed only a brief time. I found him very
affectionate in his behavior, but his spirits so much depressed that I
feared something had disordered him. Conversation seemed a burthen to
him, and he often shut himself up in his own chamber or walked into
the park with only his dog. When I spoke to him he would smile with
much kindness, uttering such words as 'sweet wife,' or 'dearest Nan,'
and then fall to musing again, as if his mind had been too oppressed
with thinking to allow of speech. The day before he left I was sorting
flowers at one end of the gallery in a place which the wall projecting
doth partly conceal. I saw him come from the hall up the stairs into
it, and walk to and fro in an agitated manner, his countenance very
much troubled, and his gestures like unto those of a person in great
perplexity of mind. I did not dare so much as to stir from where I
stood, but watched him for a long space of time with incredible
anxiety. Sometimes he stopped and raised his hand to his forehead.
Another while he went to the window and looked intently, now at the
tower and the valley beyond it, now up to the sky, on which the last
rays of the setting sun were throwing a deep red hue, as if the world
had been on fire. Then turning back, he joined his hands together and
anon sundered them again, pacing up and down the while more rapidly
than before, as if an inward conflict urged this unwitting speed. At
last I saw him stand still, lift up his hands and eyes to heaven, and
move his lips as if in prayer. What passed in his mind then, God only
knowcth. He is the most reluctant person in the world to disclose his
thoughts.

"When an hour afterward we met in the library his spirits seemed
somewhat improved. He spoke of his dear sister Meg with much
affection, and asked me if I had heard from Bess. Lord William, he
said, was the best brother a man ever had; and that it should like him
well to spend his life in any corner of the world God should appoint
for him, so that he had to keep him company Will and Meg and his dear
Nan, 'which I have so long ill-treated,' he added, 'that as long as I
live I shall not cease to repent of it; and God he knoweth I deserve
not so good a wife;' with many other like speeches which I wish he
would not use, for it grieveth me he should disquiet himself for what
is past, when his present kindness doth so amply recompense former
neglect. Mine own Constance, I pray you keep your courage alive in
your afflictions. There be no lane so long but it hath a turning, the
proverb saith. My sorrows seemed at one time without an issue. Now
light breaketh through the yet darksome clouds which do environ us. So
will it be with thee. Burn this letter, seeing it doth contain what
may endanger the lives of more persons than one.--Thy loving, faithful
friend,
   "ANN, ARUNDEL AND SURREY."

A more agitated letter followed this one, written at different times,
and detained for some days for lack of a safe messenger to convey it.

"What I much fear," so it began, "is the displeasure of my lord when
he comes to know of my reconcilement, for it cannot, I think, be long
concealed from him. This my fear, dear Constance, hath been much
increased by the coming down from London of one of his chaplains, who
affirms he was sent on purpose by the earl to read prayers and to
preach to me and my family; and on last  Sunday he came into the
great chamber of the castle, expecting and desiring to know my
pleasure therein. I thought best for to send for him to my chamber,
and I desired him not to trouble himself nor me in that matter, for I
would satisfy the earl therein. But oh, albeit I spoke very
composedly, my apprehensions are very great. For see, my dear friend,
Philip hath been but lately reconciled to me, and his fortunes are in
a very desperate condition, so that he may think I have given the last
blow to them by this act, which his enemies will surely brave at.
Think not I do repent of it. God knoweth I should as soon repent of my
baptism as of my return to his true Church; but though the spirit is
steadfast, the flesh is weak, and the heart also. What will he say to
me when he cometh? He did once repulse me, but hath never upbraided
me. How shall I bear new frowns after recent caresses?--peradventure
an eternal parting after a late reunion? O Constance, pray for me. But
I remember I have no means for to send this letter. But God be
praised, I have now friends in heaven which I may adjure to pray for
me who have at hand no earthly ones."

Four or live days later, her ladyship thus finished her letter:

"God is very merciful; oh, let his holy name be praised and magnified
for ever! Now the weight of a mountain is off my heart. Now I care not
for what man may do unto me. Phil has been here, and I promise thee,
dear Constance, when his horse stopped at the castle-door, my heart
almost stopped its beating, so great was my apprehension of his anger.
But, to my great joy and admiration, he kissed me very tenderly, and
did not speak the least word of the chaplain's errand. And when we did
walk out in the evening, and, mounting to the top of the keep, stood
there looking on the fine trees and the sun sinking into the sea, my
dear lord, who had been some time silent, turned to me and said, 'Meg
has become Catholic.' Joy and surprise almost robbed me of my breath;
for next to his reconcilement his sister's was what I most desired in
the world, and also I knew what a particular love he had ever shown
for her, as being his only sister, by reason whereof he would not seem
to be displeased with her change, and consequently he could not in
reason be much offended with myself for being what she was; so when he
said, 'Meg has become Catholic,' I leant my face against his shoulder,
and whispered, 'So hath Nan.' He spoke not nor moved for some minutes.
Methinks he could have heard the beatings of my heart. I was comforted
that, albeit he uttered not so much as one word, he made no motion for
to withdraw himself from me, whose head still rested against his
bosom. Suddenly he threw his arms about me, and strained me to his
breast. So tender an embrace I had never before had from him, and I
felt his tears falling on my head. But speech there was none touching
my change. Howsoever, before he left me I said to him 'My dear Phil,
Holy Scripture doth advise those who enter into the service of
Almighty God to prepare themselves for temptation. As soon as I
resolved to become Catholic, I did deeply imprint this in my mind; for
the times are such that I must expect to suffer for that cause.' 'Yea,
dearest Nan,' he answered, with great kindness, 'I doubt not thou hast
taken the course which will save thy soul from the danger of
shipwreck, although it doth subject thy body to the peril of
misfortune.' Then waxing bolder, I said, 'And thou, Phil--' and there
stopped short, looking what I would speak. He seemed to struggle for a
while with some inward difficulty of speaking his mind, but at last he
began, 'Nan, I will not become Catholic before I can resolve to live
as a Catholic, and I defer the former until I have an intent and
resolute purpose to perform the latter. O Nan, when I  think of
my vile usage of thee, whom I should have so much loved and esteemed
for thy virtue and discretion; of my wholly neglecting, in a manner,
my duty to the earl my grandfather, and my aunt Lady Lumley; of my
wasting, by profuse expenses, of great sums of money in the following
of the courts, the estate which was left me, and a good quantity of
thine own lands also; but far more than all, my total forgetting of my
duty to Almighty God--for, carried away with company, youthful
entertainments, pleasures, and delights, my mind being wholly
possessed with them, I did scarce so much as think of God, or of
anything concerning religion or the salvation of my soul--I do feel
myself unworthy of pardon, and utterly to be contemned.'

"So much goodness, humility, and virtuous intent was apparent in this
speech, and such comfortable hopes of future excellence, that I could
not forbear from exclaiming, 'My dear Phil, I ween thou wilt be one of
those who shall love God much, forasmuch as he will have forgiven thee
much.' And then I asked him how long it was since this change in his
thinking, albeit not yet acted upon, had come to him? He said, it so
happened that he was present, the year before, at a disputation held
in the Tower of London, between Mr. Sherwin and some other priests on
the one part, Charles Fulk, Whittakers, and some other Protestant
ministers on the other; and, by what he heard and saw there, he had
perceived, he thought, on which side the truth and true religion was,
though at the time he neither did intend to embrace or follow it. But,
he added, what had moved him of late most powerfully thereunto was a
sermon of Father Campion's, which he had heard at Noel House, whither
Charles Arundel had carried him, some days before his last visit to
me. 'The whole of those days,' he said, 'my mind was so oppressed with
remorse and doubt, that I knew no peace, until one evening, by a
special grace of God, when I was walking alone in the gallery, I
firmly resolved--albeit I knew not how or when to accomplish this
purpose--to become a member of his Church, and to frame my life
according to it; but I would not acquaint thee, or any other person
living, with this intention, until I had conferred thereof with my
brother William. Thou knowest, Nan, the very special love I bear him,
and which he hath ever shown to me. Well, a few days after I returned
to London, I met him accidentally in the street, he having come from
Cumberland touching some matter of Bess's lands; and taking him home
with me, I discovered to him my determination, somewhat covertly at
first; and after I lent him a book to read, which was written not long
ago by Dr. Allen, and have dealt with him so efficaciously that he has
also resolved to become Catholic. He is to meet me again next week,
for further conference touching the means of putting this intent into
execution, which verily I see not how to effect, being so watched by
servants and so-called friends, which besiege my doors and haunt mine
house in London on all occasions.'

"This difficulty, dear Constance, I sought to remedy by acquainting my
lord that his secretary, Mr. Mumford, was Catholic, and he could,
therefore, disclose his thought with safety to him. And I also advised
him to seek occasion to know Mr. Wells and some other zealous persons,
which would confirm him in his present resolution and aid him in the
execution thereof. It may be, therefore, you will soon see him, and
fervently do I commend him to thy prayers and whatever service in the
one thing needful should be in thy power to procure for him. My heart
is so transported with joy that I never remember the like emotions to
have filled it. My most hope for this present time at least had been
he should show no dislike to my being Catholic; and lo, I find him to
be one in heart, and soon to be so in effect;  and the great gap
between us, which so long hath been a yawing chasm of despair, now
filled up with a renewed love, and yet more by a parity of thinking
touching what it most behoveth us to be united in. _Deo gratias!_"

Here this portion of my lady's manuscript ended, but these few hasty
lines were written below, visibly by a trembling hand, and the whole
closed, I ween, abruptly. Methinks it was left for me at Mr. Wells's,
where I found it, by Mr. Mumford, or some other Catholic in the earl's
household:

"The inhabitants of Arundel have presented me for a recusant, and Mr.
Bayley has been committed and accused before the Bishop of Chichester
as a seminary priest. He hath, of course, easily cleared himself of
this; but because he will not take the oath of supremacy, he is forced
to quit the country. He hath passed into Flanders."

And then for many weeks I had no tidings of the dear writer, until one
day it was told us that when the queen had notice of her reconcilement
she disliked of it to such a degree that presently she ordered her,
being then with child, to be taken from her own house and carried to
Wiston, Sir Thomas Shirley's dwelling-place, there to be kept prisoner
till further orders. Alas! all the time she remained there I received
not so much as one line from her ladyship, nor did her husband either,
as I afterward found. So straitly was she confined and watched that
none could serve or have access to her but the knight and his lady,
and such as were approved by them. Truly, as she since told me, they
courteously used her; but special care was taken that none that was
suspected for a priest should come within sight of the house, which
was no small addition to her sufferings. Lady Margaret Sackville was
at that time also thrown into prison.


CHAPTER XXIV.

During the whole year of Lady Arundel's imprisonment, neither her
husband, nor her sister, nor her most close friends, such as my poor
unworthy self, had tidings from her, in the shape of any letter or
even message, so sharply was she watched and hindered from
communicating with any one. Only Sir Thomas Shirley wrote to the earl
her husband to inform him of his lady's safe delivery, and the birth
of a daughter, which, much against her will, was baptized according to
the Protestant manner. My Lord Arundel, mindful of her words in the
last interview he had with her before her arrest, began to haunt Mr.
Wells's house in a private way, and there I did often meet with him,
who being resolved, I ween, to follow his lady's example in all
things, began to honor me with so much of his confidence that I had
occasion to discern how true had been Sir Henry Jerningham's
forecasting, that this young nobleman, when once turned to the ways of
virtue and piety, should prove himself by so much the more eminent in
goodness as he had heretofore been distinguished for his reckless
conduct. One day that he came to Holborn, none others being present
but Mr. and Mrs. Wells and myself, he told us that he and his brother
Lord William, having determined to become Catholics, and apprehending
great danger in declaring themselves as such within the kingdom, had
resolved secretly to leave the land, to pass into Flanders, and there
to remain till more quiet times.

"What steps," Mr. Wells asked, "hath your lordship disposed for to
effect this departure?"

"In all my present doings," quoth the earl, "the mind of my dear wife
doth seem to guide me. The last time I was with her she informed me
that my secretary, John Mumford, is a Catholic, and I have since
greatly benefited by this knowledge. He is gone to Hull, in Yorkshire,
for to take  order for our passage to Flanders, and I do wait
tidings from him before I leave London."

Then, turning to me, he inquired in a very earnest manner if my
thinking agreed with his, that his sweet lady should be contented he
should forsake the realm, for the sake of the religious interests
which moved him thereunto, joined with the hope that when he should be
abroad and his lands confiscated, which he doubted not would follow,
she would be presently set at liberty, and with her little wench join
him in Flanders. I assented thereunto, and made a promise to him that
as soon as her ladyship should be released I would hasten to her, and
feast her ears with the many assurances of tender affection he had
uttered in her regard, and aid her departure; which did also Mr.
Wells. Then, drawing me aside, he spoke for some time, with tears in
his eyes, of his own good wife, as he called her.

"Mistress Sherwood," he said, "I do trust in God that she shall find
me henceforward as good a husband, to my poor ability, by his grace,
as she has found me bad heretofore. No sin grieves me anything so much
as my offences against her. What is past is a nail in my conscience.
My will is to make satisfaction; but though I should live never so
long, I can never do so further than by a good desire to do it, which,
while I have any spark of breath, shall never be wanting."

And many words like these, which he uttered in so heartfelt a manner
that I could scarce refrain from weeping at the hearing of them. And
so we parted that day; he with a confident hope soon to leave the
realm; I with some misgivings thereon, which were soon justified by
the event. For a few days afterward Mr. Lacy brought us tidings he had
met Mr. Mumford in the street, who had told him--when he expressed
surprise at his return--that before he could reach Hull he had been
apprehended and carried before the Earl of Huntingdon, president of
York, and examined by him, without any evil result at that time,
having no papers or auspicious things about him; but being now
watched, he ventured not to proceed to the coast, but straightway came
to London, greatly fearing Lord Arundel should have left it.

"He hath not done so?" I anxiously inquired.

"Nay," answered Mr. Lacy, "so far from it, that I pray you to guess
how the noble earl--much against his will, I ween--is presently
employed."

"He is not in prison?" I cried.

"God defend it!" he replied. "No; he is preparing for to receive the
queen at Arundel House; upon notice given him that her majesty doth
intend on Thursday next to come hither for her recreation."

"Alack!" I cried, "her visits to such as be of his way of thinking
bode no good to them. She visited him and his wife at the Charterhouse
at the time when his father was doomed to death, and now when she is a
prisoner her highness doth come to Arundel House. When she set her
foot in Euston, the whole fabric of my happiness fell to the ground.
Heaven shield the like doth not happen in this instance; but I do
greatly apprehend the issue of this sudden honor conferred on him."

On the day fixed for the great and sumptuous banquet which was
prepared for the queen at Arundel House, I went thither, having been
invited by Mrs. Fawcett to spend the day with her on this occasion,
which minded me of the time when I went with my cousins and mine own
good Mistress Ward for to see her majesty's entertainment at the
Charterhouse, wherein had been sowed the seeds of a bitter harvest,
since reaped by his sweet lady and himself. Then pageants had charms
in mine eyes; now, none--but rather the contrary. Howsoever, I was
glad to be near at hand on that day, so as to hear such reports as
reached us from time to time of her majesty's behavior to the earl.
From all I could find, she seemed very well  contented; and Mr.
Mumford, with whom I was acquainted, came to Mrs. Fawcett's chamber,
hearing I was there, and reported that her highness had given his
lordship many thanks for her entertainment, and showed herself
exceeding merry all the time she was at table, asking him many
questions, and relating anecdotes which she had learnt from Sir Fulke
Greville, whom the maids-of-honor were wont to say brought her all the
tales she heard; at which Mrs. Fawcett said that gentleman had once
declared that he was like Robin Goodfellow; for that when the
dairy-maids upset the milk-pans, or made a romping and racket, they
laid it all on Robin, and so, whatever gossip-tales the queen's ladies
told her, they laid it all upon him, if he was ever so innocent of it.

"Sir," I said to Mr. Mumford, "think you her majesty hath said aught
to my lord touching his lady or his lately-born little daughter?"

"Once," he answered, "when she told of the noble trick she hath played
Sir John Spencer touching his grandson, whom he would not see because
his daughter did decamp from his house in a baker's basket for to
marry Sir Henry Compton, and her majesty invited him to be her gossip
at the christening of a fair boy to whom she did intend to stand
godmother, for that he was the first-born child of a young couple who
had married for love and lived happily; and so the old knight said, as
he had no heir, he should adopt this boy, for he had disinherited his
daughter. So then, at the font, the queen names him Spencer, and when
she leaves the church, straightway reveals to Sir John that his godson
is his grandson, and deals so cunningly with him that a reconciliation
doth ensue. Well, when she related this event, my lord said in a low
voice, 'Oh madame, would it might please your majesty for to place
another child, now at its mother's breast, a first-born one also, in
its father's arms! and as by your gracious dealing your highness
wrought a reconciliation between a father and a daughter, so likewise
now to reunite a parted husband from a wife which hath too long
languished under your royal displeasure.'"

"What answered her grace?" I asked.

"A few words, the sense of which I could not catch," Mr. Mumford
answered; "being placed so as to hear my lord's speaking more
conveniently than her replies. He said again, 'The displeasure of a
prince is a heavy burden to bear.' And then, methinks, some other talk
was ministered of a lighter sort. But be of good heart. Mistress
Sherwood; I cannot but think our dear lady shall soon be set at
liberty."

Mr. Mumford's words were justified in a few days; for, to my
unspeakable joy, I heard Lady Arundel had been released by order of
the queen, and had returned to Arundel Castle. It was her lord himself
who brought me the good tidings, and said he should travel thither in
three days, when his absence from court should be less noted, as then
her majesty would be at Richmond. He showed me a letter he had
received from his lady, the first she had been able to write to him
for a whole year. She did therein express her contentment, greater,
she said, than her pen could describe, at the sight of the gray ivied
walls, the noble keep, her own chamber and its familiar furniture, and
mostly at the thought of his soon coming; and that little Bess had so
much sense already, that when she heard his name, nothing would serve
her but to be carried to the window, "whence, methinks," the sweet
lady said, "she doth see me always looking toward the entrance-gate,
through which all my joy will speedily come to me. When, for to cheat
myself and her, I cry, 'Hark to my lord's horse crossing the bridge,'
she coos, so much as to say she is glad also, and stretcheth her arms
out, the pretty fool, as if to welcome her unseen father, who,
methinks,  when he doth come, will be no stranger to her, so
often doth she kiss the picture which hangeth about her mother's
neck."

But, alas! before the queen went to Richmond, she sent a command that
my Lord Arundel should not go anywhither out of his house (so Mr.
Mumford informed me), but remain there a prisoner; and my Lord
Hunsdon, who had been in former times his father's page, and now was
his great enemy, was given commission to examine him about his
religion, and also touching Dr. Allen and the Queen of Scots. Now was
all the joy of Lady Arundel's release at an end. Now the sweet cooings
of her babe moved her to bitter tears. "In vain," she wrote to me
then, "do we now look for him to come! in vain listen for the sound of
his horse's tread, or watch the gateway which shall not open to admit
him! I sigh for to be once more a prisoner, and he, my sweet life, at
liberty. Alas! what kind of a destiny does this prove, if one is free
only when the other is shut up, and the word 'parting' is written on
each page of our lives?"

About a month afterward, Mr. Mumford was sent for by Sir Christopher
Hatton, who asked him divers dangerous questions concerning the earl,
the countess, and Lord William Howard, and also himself--such as, if
he was a priest or no; which indeed I did not wonder at, so staid and
reverend was his appearance. But he answered he never knew or ever
heard any harm of these honorable persons, and that he himself was not
a priest, nor worthy of so great a dignity. He hath since told me that
on the third day of his examination the queen, the Earl of Leicester,
and divers others of the council came into the house for to understand
what he had confessed. Sir Christopher told them what answers he had
made; but they, not resting satisfied therewith, caused him, after
many threats of racking and other tortures, to be sent prisoner to the
Gate-house, where he was kept for some months so close that none might
speak or come to him. But by the steadfastness of his answers he at
last so cleared himself, and declared the innocency of the earl, and
his wife and brother, that they were set at liberty.

Soon after her lord's release, I received this brief letter from Lady
Arundel:

"MINE OWN GOOD CONSTANCE,--I have seen my lord, who came here the day
after he was set free. He very earnestly desires to put into execution
his reconciliation to the Church now that his troubles are a little
overpast. I have bethought myself that, since Father Campion hath left
London, diligence might be used for to procure him a meeting with
Father Edmonds, whom I have heard commended for a very virtuous and
religious priest, much esteemed both in this and other countries.
Prithee, ask Mr. Wells if in his thinking this should be possible, and
let my lord know of the means and opportunities thereunto. I shall
never be so much indebted, nor he either, to any one in this world, my
dear Constance, as to thee and thy good friends, if this interview
shall be brought to pass, and the desired effect ensue.

"My Bess doth begin to walk alone, and hath learned to make the sign
of the cross; but I warrant thee I am sometimes frightened that I did
teach her to bless herself, until such time as she can understand not
to display her piety so openly as she now doeth. For when many lords
and gentlemen were here last week for to consider the course her
majesty's progress should take through Kent and Sussex, and she,
sitting on my knee, was noticed by some of them for her pretty ways,
the clock did strike twelve; upon which, what doth she do but
straightway makes the sign of the cross before I could catch her
little hand? Lord Cobham frowned, and my Lord Burleigh shook his head;
but the Bishop of Chichester stroked  her head, and said, with a
smile, _'Honi soit qui mal y pense;'_ for which I pray God to bless
him. Oh, but what fears we do daily live in! I would sometimes we were
beyond seas. But if my lord is once reconciled, methinks I can endure
all that may befal us. Thy true and loving friend,
  "ANN, ARUNDEL AND SURREY."

I straightway repaired to Mr. Wells, and found him to be privy to
Father Edmonds's abode. At my request, he acquainted Lord Arundel with
this secret, who speedily availed himself thereof, and after a few
visits to this good man's garret, wherein he was concealed, was by him
reconciled, as I soon learnt by a letter from his lady. She wrote in
such perfect contentment and joy thereunto, that nothing could exceed
it. She said her dear lord had received so much comfort in his soul as
he had never felt before in all his life, and such directions from
Father Edmonds for the amending and ordering of it as did greatly help
and further him therein. Ever after that time, from mine own hearing
and observation, his lady's letters, and the report of such as haunted
him, I learnt that he lived in such a manner that he seemed to be
changed into another man, having great care and vigilance over all his
actions, and addicting himself much to piety and devotion. He procured
to have a priest ever with him in his own house, by whom he might
frequently receive the holy sacrament, and daily have the comfort to
be present at the holy sacrifice, whereto, with great humility and
reverence, he himself in person many times would serve. His visits to
his wife were, during the next years, as frequent as he could make
them and as his duties at the court and the queen's emergencies would
allow of; who, albeit she looked not on him with favor as heretofore,
did nevertheless exact an unremitting attendance on his part on all
public occasions, and jealously noted every absence he made from
London. Each interview between this now loving husband and wife was a
brief space of perfect contentment to both, and a respite from the
many cares and troubles which did continually increase upon him; for
the great change in his manner of life had bred suspicion in the minds
of some courtiers and potent men, who therefore began to think him
what he was indeed, but of which no proof could be alleged.

During the year which followed these haps mine aunt died, and Mr.
Congleton sold his house in Ely Place, and took a small one in Gray's
Inn Lane, near to Mr. Wells's and Mr. Lacy's. It had no garden, nor
the many conveniences the other did afford; but neither Muriel nor
myself did lament the change, for the vicinity of these good friends
did supply the place of other advantages; and it also liked me more,
whilst Basil lived in poverty abroad, to inhabit a less sumptuous
abode than heretofore, and dispense with accustomed luxuries. Of
Hubert I could hear but scanty tidings at that time--only that he had
either lost or resigned his place at court? Mr. Hodgson was told by
one who had been his servant that he had been reconciled; others said
he did lead a very disordered life, and haunted bad persons. The truth
or falsity of these statements I could not then discern; but methinks,
from what I have since learnt, both might be partly true; for he
became subject to fits of gloom, and so discomfortable a remorse as
almost unsettled his reason; and then, at other times, plunged into
worldly excesses for to drown thoughts of the past. He was frightened,
I ween, or leastways distrustful of the society of good men, but
consorted with Catholics of somewhat desperate character and fortunes,
and such as dealt in plots and treasonable schemes.

Father Campion's arrest for a very different cause--albeit his enemies
did seek to attach to him the name traitor--occurred this year at
Mrs. Yates's house in Worcestershire, and  consternated the
hearts of all recusants; but when he came to London, and speech was
had of him by many amongst them which gained access to him in prison,
and reported to others his great courage and joyfulness in the midst
of suffering, then, methinks, a contagious spirit spread amongst
Catholics, and conversions followed which changed despondency into
rejoicing. But I will not here set down the manner of his trial, nor
the wonderful marks of patience and constancy which he showed under
torments and rackings, nor his interview with her majesty at my lord
Leicester's house, nor the heroic patience of his death; for others
with better knowledge thereof, and pens more able for to do it, have
written this martyr's life and glorious end. But I will rather relate
such events as took place, as it were, under mine own eye, and which
are not, I ween, so extensively known. And first, I will speak of a
conversation I held at that time with a person then a stranger, and
therefore of no great significancy when it occurred, but which later
did assume a sudden importance, when it became linked with succeeding
events.

One day that I was visiting at Lady Ingoldsby's, where Polly and her
husband had come for to spend a few weeks, and much company was going
in and out, the faces and names of which were new to me, some
gentlemen came there whose dress attracted notice from the French
fashion thereof. One of them was a young man of very comely appearance
and pleasant manners, albeit critical persons might have judged
somewhat of' the bravado belonged to his attitudes and speeches, but
withal tempered with so much gentleness and courtesy, that no sooner
had the eye and mind taken note of the defect than the judgment was
repented of. What in one of less attractive face and behavior should
have displeased, in this youth did not offend. It was my hap to sit
beside him at supper, which lasted a long time; and as his behavior
was very polite, I freely conversed with him, and found him to be
English, though from long residence abroad his tongue had acquired a
foreign trick. When I told him I had thought he was a Frenchman, he
laughed, and said if the French did ever try to land in England, they
should find him to be a very Englishman for to fight against them; but
in the matter of dinners and beds, and the liking of a dear sunny sky
over above a dim cloudy one, he did confess himself to be so much of a
traitor as to prefer France to England, and he could not abide the
smoke of coal fires which are used in this country.

"And what say you, sir," I answered, "to the new form of smoke which
Sir Walter Raleigh hath introduced since his return from the late
discovered land of Virginia?"

He said he had learnt the use of it in France, and must needs confess
he found it to be very pleasant. Monsieur Nicot had brought some seeds
of tobacco into France, and so much liking did her majesty Queen
Catharine conceive for this practice of smoking, that the new plant
went by the name of the queen's herb. "It is not gentlemen alone who
do use a pipe in France," he said, "but ladies also. What doth the
fair sex in England think on it?"

"I have heard," I answered, "that her majesty herself did try for to
smoke, but presently gave it up, for that it made her sick. Her
highness is also reported to have lost a wager concerning that same
smoking of tobacco."

"What did her grace bet?" the gentleman asked.

"Why, she was one day," I replied, "inquiring very exactly of the
various virtues of this herb, and Sir Walter did assure her that no
one understood them better than himself, for he was so well acquainted
with all its qualities, that he could even tell her majesty the weight
of the smoke of every pipeful he consumed. Her highness upon this
said, 'Monsieur  Traveller, you do go too far in putting on me
the license which is allowed to such as return from foreign parts;'
and she laid a wager of many pieces of gold he should not be able to
prove his words. So he weighed in her presence the tobacco before he
put it into his pipe, and the ashes after he had consumed it, and
convinced her majesty that the deficiency did proceed from the
evaporation thereof. So then she paid the bet, and merrily told him
'that she knew of many persons who had turned their gold into smoke,
but he was the first who had turned smoke into gold.'"

The young gentleman being amused at this story, I likewise told him of
Sir Walter's hap when he first returned to England, and was staying in
a friend's house: how a servant coming into his chamber with a tankard
of ale and nutmeg toast, and seeing him for the first time with a
lighted pipe in his mouth puffing forth clouds of smoke, flung the ale
in his face for to extinguish the internal conflagration, and then
running down the stairs alarmed the family with dismal cries that the
good knight was on fire, and would be burnt into ashes before they
could come to his aid.

My unknown companion laughed, and said he had once on his travels been
taken for a sorcerer, so readily doth ignorance imagine wonders. "Near
unto Metz, in France," quoth he, "I fell among thieves. My money I had
quilted within my doublet, which they took from me, howsoever leaving
me the rest of my apparel, wherein I do acknowledge their courtesy,
since thieves give all they take not; but twenty-five French crowns,
for the worst event, I had lapped in cloth, and whereupon did wind
divers-colored threads, wherein I sticked needles, as if I had been so
good a husband as to mend mine own clothes. Messieurs the thieves were
not so frugal to take my ball to mend their hose, but did tread it
under their feet. I picked it up with some spark of joy, and I and my
guide (he very sad, because he despaired of my ability to pay him his
hire) went forward to Chalons, where he brought me to a poor
ale-house, and when I expostulated, he replied that stately inns were
not for men who had never a penny in their purses; but I told him that
I looked for comfort in that case more from gentlemen than clowns;
whereupon he, sighing, obeyed me, and with a dejected and fearful
countenance brought me to the chief inn, where he ceased not to bewail
my misery as if it had been the burning of Troy; till the host,
despairing of my ability to pay him, began to look disdainfully on me.
The next morning, when, he being to return home, I paid him his hire,
which he neither asked nor expected, and likewise mine host for
lodgings and supper, he began to talk like one mad for joy, and
professed I could not have had one penny except I were an alchemist or
had a familiar spirit."

I thanked the young gentleman for this entertaining anecdote, and
asked him if France was not a very disquieted country, and nothing in
it but wars and fighting.

"Yea," he answered; "but men fight there so merrily, that it appears
more a pastime than aught else. Not always so, howsoever. When
Frenchman meets Frenchman in the fair fields of Provence, and those of
the League and those of the Religion--God confound the first and bless
the last!--engage in battle, such encounters ensue as have not their
match for fierceness in the world. By my troth, the sight of dead
bodies doth not ordinarily move me; but the valley of Allemagne on the
day of the great Huguenot victory was a sight the like of which I
would not choose to look on again, an I could help it."

"Were you, then, present at that combat, sir?" I asked.

"Yea," he replied; "I was at that time with Lesdiguières, the
Protestant general, whom I had known at La Rochelle, and beshrew me if
a more valiant soldier doth live, or a worthier  soul in a
stalwart frame. I was standing by his side when Tourves the butcher
came for to urge him, with his three hundred men, to ride over the
field and slay the wounded papists. 'No, sir,' quoth the general, 'I
fight men, but hunt them not down.' The dead were heaped many feet
thick on the plain, and the horses of the Huguenots waded to their
haunches in blood. Those of the Religion were mad at the death of the
Baron of Allemagne, the general of their southern churches, brave
castellane, who, when the fight was done, took off his helmet for to
cool his burning forehead; and lo, a shot sent him straight into
eternity."

"The Catholics were then wholly routed?" I asked.

"Yea," he answered; "mowed down like grass in the hay-harvest. De
Vins, however, escaped. He thought to have had a cheap victory over
those of the Religion; but the saints in heaven, to whom he trusted,
never told him that Lesdiguières on the one side and d'Allemagne on
the other were hastening to the rescue, nor that his Italian horsemen
should fail him in his need. So, albeit the papists fought like
devils, as they are, his pride got a fall, which well-nigh killed him.
He was riding frantically back into the fray for to get himself slain,
when St. Cannat seized his bridle, and called him a coward, so I have
heard, to dare for to die when his scattered troops had need of him;
and so carried him off the field. D'Oraison, Janson, Pontmez, hotly
pursued them, but in vain; and all the Protestant leaders, except
Lesdiguières, returned that night to the castle of Allemagne for to
bury the baron."

A sort of shiver passed through the young gentleman's frame as he
uttered these last words.

"A sad burial you then witnessed?" I said.

"I pray God," he answered, "never to witness another such."

"What was the horror of it?" I asked.

"Would you hear it?" he inquired.

"Yea," I said, "most willingly; for methinks I see what you describe."

Then he: "If it be so, peradventure you may not thank me for this
describing; for I warrant you it was a fearful sight. I had lost mine
horse, and so was forced to spend the night at the castle. When it
grew dark I followed the officers, which, with a great store of the
men, also descended into the vault, which was garnished all round with
white and warlike sculptured forms on tombstones, most grim in their
aspect; and amidst those stone imager, grim and motionless, the
soldiers ranged themselves, still covered with blood and dust, and
leaning on their halberds. In the midst was the uncovered coffin of
the baron, his livid visage exposed to view--menacing even in death.
Torches threw a fitful, red-colored light over the scene. A minister
which accompanied the army stood and preached at the coffin's head,
and when he had ended his sermon, sang in a loud voice, in French
verse, the psalm which doth begin,

  'Du fond de ma pensée,
  Du fond de tous enuuis,
  A tol s'est adressé
  Ma clamear jour et nult.'

When this singing began two soldiers led up to the tomb a man with
bound hands and ghastly pale face, and, when the verse ended, shot him
through the head. The corpse fell upon the ground, and the singing
began anew. Twelve times this did happen, till my head waxed giddy and
I became faint. I was led out of that vault with the horrible singing
pursuing me, as if I should never cease to hear it."

"Oh, 'tis fearful," I exclaimed, "that men can do such deeds, and the
while have God's name on their lips."

"The massacre of St. Bartholomew," he answered, "hath driven those of
the Religion mad against the papists."

"But, sir," I asked, "is it not true that six thousand Catholics in
Languedoc had been murthered in cold blood,  and a store of them
in other places, before that massacre?"

"May I be so," he answered in a careless tone. "The shedding of blood,
except in a battle or lawful duel, I abhor; but verily I do hate
papists with as great a hate as any Huguenot in France, and most of
all those in this country--a set of knavish traitors, which would
dethrone the queen and sell the realm to the Spaniards."

I could not but sigh at these words, for in this young man's
countenance a quality of goodness did appear which made me grieve that
he should utter these unkind words touching Catholics. But I dared not
for to utter my thinking or disprove his accusations, for, being
ignorant of his name, I had a reasonable fear of being ensnared into
some talk which should show me to be a papist, and he should prove to
be a spy. But patience failed me when, after speaking of the clear
light of the gospel which England enjoyed, and to lament that in
Ireland none are found of the natives to have cast off the Roman
religion, he said:

"I ween this doth not proceed from their constancy in religion, but
rather from the lenity of Protestants, which think that the conscience
must not be forced, and seek rather to touch and persuade than to
oblige by fire and sword, like those of the south, who persecute their
own subjects differing from them in religion."

"Sir," I exclaimed, "this is a strange thing indeed, that Protestants
do lay a claim to so great mildness in their dealings with recusants,
and yet such strenuous laws against such are framed that they do live
in fear of their lives, and are daily fined and tormented for their
profession."

"How so?" he said, quickly. "No papist hath been burnt in this
country."

"No, sir," I answered; "but a store of them have been hanged and cut
to pieces whilst yet alive."

"Nay, nay," he cried, "not for their religion, but for their many
treason."

"Sir," I answered, "their religion is made treason by unjust laws, and
then punished with the penalties of treason; and they die for no other
cause than their faith, by the same token that each of those which
have perished on the scaffold had his life offered to him if so he
would torn Protestant."

In the heat of this argument I had forgot prudence; and some unkindly
ears and eyes were attending to my speech, which this young stranger
perceiving, he changed the subject of discourse--I ween with a
charitable intent--and merrily exclaimed, "Now I have this day
transgressed a wise resolve."

"What resolve?" I said, glad also to retreat from dangerous subjects.

'"This," he answered: "that after my return I would sparingly, and not
without entreaty, relate my journeys and observations."

"Then, sir," I replied, "methinks you have contrariwise observed it,
for your observations have been short and pithy, and withal uttered at
mine entreaty."

"Nothing," he said, "I so much fear as to resemble men--and many such
I have myself known--who have scarce seen the lions of the Tower and
the bears of Parish Garden, but they must engross all a table in
talking of their adventures, as if they had passed the Pillars of
Hercules. Nothing could be asked which they could not resolve of their
own knowledge."

"Find you, sir," I said, "much variety in the manners of French people
and those you see in this country?"

He smiled, and answered, "We must not be too nice observers of men and
manners, and too easily praise foreign customs and despise our own
--not so much that we may not offend others, as that we may not be
ourselves offended by others. I will yield you an example. A
Frenchman, being a curious observer of ceremonious compliments, when
he hath saluted one, and began to entertain him with speech, if he
chance to espy another  man, with whom he hath very great
business, yet will he not leave the first man without a solemn excuse.
But an Englishman discoursing with any man--I mean in a house or
chamber of presence, not merely in the street--if he spy another man
with whom he hath occasion to speak, will suddenly, without any
excuse, turn from the first man and go and converse with the other,
and with like negligence will leave and take new men for discourse;
which a Frenchman would take in ill part, as an argument of
disrespect. This fashion, and many other like niceties and curiosities
in use in one country, we must forget when we do pass into another.
For lack of this prudence I have seen men on their return home tied to
these foreign manners themselves, and finding that others observe not
the like toward them, take everything for an injury, as if they were
disrespected, and so are often enraged."

"What think you of the dress our ladies do wear?" I inquired of this
young traveller.

He smiled, and answered:

"I like our young gentlewomen's gowns, and their aprons of fine linen,
and their little hats of beaver; but why have they left wearing the
French sleeves, borne out with hoops of whalebone, and the French hood
of velvet, set with a border of gold buttons and pearls? Methinks
English ladies are too fond of jewels and diamond rings. They scorn
plain gold rings, I find, and chains of gold."

"Yea," I said, "ladies of rank wear only rich chains of pearl, and all
their jewels must needs be oriental and precious. If any one doth
choose to use a simple chain or a plain-set brooch, she is marked for
wearing old-fashioned gear."

"This remindeth me," he said, "of a pleasant fable, that Jupiter sent
a shower, wherein whosoever was wet became a fool, and that all the
people were wet in this shower, excepting one philosopher, who kept
his study; but in the evening coming forth into the market-place, and
finding that all the people marked him as a fool, who was only wise,
he was forced to pray for another shower, that he might become a fool,
and so live quietly among fools rather than bear the envy of his
wisdom."

With this pleasant story our conversation ended, for supper was over,
and the young gentleman soon went away. I asked of many persons who he
should be, but none could tell me. Polly, the next day, said he was a
youth lately returned from France (which was only what I knew before),
and that Sir Nicholas Throckmorton had written a letter to Lady
Ingoldsby concerning him, but his name she had forgot. O what strange
haps, more strange than any in books, do at times form the thread of a
true history! what presentiments in some cases, what ignorance in
others, beset us touching coming events!

The next pages will show the ground of these reflections.


CHAPTER XXV.

One day that Mrs. Wells was somewhat disordered, and keeping her room,
and I was sitting with her, her husband came to fetch me into the
parlor to an old acquaintance, he said, who was very desirous for to
see me. "Who is it?" I asked; but he would not tell me, only smiled;
my foolish thinking supposed for one instant that it might be Basil he
spoke of, but the first glance showed me a slight figure and pale
countenance, very different to his whom my witless hopes had expected
for to see, albeit without the least shadow of reason. I stood looking
at this stranger in a hesitating manner, who perceiving I did not know
him, held out his hand, and said,

"Has Mistress Constance forgotten her old playfellow?"

"Edmund Genings!" I exclaimed, suddenly guessing it to be him.


"Yea," he said, "your old friend Edmund."

"Mr. Ironmonger is this reverend gentleman's name now-a-days," Mr.
Wells said; and then we all three sat down, and by degrees in Edmund's
present face I discerned the one I remembered in former years. The
same kind and reflective aspect, the pallid hue, the upward-raised
eye, now with less of searching in its gaze, but more, I ween, of
yearning for an unearthly home.

"O dear and reverend sir," I said, "strange it doth seem indeed thus
to address you, but God knoweth I thank him for the honor he hath done
my old playmate in the calling of him unto his service in these
perilous times."

"Yea," he answered, with emotion, "I do owe him much, which life
itself should not be sufficient to repay."

"My good father," I said, "some time before his death gave me a token
in a letter that you were in England. Where have you been all this
time?"

"Tell us the manner of your landing," quoth Mr. Wells; "for this is
the great ordeal which, once overpassed, lets you into the vineyard,
for to work for one hour only sometimes, or else to bear many years
the noontide heat and nipping frosts which laborers like unto yourself
have to endure."

"Well," said Edmund, "ten months ago we took shipping at Honfleur,
and, wind and weather being propitious, sailed along the coast of
England, meaning to have landed in Essex; but for our sakes the master
of the bark lingered, when we came in sight of land, until two hours
within night, and being come near unto Scarborough, what should happen
but that a boat with pirates or rovers in it comes out to surprise us,
and shoots at us divers times with muskets! But we came by no harm;
for the wind being then contrary, the master turned his ship and
sailed back into the main sea, where in very foul weather we remained
three days, and verily I thought to have then died of sea-sickness;
which ailment should teach a man humility, if anything in this world
can do it, stripping him as it does of all boastfulness of his own
courage and strength, so that he would cry mercy if any should offer
only to move him."

"Ah!" cried Mr. Wells, laughing, "Topcliffe should bethink himself of
this new torment for papists, for to leave a man in this plight until
he acknowledged the queen's supremacy should be an artful device of
the devil."

"At last," quoth Mr. Genings, "we landed, with great peril to our
lives, on the side of a high cliff near Whitby, in Yorkshire, and
reached that town in the evening. Going into an inn to refresh
ourselves, which I promise you we sorely needed, who should we meet
with there but one Radcliff?"

"Ah! a noted pursuivant," cried Mr. Wells, "albeit not so topping a
one as his chief."

"Ah!" I cried, "good Mr. Wells, that is but a poor pun, I promise you.
A better one you must frame before night, or you will lose your
reputation. The queen's last effort hath more merit in it than yours,
who, when she was angry with her envoy to Spain, said, 'If her royal
brother had sent her a goose-man,  [Footnote 4] she had sent him in
return a man-goose.'"

  [Footnote 4: Guzman.]

Mr. Genings smiled, and said:

"Well, this same Radcliff took an exact survey of us all, questioned
us about our arrival in that place, whence we came, and whither we
were going. We told him we were driven thither by the tempest, and at
last, by evasive answers, satisfied him. Then we all went to the house
of a Catholic gentleman in the neighborhood, which was within two or
three miles of Whitby, and by him were directed some to one place,
some to another, according to our own desires. Mr. Plasden and I kept
together; but, for fear of suspicion, we determined at last to
separate also, and singly to commit ourselves to the protection of God
and his good angels. Soon after we had thus  resolved, we came to
two fair beaten was, the one leading north-east, the other south-east,
and even then and there, it being in the night, we stopped and both
fell down on our knees and made a short prayer together that God of
his infinite mercy would vouchsafe to direct us, and send us both a
peaceable passage into the thickest of his vineyard."

Here Mr. Genings paused, a little moved by the remembrance of that
parting, but in a few minutes exclaimed:

"I have not seen that dear friend since, rising from our knees, we
embraced each other with tears trickling down our cheeks; but the
words he said to me then I shall never, methinks, forget. 'Seeing,'
quoth, he, 'we must now part through fear of our enemies, and for
greater security, farewell, sweet brother in Christ and most loving
companion. God grant that, as we have been friends in one college and
companions in one wearisome and dangerous journey, so we may have one
merry meeting once again in this world, to our great comfort, if it
shall please him, even amongst our greatest adversaries; and that as
we undertake, for his love and holy name's sake, this course of life
together, so he will of his infinite goodness and clemency make us
partakers of one hope, one sentence, one death, and one reward. And
also as we began, so may we end together in Christ Jesus.' So he; and
then not being able to speak one word more for grief and tears, we
departed in mutual silence; he directing his journey to London, where
he was born, and I northward."

"Then you have not been into Staffordshire?" I said.

"Yea," he answered, "later I went to Lichfield, in order to try if I
should peradventure find there any of mine old friends and kinsfolks."

"And did you succeed therein?" I inquired.

"The only friends I found," he answered, with a melancholy smile,
"were the gray cloisters, the old cathedral walls, the trees of the
close; the only familiar voices which did greet me were the chimes of
the tower, the cawing of the rooks over mine head as I sat in the
shade of the tall elms near unto the wall where our garden once
stood."

"Oh, doth that house and that garden no more exist?" I cried.

"No, it hath been pulled down, and the lawn thereof thrown into the
close."

"Then," I said, "the poor bees and butterflies must needs fare badly.
The bold rooks, I ween, are too exalted to suffer from these changes.
Of Sherwood Hall did you hear aught, Mr. Genings?"

"Mr. Ironmonger," Mr. Wells said, correcting me.

"Alas!" Edmund replied, "I  dared not so much as to approach unto it,
albeit I passed along the high road not very far from the gate
thereof. But the present inhabitants are famed for their hatred unto
recusants, and like to deal rigorously with any which should come in
their way."

I sighed, and then asked him how long he had been in London.

"About one month," he replied. "As I have told you. Mistress
Constance, all my kinsfolk that I wot of are now dead, except my young
brother John, whom I doubt not you yet do bear in mind--that fair,
winsome, mischievous urchin, who was carried to La Rochelle about one
year before your sweet mother died."

"Yea," I said, "I can see him yet gallopping on a stick round the
parlor at Lichfield."

"'Tis to look for him," Edmund said, "I am come to London. Albeit I
fear much inquiry on my part touching this youth should breed
suspicion, I cannot refrain, brotherly love soliciting me thereunto,
from seeking him whom report saith careth but little for his soul, and
who hath no other relative in the world than myself. I have warrant
for to suppose he should be in London; but these four weeks,
with useless diligence, I have made search for him, leaving no place
unsought where I could suspect him to abide; and as I see no hopes of
success, I am resolved to leave the city for a season."

Then Mr. Wells proposed to carry Edmund to Kate's house, where some
friends were awaiting him; and for some days I saw him not again. But
on the next Sunday evening he came to our house, and I noticed a
paleness in him I had not before perceived. I asked him if anything
had disordered him.

"Nothing," he answered; "only methinks my old shaking malady doth
again threaten me; for this morning, walking forth of mine inn to
visit a friend on the other side of the city, and passing by St.
Paul's church, when I was on the east side thereof, I felt suddenly a
strange sensation in my body, so much that my face glowed, and it
seemed to me as if mine hair stood on end; all my joints trembled, and
my whole body was bathed in a cold sweat. I feared some evil was
threatening me, or danger of being taken up, and I looked back to see
if I could perceive any one to be pursuing me; but I saw nobody near,
only a youth in a brown-colored cloak; and so, concluding that some
affection of my head or liver had seized me, I thought no more on it,
but went forward to my intended place to say mass."

A strange thinking came into mine head at that moment, and I doubted
if I should impart to him my sudden fancy.

"Mr. Edmund," I said, unable to refrain myself, "suppose that youth in
the brown cloak should have been your brother!"

He started, but shaking of his head said:

"Nay, nay, why should it have been him rather than a thousand others I
do see every day?"

"Might not that strange effect in yourself betoken the presence of a
kinsman?"

"Tut, tut, Mistress Constance," he cried, half kindly, half
reprovingly; "this should be a wild fancy lacking ground in reason."

Thus checked, I held my peace, but could not wholly discard this
thought. Not long after--on the very morning before Mr. Genings
proposed to depart out of town--I chanced to be walking homeward with
him and some others from a house whither we had gone to hear his mass.
As we were returning along Ludgate Hill, what should he feel but the
same sensations he had done before, and which were indeed visible in
him, for his limbs trembled and his face turned as white as ashes!

"You are sick," I said, for I was walking alongside of him.

"Only affected as that other day," he answered, leaning against a post
for to recover himself.

I had hastily looked back, and, lo and behold I a youth in a brown
cloak was walking some paces behind us. I whispered in Mr. Genings's
ear:

"Look, Edmund; is this the youth you saw before?"

"O my good Lord!" he cried, turning yet more pale, "this is strange
indeed! After all, it may be my brother. Go on," he said quickly; "I
must get speech with him alone to discover if it should be so."

We all walked on, and he tarried behind. Looking back, I saw him
accost the stranger in the brown cloak. And in the afternoon he came
to tell us that this was verily John Genings, as I had with so little
show of reason guessed.

"What passed between you?" I asked.

He said:

"I courteously saluted the young man, and inquired what countryman he
was; and hearing that he was a Staffordshireman, I began to conceive
hopes it should be my brother; so I civilly demanded his name.
Methought I should have betrayed myself at once when he answered
Genings; but as quietly as I could, I told him I was  his
kinsman, and was called Ironmonger, and asked him what had become of
his brother Edmund. He then, not suspecting aught, told me he had
heard that he was gone to Rome to the Pope, and was become a notable
papist and a traitor both to God and his country, and that if he did
return he should infallibly be hanged. I smiled, and told him I knew
his brother, and that he was an honest man, and loved both the queen
and his country, and God above all. 'But tell me,' I added, 'good
cousin John, should you not know him if you saw him?' He then looked
hard at me, and led the way into a tavern not far off, and when we
were seated at a table, with no one nigh enough to overhear us, he
said: 'I greatly fear I have a brother that is a priest, and that you
are the man,' and then began to swear that if it was so, I should
discredit myself and all my friends, and protested that in this he
would never follow me; albeit in other matters he might respect me. I
promise you that whilst these harsh words passed his lips I longed to
throw my arms round his neck. I saw my mother's face in his, and his
once childish loveliness only changed into manly beauty. His young
years and mine rose before me, and I could have wept over this
new-found brother as Joseph over his dear Benjamin. I could no longer
conceal myself, but told him truly I was his brother indeed, and for
his love had taken great pains to seek him, and begged of him to keep
secret the knowledge of my arrival; to which he answered: 'He would
not for the world disclose my return, but that he desired me to come
no more unto him, for that he feared greatly the danger of the law,
and to incur the penalty of the statute for concealing of it.' I saw
this was no place or time convenient to talk of religion; but we had
much conversation about divers things, by which I perceived him to be
far from any good affection toward Catholic religion, and persistent
in Protestantism, without any hope of a present recovery. Therefore I
declared unto him my intended departure out of town, and took my
leave, assuring him that within a month or little more I should return
and see him again, and confer with him more at large touching some
necessary affairs which concerned him very much. I inquired of him
where a letter should find him. He showed some reluctance for to give
me any address, but at last said if one was left for him at Lady
Ingoldsby's, in Queen street, Holborn, he should be like to get it."

After Mr. Genings had left, I considered of this direction his brother
had given him, which showed him to be acquainted with Polly's
mother-in-law, and then remembering the young gentleman I had met at
her house, I suspected him to be no other than John Genings. And
called back to mind all his speeches for to compare them with this
suspicion, wherein they did all tally; and some days afterward, when I
was walking on the Mall with Sir Ralph and Polly, who should accost
them but this youth, which they presently introduced to me, and Polly
added, she believed we had played at hide-and-seek together when we
were young. He looked somewhat surprised, and as if casting about for
to call to mind old recollections; then spoke of our meeting at Lady
Ingoldsby's; and she cried out,

"Oh, then, you do know one another?"

"By sight," I said, "not by name."

Some other company joining us, he came alongside of me, and began for
to pay me compliments in the French manner.

"Mr. John Genings," I said, "do you remember Lichfield and the close,
and a little; girl, Constance Sherwood, who used to play with you,
before you went to La Rochelle?"

"Like in a dream," he answered, his comely face lighting up with a
smile.

"But your brother," I said, "was my chiefest companion then; for at
that age we do always aspire to the notice of such as be older than
 condescend to such as be younger than ourselves."

When I named his brother a cloud darkened his face, and he abruptly
turned away. He talked to Polly and some other ladies in a gay,
jesting manner, but I could see that ever and anon he glanced toward
me, as if to scan my features, and, I ween, compare them with what
memory depicted; but he kept aloof from me, as if fearing I should
speak again of one he would fain forget.

On the 7th of November, Edmund returned to London, and came in the
evening to Kate's house. He had been laboring in the country,
exhorting, instructing, and exercising his priestly functions amongst
Catholics with all diligence. It so happened that his friend, Mr.
Plasden, a very virtuous priest, which had landed with him at Whitby,
and parted with him soon afterward, was there also; and several other
persons likewise which did usually meet at Mr. Wells's house; but,
owing to that gentleman's absence, who had gone into the country for
some business, and his wife's indisposition, had agreed for to spend
the evening at Mr. Lacy's. Before the company there assembled parted,
the two priests treated with him where they should say mass the
following day, which was the Octave of All Saints. They agreed to say
their matins together, and, by Bryan's advice, to celebrate it at the
house of Mr. Wells, notwithstanding his absence; for that Mistress
Wells, who could not conveniently go abroad, would be exceeding glad
for to hear mass in her own lodging. I told Edmund of my meeting with
his brother on the Mall, and the long talk ministered between us some
weeks ago, when neither did know the other's name. Methought in his
countenance and conversation that night there appeared an unwonted
consolation, a sober joy, which filled me almost with awe. When he
wished me good-night, he added,  "I pray you, my dear child, to lift
up your soul to heaven ere yon sleep and when you wake, and recommend
to heaven our good purpose, and then come and attend at the holy
sacrifice with the crowd of angels and saints which do always assist
thereat." When the light faintly dawned in the dull sky, Muriel and I
stole from our beds, quietly dressed ourselves, and slipping out
unseen, repaired as fast as we could, for the ground was wet and
slippery, to Mr. Wells's house. We found assembled in one room Mr.
Genings, Mr. Plasden, another priest, Mr. White, Mr. Lacy, Mistress
Wells, Sydney Hodgson, Mr. Mason, and many others. Edmund Genings
proceeded to say mass. There was so great a stillness in the room a
pin should have been heard to drop. Albeit he said the prayers in a
very low voice, each word was audible. Mine ears, which are very quick
were stretched to the utmost. Each sound in the street caused me an
inward flutter. Methought, when he was reading the gospel I discerned
a sound as of the hall-door opening, and of steps. Then nothing more
for a little while; but just at the moment of the consecration there
was a loud rush up the stairs, and the door of the chamber burst open.
The gentlemen present rose from their knees. Mistress Wells and I
contrariwise sunk on the ground. I dared not for to look, or move, or
breathe, but kept inwardly calling on God, then present, for to save
us. I heard the words behind me: "Topcliffe! keep him back!" "Hurl him
down the stairs!" and then a sound of scuffling, falling, and rolling,
followed by a moment's silence.

The while the mass went forward, ever and anon noises rose without;
but the gentlemen held the door shut by main force all the time. They
kept the foe at bay, these brave men, each word uttered at the altar
resounding, I ween, in their breasts. O my God, what a store of
suffering was heaped into a brief space of time! What a viaticum was
that communion then received by thy doomed priest!  "_Domine, non
sum dignus_," he thrice said, and then his Lord rested in his soul.
"_Deo gratias_" None could now profane the sacred mysteries; none
could snatch his Lord from him. "_Ite missa est_." The mass was said,
the hour come, death at hand. All resistance then ceased. I saw
Topcliffe hastening in with a broken head, and threatening to raise
the whole street. Mr. Plasden told him that, now the mass was ended,
we would all yield ourselves prisoners, which we did; upon which he
took Mr. Genings as he was, in his vestments, and all of us, men and
women, in coaches he called for, to Newgate. Muriel and I kept close
together, and, with Mistress Wells, were thrust into one cell.
Methinks we should all have borne with courage this misfortune but for
the thinking of those without--Muriel of her aged and infirm father;
Mistress Wells of her husband's return that day to his sacked house,
robbed of all its church furniture, books, and her the partner of his
whole life. And I thought of Basil, and what he should feel if he knew
of me in this fearful Newgate, near to so many thieves and wicked
persons; and a trembling came over me lest I should be parted from my
companions. I had much to do to recall the courageous spirit I had
heretofore nurtured in foreseeing such a hap as this. If I had had to
die at once, I think I should have been more brave; but terrible
forebodings of examinations--perchance tortures, long solitary hours
in a loathsome place--caused me inward shudderings; and albeit I said
with my lips over and over again, "Thy will be done, my God," I
passionately prayed this chalice might pass from me which often before
in my presumption--I cry mercy for it--I had almost desired to drink.
Oh, often have I thought since of what is said in David's Psalms, "It
is good for me that thou hast humbled me." From my young years a hot
glowing feeling had inflamed my breast at the mention of suffering for
conscience sake, and the words "to die" had been very familiar ones
to my lips; "rather to die," "gladly to die," "proudly to die;" alas,
how often had I uttered them! O my God, when the foul smells, the
faint light of that dreadful place, struck on my senses, I waxed very
weak. The coarse looks of the jailers, the disgusting food set before
us, the filthy pallets, awoke in me a loathing I could not repress.
And then a fear also, which the sense of my former presumption did
awaken. "Let he that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall,"
kept running in mine head. I had said, like St. Peter, that I was
ready for to go to prison and to death; and now, peradventure, I
should betray my Lord if too great pain overtook me. Muriel saw me
wringing mine hands; and, sitting down by my side on the rude
mattress, she tried for to comfort me. Then, in that hour of bitter
anguish, I learnt that creature's full worth. Who should have thought,
who did not then hear her, what stores of superhuman strength, of
heavenly knowledge, of divine comfort, should have flowed from her
lips? Then I perceived the value of a wholly detached heart,
surrendered to God alone. Young as she was, her soul was as calm in
this trial as that of the aged resigned woman which shared it with us.
Mine was tempest-tossed for a while. I could but lie mine head on
Muriel's knee and murmur, "Basil, O Basil!" or else, "If, after all, I
should prove an apostate, which hath so despised others for it!"

"'Tis good to fear," she whispered, "but withal to trust. Is it not
written, mine own Constance, 'My strength is sufficient for thee?' and
who saith this but the Author of all strength--he on whom the whole
world doth rest? He permitteth this fear in thee for humility's sake,
which lesson thou hast need to learn. When that of courage is needed,
be not affrighted; he will give it thee. He bestoweth not graces
before they be needed."


Then she minded me of little St. Agnes, and related passages of her
life; but mostly spoke of the cross and the passion of Christ, in such
piercing and moving tones, as if visibly beholding the scene on
Calvary, that the storm seemed to subside in my breast as she went on.

"Pray," she gently said, "that, if it be God's will, the extremity of
human suffering should fall on thee, so that thy love for him should
increase. Pray that no human joy may visit thee again, so that heaven
may open its gates to thee and thy loved ones. Pray for Hubert, for
the queen, for Topcliffe, for every human soul which thou hast ever
been tempted to hate; and I promise thee that a great peace shall
steal over thy soul, and a great strength shall lift thee up."

I did what she desired, and her words were prophetic. Peace came
before long, and joy too, of a strange unearthly sort. A brief
foretaste of heaven was showed forth in the consolations then poured
into mine heart. When since I have desired for to rekindle fervor and
awaken devotion, I recall the hours which followed that great anguish
in the cell at Newgate.

Late in the evening an order came for to release Muriel and me, but
not Mrs. Wells. When this dear friend understood what had occurred,
she raised her hands in fervent gratitude to God, and dismissed us
with many blessings.

The events which, followed I will briefly relate. When we reached home
Mr. Congleton was very sick; and then began the illness which ended
his life. Kate was almost wild with grief at her husband's danger, and
we fetched her and her children to her father's house for to watch
over them. On the next day all the prisoners which had been taken at
Mr. Wells's house (we only having been released by the dealings of
friends with the chief secretary) were examined by Justice Young, and
returned to prison to take their trials the next session. Mr. Wells,
at his return finding his house ransacked and his wife carried away to
prison, had been forthwith to Mr. Justice Young for to expostulate
with him, and to demand his wife and the key of his lodgings; but the
justice sent him to bear the rest company, with a pair of iron bolts
on his legs. The next day he examined him in Newgate; and upon Mr.
Wells saying he was not privy to the mass being said that day in his
house, but wished he had been present, thinking his name highly
honored by having so divine a sacrifice offered in it, the justice
told him "that though he was not at the feast, he should taste of the
same."

The evening I returned home from the prison a great lassitude overcame
me, and for a few days increased so much, joined with pains in the
head and in the limbs, that I could scarcely think, or so much as
stand. At last it was discerned that I was sickening with the
small-pox, caught, methinks, in the prison; and this was no small
increase to Muriel's trouble, who had to go to and fro from my chamber
to her father's, and was forced to send Kate and her children to the
country to Sir Ralph Ingoldsby's house; but methinks in the end this
proved for the best, for when Mr. Lacy was, with the other prisoners,
found guilty, and condemned to death on the 4th of December, some for
having said, and the others for having heard, mass at Mr. Wells's
house, Kate came to London but for a few hours, to take leave of him,
and Polly's care of her afterward cheered the one sister in her great
but not very lasting affliction, and sobered the other's spirits in a
beneficial manner, for since she hath been a stayer at home, and very
careful of her children and Kate's also, and, albeit very secretly,
doth I hear practise her religion. Mr. Congleton never heard of his
son-in-law and his friend Mr. Wells's danger, the palsy which affected
him having numbed his senses so that he slowly sunk in his grave
without suffering of body or mind. From Muriel I heard the course of
the trial. How many bitter words and scoffs were used by the
judges and others upon the bench, particularly to Edmund Genings,
because of his youth, and that he angered them with his arguments! The
more to make him a scoff to the people, they vested him in a
ridiculous fool's coat which they had found in Mr. Wells's house, and
would have it to be a vestment. It was appointed they should all die
at Tyburn, except Mr. Genings and Mr. Wells, who were to be executed
before Mr. Wells's own door in Gray's Inn Fields, within three doors
of our own lodging. The judges, we were told, after pronouncing
sentence, began to persuade them to conform to the Protestant
religion, assuring them that by so doing they should obtain mercy, but
otherwise they must certainly expect to die. But they all answered
"that they would live and die in the true Roman and Catholic faith,
which they and all antiquity had ever professed, and that they would
by no means go to the Protestant churches, or for one moment think
that the queen could be head of the Church in spirituals." They dealt
most urgently with Edmund Genings in this matter of conformity, giving
him hopes not only of his life, but also of a good living, it he would
renounce his faith; but he remained, God be praised, constant and
resolute; upon which he was thrust into a dark hole within the prison,
where he remained in prayer, without food or sustenance, till the hour
of his death. Some letters we received from him and Mr. Wells, which
have become revered treasures and almost relics in our eyes. One did
write (this was Edmund): "The comforts which captivity bringeth are so
manifold that I have rather cause to thank God highly for his fatherly
dealings with me than to complain of any worldly misery whatsoever.
Custom hath caused that it is no grief to me to be debarred from
company, desiring nothing more than solitude. When I pray, I talk with
God--when I read, he talketh with me; so that I am never alone." And
much more in that strain. Mr. Wells ended his letter thus: "I am bound
with gyves, yet I am unbound toward God, and far better I account it
to have the body bound than the soul to be in bondage. I am threatened
hard with danger of death; but if it be no worse, I will not wish it
to be better. God send me his grace, and then I weigh not what flesh
and blood can do unto me. I have answered to many curious and
dangerous questions, but I trust with good advisements, not offending
my conscience. What will come of it God only knoweth. Through prison
and chains to glory. Thine till death." This letter was addressed to
Basil, with a desire expressed we should read it before it was sent to
him.

On the day before the one of the execution, Kate came to take leave of
her husband. She could not speak for her tears; but he, with his usual
composure, bade her be of good comfort, and that death was no more to
him than to drink off the caudle which stood there ready on his table.
And methinks this indifferency was a joint effect of nature and of
grace, for none had ever seen him hurried or agitated in his life with
any matter whatsoever. And when he rolled Topcliffe down the stairs
and fell with him--for it was he which did this desperate action--his
face was as composed when he rose up again, one of the servants who
had seen the scuffle said, as if he had never so much as stirred from
his study; and in his last speeches before his death it was noticed
that his utterance was as slow and deliberate, and his words as
carefully picked, as at any other time of his life. Ah me! what days
were those when, hardly recovered from my sickness, only enough for to
sit up in an armed-chair and be carried from one chamber to another,
all the talk ministered about me was of the danger and coming death of
these dear friends. I had a trouble of mine own, which I be truly
ashamed to speak of; but in this narrative I have resolved above all
things to be truthful; and if I have ever had  occasion, on the
one hand, to relate what should seem to be to mine own credit, on the
other also I desire to acknowledge my weaknesses and imperfections, of
which what I am about to relate is a notable instance. The small-pox
made me at that time the most deformed person that could be seen, even
after I was recovered; and the first time I beheld my face in a glass,
the horror which it gave me was so great that I resolved Basil should
never be the husband of one whom every person which saw her must needs
be affrighted to look on; but, forecasting he would never give me up
for this reason, howsoever his inclination should rebel against the
kindness of his heart and his true affection for me, I hastily sent
him a letter, in which I said I could give him no cause for the change
which had happened in me, but that I was resolved not to marry him,
acting in my old hasty manner, without thought or prudence. No sooner
had I done so than I grew very uneasy thereat, too late reflecting on
what his suspicions should be of my inconstancy, and what should to
him appear faithless breach of promise.

It grieved me, in the midst of such grave events and noble sufferings,
to be so concerned for mine own trouble; and on the day before the
execution I was sitting musing painfully on the tragedy which was to
be enacted at our own doors as it were, weeping for the dear friends
which were to suffer, and ever and anon chewing the cud of my wilful
undoing of mine own, and it might prove of Basil's, future peace by my
rash letter to him, and yet more rash concealment of my motives.
Whilst I was thus plunged in grief and uneasiness, the door of my
chamber of a sudden opened, and the servant announced Mr. Hubert
Rookwood. I hid my face hastily with a veil, which I now did generally
use, except when alone with Muriel. He came in, and methought a change
had happened in his appearance. He looked somewhat wild and
disordered, and his face flushed as one used to drinking.

"Constance," he said abruptly, "tidings have reached me which would
not suffer me to put off this visit. A man coming from France hath
brought me a letter from Basil, and one directed to you, which he
charged me to deliver into your hands. If it tallies with that which
he doth write to me--and I doubt not it must be so, for his dealings
are always open and honorable, albeit often rash--I must needs hope
for so much happiness from it as I can scarce credit to be possible
after so much suffering."

I stretched out mine hand for Basil's letter. Oh, how the tears gushed
from mine eyes on the reading of it! He had received mine, and having
heard some time before from a friend he did not name of his brother's
passion for me, he never misdoubted but that I had at last yielded to
his solicitations, and given him the love which I withdrew from him.

Never was the nobleness of his nature more evinced than in this
letter; never grief more heartfelt, combined with a more patient
endurance of the overthrow of his sole earthly happiness; never a
greater or more forgiving kindness toward a faithless creature, as he
deemed her, with a lingering care for her weal, whom he must needs
have thought so ill deserving of his love. So much sorrow without
repining, such strict charges not to marry Hubert if he was not a good
Catholic and truly reconciled to the Church. But if he was indeed
changed in this respect, an assent given to this marriage which had
cost him, he said, many tears and many prayers for to write, more than
if with his own heart's blood he had traced the words; but which,
nevertheless, he freely gave, and prayed God to bless us both, if with
a good conscience we could be wedded; and God forbid he should hinder
it, if I had ceased for to love him, and had given to Hubert--who had
already got his birthright--also a more precious treasure, the heart
once his own.


"What doth your brother write to you?" I coldly said; and then Hubert
gave me his letter to read.

Methinks he imagined I concealed my face from some sort of shame; and
God knoweth, had I acted the part he supposed, I might well have
blushed deeper than can be thought of.

This letter was like unto the other--the most touching proof of love
a man could give for a woman. Forgetting himself, my dearest Basil's
only care was my happiness; and firm remonstrances were blended with
touching injunctions to his brother to treasure every hair of the head
of one who was dearer to him than all the world beside, and to do his
duty to God and to her, which if he observed, he should, mindless of
all else, for ever bless him.

When I returned the missive to him, Hubert said, in a faltering voice,
"Now you are free--free to be mine--free before God and man."

"Yea," I answered; "free as the dead, for I am henceforward dead to
all earthly things."

"What!" he cried, startled; "your thinking is not, God shield it, to
be a nun abroad?"

"Nay," I answered; and then, laying my hand on Basil's letter, I said,
"If I had thought to marry you, Hubert; if at this hour I should say I
could love you, I ween you would leave the house affrighted, and never
return to it again."

"Is your brain turned?" he impatiently cried.

"No," I answered quietly, lifting my veil, "my face only is changed."

I had a sort of bitter pleasure in the sight of his surprise. He
turned as pale as any smock.

"Oh, fear not," I said; "my heart hath not changed with my face. I am
not in so merry a mood, God knoweth, as to torment you with any such
apprehensions. My love for Basil is the same; yea, rather at this
hour, after these noble proofs of his love, more great than ever. Now
you can discern why I should write to him I would never marry him."

Hiding his face in his hands, Hubert said, "Would I had not come here
to embitter your pain?"

"You have not added to my sorrow," I answered; "the chalice is indeed
full, but these letters have rather lightened than increased my
sufferings."

Then concealing again my face, I went on, "O Hubert, will you come
here to-morrow morning? Know you the sight which from that window
shall be seen? Hark to that noise! Look out, I pray you, and tell me
what it is."

He did as I bade him, and I marked the shudder he gave. His face, pale
before, had now turned of an ashy hue.

"Is it possible?" he said; "a scaffold in front of that house where we
were wont to meet those old friends! O Constance, are they there to
die?--that brave joyous old man, that kind pious soul his wife?"

"Yea," I answered; "and likewise the friend of my young years, good
holy Edmund Genings, who never did hurt a fly, much less a human
creature. And at Tyburn, Bryan Lacy, my cousin, once your friend, and
Sydney Hodgson, and good Mr. Mason, are to suffer."

Hubert clenched his hands, ground his teeth, and a terrible look shot
through his eyes. I felt affrighted at the passion my words had
awakened.

"Cursed," he cried, in a hoarse voice,--"cursed be the bloody queen
which reigneth in this land! Thrice accursed be the tyrants which hunt
us to death! Tenfold accursed such as lure us to damnation by the foul
baits they do offer to tempt a man to lie to God and to others, to
ruin those he loves, to become loathsome to himself by his mean
crimes! But if one hath been cheated of his soul, robbed of the hope
of heaven, debarred from his religion, thrust into the company of
devils, let them fear him, yea, let them fear him, I say. Revenge is
not impossible. What shall stay the  hand of such a man? What
shall guard those impious tempters if many such should one day league
for to sweep them from earth's face? If one be desperate of this
world's life, he becomes terrible. How should he be to be dreaded who
doth despair of heaven!"

With these wild words, he left me. He was gone ere I could speak.

CHAPTER XXVI.

On the night before the 10th of December neither Muriel nor I retired
to rest. We sat together by the rush-light, at one time saying
prayers, at another speaking together in a low voice. Ever and anon
she went to listen at her father's door, for to make sure he slept,
and then returned to me. The hours seemed to pass slowly; and yet we
should have wished to stay their course, so much we dreaded the first
rays of light presaging the tragedy of the coming day. Before the
first token of it did show, at about five in the morning, the
door-bell rung in a gentle manner.

"Who can be ringing?" I said to Muriel.

"I will go and see," she answered.

But I restrained her, and went, to call one of the servants, who were
beginning to bestir themselves. The man went down, and returned,
bringing me a paper, on which these words were written:

"MY DEAR CONSTANCE--My lord and myself have secretly come to join our
prayers with yours, and, if it should be possible, to receive the
blessing of the holy priest who is about to die, as he passeth by your
house, toward which, I doubt not, his eyes will of a surety turn. I
pray you, therefore, admit us."

I hurried down the stairs, and found Lord and Lady Arundel standing in
the hall; she in a cloak and hood, and he with a slouching hat hiding
his face. Leading them both into the parlor, which looketh on the
street, I had a fire hastily kindled; and for a space her ladyship and
myself could only sit holding each other's hands, our hearts being too
full to speak. After a while I asked her when she had come to London.
She said she had done so very secretly, not to increase the queen's
displeasure against her husband; her majesty's misliking of herself
continuing as great as ever.

"When she visited my lord last year, before his arrest," quoth she,
"on a pane of glass in the dining-room her grace perceived a distich,
writ by me in bygone days with a diamond, and which expressed hopes of
better fortunes."

"I mind it well," I replied. "Did it not run thus?

  'Not seldom doth the sun sink down In brightest light
  Which rose at early dawn disfigured quite outright;
  So shall my fortunes, wrapt so long in darkest night,
  Revive, and show ere long an aspect clear and bright.'"

"Yea," she answered. "And now listen to what her majesty, calling for
a like instrument, wrote beneath:

  'Not seldom do vain hopes deceive a silly heart
  Let all each witless dreams now vanish and depart;
  For fortune shall ne'er shine, I promise thee, on one
  Whose folly hath for aye all hopes thereof undone.'

"We do live," she added, "with a sword hanging over our heads; and it
is meet we should come here this day to learn a lesson how to die when
a like fate shall overtake us. But thou hast been like to die by
another means, my good Constance," her ladyship said, looking with
kindness but no astonishment on my swollen and disfigured face, which
I had not remembered to conceal; grave thoughts, then uppermost,
having caused me to forget it.

"My life," I answered, "God hath mercifully spared; but I have lost
the semblance of my former self."

"Tut, tut!" she replied, "only for a time."

And then we both drew near unto the fire, for we were shivering with
cold. Lord Arundel leant against the chimney, and watched the
timepiece.

"Mistress Wells," he said, "is like, I hear, to be reprieved at the
last moment."

"Alas!" I cried, "nature therein finds relief; yet I know not how much
to rejoice or yet to grieve thereat. For surely she will desire to die
with her husband. And of what good will life be to her if, like some
others, she doth linger for years in prison?"

"Of much good, if God wills her there to spend those years," Muriel
gently said; which words, I ween, were called to mind long afterward
by one who then heard them.

As the hour appointed for the execution approached, we became silent
again, and kneeling down betook ourselves to prayer. At eight o'clock
a crowd began to assemble in the street; and the sound of their feet
as they passed under the window, hurrying toward the scaffold, which
was hung with black cloth, became audible. About an hour afterward
notice was given to us by one of the servants that the sledge which
carried the prisoners was in sight. We rose from our knees and went to
the window. Mr. Wells's stout form and Mr. Genings's slight figure
were then discernible, as they sat bound, with their hands tied behind
their backs. I observed that Mr. Wells smiled and nodded to some one
who was standing amidst the crowd. This person, who was a friend of
his, hath since told me that as he passed he saluted him with these
words: "Farewell, dear companion! farewell, all hunting and hawking
and old pastimes! I am now going a better way." Mistress Wells not
being with them, we perceived that to be true which Lord Arundel had
heard. At that moment I turned round, and missed Muriel, who had been
standing close behind me. I supposed she could not endure this sight;
but, lo and behold, looking again into the street, I saw her threading
her way amongst the crowd as swiftly, lame though she was, as if an
angel had guided her. When she reached the foot of the scaffold, and
took her stand there, her aspect was so composed, serene, and
resolved, that she seemed like an inhabitant of another world suddenly
descended amidst the coarse and brutal mob. She was resolved, I
afterward found, to take note of every act, gesture, and word there
spoken; and by her means I can here set down what mine own ears heard
not, but much of which mine own eyes beheld. As the sledge passed our
door, Mr. Genings, as Lady Arundel had foreseen, turned his head
toward us; and seeing me at the window, gave us, I doubt not, his
blessing; for, albeit he could not raise his chained hand, we saw his
fingers and his lips move. On reaching the gibbet Muriel heard him cry
out with holy Andrew, "O good gibbet, long desired and now prepared
for me, much hath my heart desired thee; and now, joyful and secure, I
come to thee. Receive me, I beseech thee, as the disciple of him that
suffered on the cross!" Being put upon the ladder, many questions were
asked him by some standersby, to which he made clear and distinct
answers. Then Mr. Topcliffe cried out with a loud voice,

"Genings, Genings, confess thy fault, thy papist treason; and the
queen, no doubt, will grant thee pardon!"


To which he mildly answered, "I know not, Mr. Topcliffe, in what I
have offended my dear anointed princess; if I have offended her or any
other person in anything, I would willingly ask her and all the world
forgiveness. If she be offended with me without a cause, for
professing my faith and religion, or because I am a priest, or because
I will not turn minister against my conscience, I shall be, I trust,
excused and innocent before God. 'We must obey God,' saith St. Peter,
'rather than men;' and I must not in this case acknowledge a fault
where there is none. If to return to England a priest, or to say mass,
is popish treason, I here do confess I am a traitor. But I think not
so; and therefore I acknowledge myself guilty of these things not with
repentance and sorrow of heart, but with an open protestation of
inward joy that I have done so good deeds, which, if they were to do
again, I would, by the permission and assistance of God, accomplish
the same, though with the hazard of a thousand lives."

Mr. Topcliffe was very angry at this speech, and hardly gave him time
to say an "Our Father" before he ordered the hangman to turn the
ladder. From that moment I could not so much as once again look toward
the scaffold. Lady Arundel and I drew back into the room, and clasping
each other's hands, kept repeating, "Lord, help him! Lord, assist him!
Have mercy on him, O Lord!" and the like prayers.

We heard Lord Arundel exclaim, "Good God! the wretch doth order the
rope to be cut!" Then avoiding the sight, he also drew back and
silently prayed. What followeth I learnt from Muriel, who never lost
her senses, though she endured, methinks, at that scaffold's foot as
much as any sufferer upon it. Scarcely or not at all stunned, Mr.
Genings stood on his feet with his eyes raised to heaven, till the
hangman threw him down on the block where he was to be quartered.
After he was dismembered, she heard him utter with a loud voice, "Oh,
it smarts!" and Mr. Wells exclaim, "Alas! sweet soul, thy pain is
great indeed, but almost past. Pray for me now that mine may come."
Then when his heart was being plucked out, a faint dying whisper
reached her ear, "Sancte Gregori, ora pro me!" and then the voice of
the hangman crying, "See, his heart is in mine hand, and yet Gregory
in his mouth! O egregious papist!"

I marvel how she lived through it; but she assured us she was never
even near unto fainting, but stood immovable, hearing every sound,
listening to each word and groan, printing them on the tablet of her
heart, wherein they have ever remained as sacred memories.

Mr. Wells, so far from being terrified by the sight of his friend's
death, expressed a desire to have his own hastened; and, like unto Sir
Thomas More, was merry to the last; for he cried, "Despatch, despatch,
Mr. Topcliffe! Be you not ashamed to suffer an old man to stand here
so long in his shirt in the cold? I pray God make you of a Saul a
Paul, of a persecutor a Catholic." A murmur, hoarse and loud, from the
crowd apprised us when all was over.

"Where is Muriel?" I cried, going to the window. Thence I beheld a
sight which my pen refuseth to describe--the sledge which was
carrying away the mangled remains of those dear friends which so short
a time before we had looked upon alive! Like in a dream I saw this
spectacle; for the moment afterward I fainted. Many persons were
running after the cart, and Muriel keeping pace with what to others
would have been a sight full of horror, but to her were only relics of
the saintly dead. She followed, heedless of the mob, unmindful of
their jeers, intent on one aim--to procure some portion of those
sacred remains, which she at last achieved in an incredible manner;
one finger of Edmund Genings's hand, which she laid hold of, remaining
in hers. This secured, she hastened home, bearing away this her
treasure.


When I recovered from a long swoon, she was standing on one side of me
and Lady Arundel on the other. Their faces were very pale, but
peaceful; and when remembrance returned, I also felt a great and quiet
joy diffused in mine heart, such as none, I ween, could believe in who
have not known the like. For a while all earthly cares left me; I
seemed to soar above this world. Even Basil I could think of with a
singular detachment. It seemed as if angels were haunting the house,
whispering heavenly secrets. I could not so much as think on those
blessed departed souls without an increase of this joy sensibly
inflaming my heart.

After Lady Arundel had left us, which she did with many loving words
and tender caresses, Muriel and I conversed long touching the future.
She told me that when her duty to her father should end with his life,
she intended to fulfil the vow she long ago had made to consecrate
herself wholly to God in holy religion, and go beyond the seas, to
become a nun of the order of St. Augustine.

"May I not leave this world?" I cried; "may I not also, forgetting all
things else, live for God alone?"

A sweet sober smile illumined Muriel's face as she answered, "Yea, by
all means serve God, but not as a nun, good Constance. Thine I take to
be the mere shadow of a vocation, if even so much as that. A cloud
hath for a while obscured the sunshine of thy hopes and called up this
shadow; but let this thin vapor dissolve, and no trace shall remain of
it. Nay, nay, sweet one, 'tis not chafed, nor yet, except in rare
instances, riven hearts which God doth call to this special
consecration--rather whole ones, nothing or scantily touched by the
griefs and joys which this world can afford. But I warrant thee--nay,
I may not warrant," she added, checking herself, "for who can of a
surety forecast what God's designs should be? But I think thou wilt
be, before many years have past, a careful matron, with many children
about thy apron-strings to try thy patience."

"O Muriel," I answered, "how should this be? I have made my bed, and I
must lie on it. Like a foolish creature, unwittingly, or rather
rashly, I have deceived Basil into thinking I do not love him; and if
my face should yet recover its old fairness, he shall still think mine
heart estranged."

Muriel shook her head, and said more entangled skeins than this one
had been unravelled. The next day she resumed her wonted labors in the
prisons and amongst the poor. Having procured means of access to
Mistress Wells, she carried to her the only comfort she could now
taste--the knowledge of her husband's holy, courageous end, and the
reports of the last words he did utter. Then having received a charge
thereunto from Mr. Genings, she discovered John Genings's place of
residence, and went to tell him that the cause of his brother's coming
to London was specially his love for him; that his only regret in
dying had been that he was executed before he could see him again, or
commend him to any friend of his own, so hastened was his death.

But this much-loved brother received her with a notable coldness; and
far from bewailing the untimely and bloody end of his nearest kinsman,
he betrayed some kind of contentment at the thought that he was now
rid of all the persuasions which he suspected he should otherwise have
received from him touching religion.

About a fortnight afterward Mr. Congleton expired. Alas! so
troublesome were the times, that to see one, howsoever loved, sink
peacefully into the grave, had not the same sadness which usually
belongs to the like haps.

Muriel had procured a priest for to give him extreme unction--one Mr.
Adams, a friend of Mr. Wells, who had sometimes said mass in his
house. He also secretly came for to perform the funeral rites before
his burial in the cemetery of St. Martin's church.


When we returned home that day after the funeral, this reverend
gentleman asked us if we had heard any report touching the brother of
Mr. Genings; and on our denial, he said, "Talk is ministered amongst
Catholics of his sudden conversion."

"Sudden, indeed, it should be," quoth Muriel; "for a more indifferent
listener to an afflicting message could not be met with than he proved
himself when I carried to him Mr. Genings's dying words."

"Not more sudden," quoth Mr. Adams, "than St. Paul's was, and
therefore not incredible."

Whilst we were yet speaking, a servant came in, and said a young
gentleman was at the door, and very urgent for to see Muriel.

"Tell him," she said, raising her eyes, swollen with tears, "that I
have one hour ago buried my father, and am in no condition to see
strangers."

The man returned with a paper, on which these words were written:

"A penitent and a wanderer craveth to speak with you. If you shed
tears, his do incessantly flow. If you weep for a father, he grieveth
for one better to him than ten fathers. If your plight is sad, his
should be desperate, but for God's great mercy and a brother's prayers
yet pleading for him in heaven as once upon earth.
    "JOHN GENINGS."

"Heavens!" Muriel cried, "it is this changed man, this Saul become a
Paul, which stands at the door and knocks. Bring him in swiftly; the
best comfort I can know this day is to see one who awhile was lost and
is now found."

When John Genings beheld her and me, he awhile hid his face in his
hands, and seemed unable to speak. To break this silence Mr. Adams
said, "Courage, Mr. Genings; your holy brother rejoiceth in heaven
over your changed mind, and further blessings still, I doubt not, he
shall yet obtain for you."

Then this same John raised his head, and with as great and touching
sorrow as can be expressed, after thanking this unknown speaker for
his comfortable words, he begged of Muriel to relate to him each
action and speech in the dying scene she had witnessed; and when she
had ended this recital, with the like urgency he moved me to tell him
all I could remember of his brother's young years, all my father had
written of his life and virtues at college, all which we had heard of
his labors since he had come into the country, and lastly, in a manner
most simple and affecting, we all entreating him thereunto, he made
this narrative, addressing himself chiefly to Muriel:

"You, madam, are acquainted with what was the hardness of mine heart
and cruel indifference to my brother's fate; with what disdain I
listened to you, with what pride I received his last advice. But about
ten days after his execution, toward night, having spent all that day
in sports and jollity, being weary with play, I resorted home to
repose myself. I went into a secret chamber, and was no sooner there
sat down, but forthwith my heart began to be heavy, and I weighed how
idly I had spent that day. Amidst these thoughts there was presently
represented to me an imagination and apprehension of the death of my
brother, and, amongst other things, how he had not long before
forsaken all worldly pleasure, and for the sake of his religion alone
endured dreadful torments. Then within myself I made long discourses
concerning his manner of living and mine own; and finding the one to
embrace pain and mortification, and the other to seek pleasure--the
one to live strictly, and the other licentiously--I was struck with
exceeding terror and remorse. I wept bitterly, desiring God to
illuminate mine understanding, that I might see and perceive the
truth. Oh, what great joy and consolation did I feel at  that
instant! What reverence on the sudden did I begin to bear to the
Blessed Virgin and to the Saints of God, which before I had never
scarcely so much as heard of! What strange emotions, as it were
inspirations, with exceeding readiness of will to change my religion,
took possession of my soul! and what heavenly conception had I then of
my brother's felicity! I imagined I saw him--I thought I heard him. In
this ecstasy of mind I made a vow upon the spot, as I lay prostrate on
the ground, to forsake kindred and country, to find out the true
knowledge of Edmund's faith. Oh, sir," he ended by saying, turning to
Mr. Adams, which he guessed to be a priest, "think you not my brother
obtained for me in heaven what on earth he had not obtained? for here
I am become a Catholic in faith without persuasion or conference with
any one man in the world?"

"Ay, my good friend," Mr. Adams replied; "the blood of martyrs will
ever prove the seed of the Church. Let us then, in our private
prayers, implore the suffrages of those who in this country do lose
their lives for the faith, and take unto ourselves the words of
Jeremiah: 'O Lord, remember what has happened unto us. Behold and see
our great reproach; our inheritance is gone to strangers, our houses
to aliens. We are become as children without a father, our mothers are
made as it were widows.'"

These last words of Holy Writ brought to mine own mind private
sorrows, and caused me to shed tears. Soon after John Genings departed
from England without giving notice to us or any of his friends, and
went beyond seas to execute his promise. I have heard that he has
entered the holy order of St. Francis, and is seeking to procure a
convent of that religion at Douay, in hopes of restoring the English
Franciscan province, of which it is supposed he will be first
provincial. Report doth state him to be an exceeding strict and holy
religious, and like to prove an instrument in furnishing the English
mission with many zealous and apostolical laborers.

Muriel and I were solitary in that great city where so many
misfortunes had beset us; she with her anchor cast where her hopes
could not be deceived; I by mine own folly like unto a ship at sea
without a chart. Womanly reserve, mixed, I ween, with somewhat of
pride, restraining me from writing to Basil, though, as my face
improved each day, I deplored my hasty folly, and desired nothing so
much as to see him again, when, if his love should prove unchanged
(shame on that word _if!_ which my heart disavowed), we should be as
heretofore, and the suffering I had caused him and endured myself
would end. But how this might happen I foresaw not; and life was sad
and weary while so much suspense lasted.

Muriel would not forsake me while in this plight; but although none
could have judged it from her cheerful and amiable behavior, I well
knew that she sighed for the haven of a religions home, and grieved to
keep her from it. After some weeks spent in this fashion, with very
little comfort, I was sitting one morning dismally forecasting the
future, writing letter after letter to Basil, which still I tore up
rather than send them--for I warrant you it was no easy matter for to
express in writing what I longed to say. To tell him the cause of my
breaking our contract was so much as to compel him to the performance
of it; and albeit I was no longer so ill-favored as at the first, yet
the good looks I had before my sickness had by no means wholly
returned. Sometimes I wrote: "Your thinking, dear Basil, that I do
affection any but yourself is so false and injurious an imagination,
that I cannot suffer you to entertain it. Be sure I never can and
never shall love any but you; yet, for all that, I cannot marry you."
Then effacing this last sentence, which verily belied my true desire,
I would write another: "Methinks if you should see me now, yourself
would not wish otherwise than to dissolve a contract  wherein
your contentment should be less than it hath been." And then thinking
this should be too obscure, changed it to--"In sooth, dear Basil, my
appearance is so altered that you would yourself, I ween, not desire
for to wed one so different from the Constance you have seen and
loved." But pride whispered to restrain this open mention of my
suspicious fears of his liking me less for my changed face; yet
withal, conscience reproved this misdoubt of one whose affection had
ever shown itself to be of the nobler sort, which looketh rather to
the qualities of the heart and mind than to the exterior charms of a
fair visage.

Alas! what a torment doth perplexity occasion. I had let go my pen,
and my tears were falling on the paper, when Muriel opened the door of
the parlor.

"What is it?" I cried, hiding my face with mine hand that she should
not see me weeping.

"A letter from Lady Arundel," she answered.

I eagerly took it from her; and on the reading of it found it
contained an urgent request from her ladyship, couched in most
affectionate terms, and masking the kindness of its intent under a
show of entreating, as a favor to herself that I would come and reside
with her at Arundel Castle, where she greatly needed the solace of a
friend's company, during her lord's necessary absences.

  "Mine own dear, good Constance," she wrote, "come to me quickly. In
  a letter I cannot well express all the good you will thus do to me.
  For mine own part, I would fain say come to me until death shall
  part us. But so selfish I would not be; yet prithee come until such
  time as the clouds which have obscured the fair sky of thy future
  prospects have passed away, and thy Basil's fortunes are mended; for
  I will not cease to call him thine, for all that thou hast thyself
  thrust a spoke in a wheel which otherwise should have run smoothly,
  for the which thou art now doing penance: but be of good cheer; time
  will bring thee shrift. Some kind of comfort I can promise thee in
  this house, greater than I dare for to commit to paper. Lose no time
  then. From thy last letter methinks the gentle turtle-dove at whose
  side thou dost now nestle hath found herself a nest whereunto she
  longeth to fly. Let her spread her wings thither, and do thou hasten
  to the shelter of these old walls and the loving faithful heart of
  thy poor friend,
  "ANNE ARUNDEL AND SURREY."

Before a fortnight was overpast Muriel and I had parted; she for her
religious home beyond seas, I for the castle of my Lord Arundel,
whither I travelled in two days, resting on my way at the pleasant
village of Horsham. During the latter part of the journey the road lay
through a very wild expanse of down; but as soon as I caught sight of
the sea my heart bounded with joy; for to gaze on its blue expanse
seemed to carry me beyond the limits of this isle to the land where
Basil dwelt. When I reached the castle, the sight of the noble gateway
and keep filled me with admiration; and riding into the court thereof,
I looked with wonder on the military defences bristling on every side.
But what a sweet picture smiled from one of the narrow windows over
above the entrance-door!--mine own loved friend, yet fairer in her
matronly and motherly beauty than even in her girlhood's loveliness,
holding in her arms the pretty bud which had blossomed on a noble tree
in the time of adversity. Her countenance beamed on me like the
morning sun's; and my heart expanded with joy when, half-way up the
stairs which led to her chamber, I found myself inclosed in her arms.
She led me to a settle near a cheerful fire, and herself removed my
riding-cloak, my hat and veil, stroked my cheek with two of her
delicate white fingers, and said with a smile,

"In sooth, my dear Constance, thou art an arrant cheat."

"How so, most dear lady?" I said, likewise smiling.


"Why, thou art as comely as ever I thee; which, after all the torments
inflicted on poor Master Rookwood by thy prophetical vision of an
everlasting deformity, carefully concealed from him under the garb of
a sudden fit of inconstancy, is a very nefarious injustice. Go to, go
to; if he should see thee now, he never would believe but that that
management of thine was a cunning device for to break faith with him."

"Nay, nay," I cried; "if I should be ever so happy, which I deserve
not, for to see him again, there could never be for one moment a
mistrust on his part of a love which is too strong and too fond for
concealment. If the feebleness of sickness had not bred unreasonable
fears, methinks I should not have been guilty of so great a folly as
to think he would prize less what he was always wont most to treasure
far above their merits--the heart and mind of his poor Constance
--because the casket which held them had waxed unseemly. But when the
day shall come in which Basil and I may meet, God only knoweth. Human
foresight cannot attain to this prevision."

Lady Arundel's eyes had a smiling expression then which surprised me.
For mine own heart was full when I thus spoke, and I was wont to meet
in her with a more quick return of the like feelings I expressed than
at that time appeared. Slight inward resentments, painfully, albeit
not angrily, entertained, I was by nature prone to; and in this case
the effect of this impression suddenly checked the joy which at my
first arrival I had experienced. O, how much secret discipline should
be needed for to rule that little unruly kingdom within us, which many
look not into till serious rebellions do arise, which need fire and
sword to quell them for lack of timely repression! Her ladyship set
before me some food, and constrained me to eat, which I did merely for
to content her. She appeared to me somewhat restless: beginning a
sentence, and then breaking off suddenly in the midst thereof; going
in and out of the chamber; laughing at one time, and then seeming as
if about to weep. "When I had finished eating, and a servant had
removed the dishes, she sat down by my side and took my hand in hers.
Then the tears truly began to roll down her cheeks.

"O, for God's sake, what aileth you, dearest lady?" I said, uneasily
gazing on her agitated countenance.

"Nothing ails me," she answered; "only I fear to frighten thee, albeit
in a joyful manner."

"Frightened with joy!" I sadly answered. "O, that should be a rare
fright, and an unwonted one to me of late."

"Therefore," she said, smiling through her tears, "peradventure the
more to be feared."

"What joy do you speak of? I pray you, sweet lady, keep me not in
suspense."

"If, for instance," she said in a low voice, pressing my hands very
hard,--"if I was to tell thee Constance, that thy Basil was here,
shouldst thou not be affrighted?"

Methinks I must have turned very white; leastways, I began to tremble.

"Is he here?" I said, almost beside myself with the fearful hope her
words awoke.

"Yea," she said. "Since three days he is here."

For a moment I neither spoke nor moved.

"How comes it about? how doth it happen?" I began to say; but a
passion of tears choked my utterance. I fell into her arms, sobbing on
her breast; for verily I had no power to restrain myself. I heard her
say, "Master Rookwood, come in." Then, after those sad long weary
years, I again heard his cheerful voice; then I saw his kind eyes
speaking what words could never have uttered, or one-half so well
expressed. Then I felt the happiness which is most like,  I ween,
of any on earth to that of heaven: after long parting, to meet again
one intensely loved--each heart overflowing with an unspoken joy and
with an unbounded thankfulness to God. Amazement did so fill me at
this unlooked-for good, that I seemed content for a while to think of
it as of a dream, and only feared to be awoke. But oh, with how many
sweet tears of gratitude--with what bursts of wonder and admiration--I
soon learnt how Lady Arundel had formed this kind plot, to which
Muriel had been privy, for to bring together parted lovers, and
procure to others the happiness she so often lacked herself--the
company of the most loved person in the world. She had herself written
to Basil, and related the cause of my apparent change; a cause, she
said, at no time sufficient for to warrant a desperate action, and
even then passing away. But that had it forever endured, she was of
opinion his was a love would survive any such accident as touched only
the exterior, when all else was unimpaired. She added, that when Mr.
Congleton, who was then at the point of death, should have expired,
and Muriel gone beyond seas to fulfil her religious intent, she would
use all the persuasion in her power to bring me to reside with her,
which was the thing she most desired in the world; and that if he
should think it possible under another name for to cross the seas and
land at some port in Sussex, he should be the welcomest guest
imaginable at Arundel Castle, if even, like St. Alexis, he should hide
his nobility under the garb of rags, and come thither begging on foot;
but yet she hoped, for his sake, it should not so happen, albeit
nothing could be more honorable if the cause was a good one. It needed
no more inducement than what this letter contained for to move Basil
to attempt this secret return. He took the name of Martingale, and
procured a passage in a small trading craft, which landed him at the
port of a small town named Littlehampton, about three or four miles
from Arundel. Thence he walked to the castle, where the countess
feigned him to be a leech sent by my lord to prescribe remedies for a
pain in her head, which she was oftentimes afflicted with, and as such
entertained him in the eyes of strangers as long as he continued
there, which did often move us to great merriment; for some of the
neighbors which she was forced to see, would sometimes ask for to
consult the countess's physician; and to avoid misdoubts, Basil once
or twice made up some innocent compounds, which an old gentleman and a
maiden lady in the town vowed had cured them, the one of a fit of the
gout, and the other of a very sharp disorder in her stomach. But to
return to the blissful first day of our meeting, one of the happiest I
had yet known; for a paramount affection doth so engross the heart,
that other sorrows vanish in its presence like dewdrops in the
sunshine. I can never forget the smallest particle of its many joys.
The long talk between Basil and me, first in Lady Arundel's chamber,
and then in the gallery of the castle, walking up and down, and when I
was tired, I sitting and he standing by the window which looked on the
fair valley and silvery river Arun, running toward the sea, through
pleasant pastures, with woody slopes on both sides, a fair and a
peaceful scene; fair and peaceful as the prospect Basil unfolded to me
that day, if we could but once in safety cross the seas; for his
debtors had remitted to him in France the moneys which they owed him,
and he had purchased a cottage in a very commodious village near the
town of Boulogne-sur-Mer, with an apple-orchard and a garden stored
with gay flowers and beehives, and a meadow with two large
walnut-trees in it. "And then bethink thee," he added, "mine own dear
love, that right in front of this fine mansion doth stand the parish
church, where God is worshipped in a Catholic manner in  peace
and freedom; and nothing greater or more weighty need, methinks, to be
said in its praise."

I said I thought so too, and that the picture he drew of it liked me
well.

"But," quoth Basil suddenly, "I must tell thee, sweetheart, I liked
not well thy behavior touching thine altered face, and the misleading
letter thou didst send me at that time. No!" he exclaimed with great
vehemency, "it mislikes me sorely that thou shouldst have doubted my
love and faith, and dealt with me so injuriously. If I was now by some
accident disfigured, I must by that same token expect thine affection
for me should decay."

"O Basil!" I cried, "that would be an impossible thing!"

"Wherefore impossible?" he replied; "you thought such a change
possible in me?"

"Because," I said, smiling,  "women are the most constant creatures in
the world, and not fickle like unto men, or so careful of a good
complexion in others, or a fine set of features."

"Tut, tut!" he cried, "I do admire that thou shouldst dare to utter so
great a . . . ." then he stopped, and, laughing, added, "the last half
of Raleigh's name, as the queen's bad riddle doth make it."  [Footnote 5]

  [Footnote 5: "The bane of the stomach, and the word of disgrace.
  Is the name of the gentleman with the bold."]

Well, much talk of this sort was ministered between us; but albeit I
find pleasure in the recalling of it, methinks the reading thereof
should easily weary others; so I must check my pen, which, like unto a
garrulous old gossip, doth run on, overstepping the limits of
discretion.


CHAPTER XXVII.

Before I arrived, Lady Arundel had made Basil privy to a great secret,
with warrant to impart it to me. In a remote portion of the castle's
buildings was concealed at that time Father Southwell, a man who had
not his like for piety and good parts; a sweet poet also, whose pieces
of verse, chiefly written in that obscure chamber in Arundel Castle,
have been since done into print, and do win great praise from all
sorts of people. Adjoining to his room, which only one servant in the
house, who carried his meals to him, had knowledge of, and from which
he could not so much as once look out of the window for fear of being
seen, was a small oratory where he said mass every day, and by a
secret passage Lady Arundel went from her apartments for to hear it.
That same evening after supper she led me thither for to get this good
priest's blessing, and also his counsel touching my marriage; for both
her ladyship and Basil were urgent for it to take place in a private
manner at the castle before we left England. For, they argued, if
there should be danger in this departure, it were best encountered
together; and except we were married it should be an impossible thing
for me to travel in his company and land with him in France. Catholics
could be married in a secret manner now that the needs of the times,
and the great perils many were exposed to, gave warrant for it. After
some talk with Father Southwell and Lady Arundel, I consented to their
wishes with more gladness of heart, I ween, than was seemly to
exhibit; for verily I was better contented than can be thought of to
think I should be at last married to my dear Basil, and nevermore to
part from him, if it so pleased God that we should land safely in
France, which did seem to me then the land of promise.

The next days were spent in forecasting means for a safe departure, as
soon as these secret nuptials should have taken place; but none had
been yet resolved on, when one morning I was called to Lady Arundel's
chamber, whom I found in tears and greatly disturbed, for that she had
heard from Lady Margaret Sackville, who  was then in London, that
Lord Arundel was once more resolved to leave the realm, albeit Father
Edmunds did dissuade him from that course; but some other friend's
persuasions were more availing, and he had determined to go to France,
where he might live in safety and serve God quietly.

My lady's agitation at this news was very great. She said nothing
should content her but to go with him, albeit she was then with child;
and she should write to tell him so; but before she could send a
letter Lord Arundel came to the castle, and held converse for many
hours with her and Father Southwell. When I met her afterward in the
gallery, her eyes were red with weeping. She said my lord desired to
see Basil and me in her chamber at nine of the clock. He wished to
speak with us of his resolve to cross the seas, and she prayed God
some good should arise out of it. Then she added, "I am now going to
the chapel, and if thou hast nothing of any weight to detain thee,
then come thither also, for to join thy prayers with mine for the
favorable issue of a very doubtful matter."

When we repaired to her ladyship's chamber at the time appointed, my
lord greeted us in an exceeding kind manner; and after some talk
touching Basil's secret return to England, our marriage, and then as
speedy as possible going abroad, his lordship said: "I also am
compelled to take a like course, for my evil-willers are resolved to
work my ruin and overthrow, and will succeed therein by means of my
religion. Many actions which at the outset may seem rash and
unadvised, after sufficient consideration do appear to be just and
necessary; and, methinks, my dearest wife and Father Southwell are now
minded to recommend what at first they misliked, and to see that in
this my present intent I take the course which, though it imperils my
fortunes, will tend to my soul's safety and that of my children. Since
I have conceived this intent, I thank God I have found a great deal
more quietness in my mind; and in this respect I have just occasion to
esteem my past troubles as my greatest felicity, for they have been
the means of leading me to that course which ever brings perfect
quietness, and only procures eternal happiness. I am resolved, as my
dear Nan well knoweth, to endure any punishment rather than willingly
to decline from what I have begun; I have bent myself as nearly as I
could to continue in the same, and to do no act repugnant to my faith
and profession. And by means hereof I am often compelled to do many
things which may procure peril to myself, and be an occasion of
mislike to her majesty. For, look you, on the first day of this
parliament, when the queen was hearing of a sermon in the cathedral
church of Westminster, above in the chancel, I was driven to walk by
myself below in one of the aisles; and another day this last Lent,
when she was hearing another sermon in the chapel at Greenwich, I was
forced to stay all the while in the presence-chamber. Then also when
on any Sunday or holyday her grace goes to her great closet, I am
forced either to stay in the privy chamber, and not to wait upon her
at all, or else presently to depart as soon as I have brought her to
the chapel. These things, and many more, I can by no means escape, but
only by an open plain discovery of myself, in the eye and opinion of
all men, as to the true cause of my refusal; neither can it now be
long hidden, although for a while it may not have been generally noted
and observed."

Lady Arundel sighed and said:

"I must needs confess that of necessity it must shortly be discovered;
and when I remember what a watchful and jealous eye is carried over
all such as are known to be recusants, and also how their lodgings are
continually searched, and to how great danger they are subject if a
Jesuit or seminary priest be found within their house, I begin to see
that either you cannot serve God in such  sort as you have
professed, or else you must incur the hazard of greater sufferings
than I am willing you should endure."

"For my part," Basil said, "I would ask, my lord, those that hate you
most, whether being of the religion which you do profess, they would
not take that course for safety of their souls and discharge of their
consciences which you do now meditate? And either they must directly
tell you that they would have done the same, or acknowledge themselves
to be mere atheists; which, howsoever they be affected in their
hearts, I think they would be loth to confess with their mouths."

"What sayest thou, Constance, of my lord's intent?" Lady Arundel said,
when Basil left off speaking.

"I am ashamed to utter my thinking in his presence, and in yours,
dearest lady," I replied; "but if you command me to it, methinks that
having had his house so fatally and successfully touched, and finding
himself to be of that religion which is accounted dangerous and odious
to the present state, which her majesty doth detest, and of which she
is most jealous and doubtful, and seeing he might now be drawn for his
conscience into a great and continual danger, not being able to do any
act or duty whereunto his religion doth bind him without incurring the
danger of felony, he must needs run upon his death headlong, which is
repugnant to the law of God and flatly against conscience, or else he
must resolve to escape these perils by the means he doth propose."

"Yea," exclaimed his lordship, with so much emotion that his voice
shook in the utterance of the words, "long have I debated with myself
on the course to take. I do see it to be the safest way to depart out
of the realm, and abide in some other place where I may live without
danger of my conscience, without offence to the queen, without daily
peril of my life; but yet I was drawn by such forcible persuasions to
be of another opinion, as I could not easily resolve on which side to
settle my determination. For on the one hand my native, and oh how
dearly loved country, my own early friends, my kinsfolk, my home, and,
more than all, my wife, which I must for a while part with if I go, do
invite me to stay. Poverty awaits me abroad; but in what have state
and riches benefited us, Nan? Shall not ease of heart and freedom from
haunting fears compensate for vain wealth? When, with the sweet
burthen in thine arms which for a while doth detain thee here, thou
shalt kneel before God's altar in a Catholic land, methinks thou wilt
have but scanty regrets for the trappings of fortune."

"God is my witness," the sweet lady replied, "that should be the
happiest day of my life. But I fear--yea, much I do fear--the chasm
of parting which doth once more open betwixt thee and me. Prithee,
Phil, let me go with thee," she tearfully added.

"Nay, sweet Nan," he answered; "thou knowest the physicians forbid thy
journeying at the present time so much as hence to London. How should
it then behoove thee to run the perils of the sea, and nightly voyage,
and it may be rough usage? Nay, let me behold thee again, some months
hence, with a fair boy in thine arms, which if I can but once behold,
my joy shall be full, if I should have to labor with mine hands for to
support him and thee."

She bowed her head on the hand outstretched to her; but I could see
the anguish with which she yielded her assent to this separation.
Methinks there was some sort of presentiment of the future heightening
her present grief; she seemed so loth her lord should go, albeit
reason and expediency forced from her an unwilling consent.

Before the conversation in Lady Arundel's chamber ended, the earl
proposed that Basil and I should accompany him abroad, and cross the
sea in the craft he should privately  hire, which would sail from
Littlehampton, and carry us to some port of France, whence along the
coast we could travel to Boulogne. This liked her ladyship well. Her
eyes entreated our consent thereunto, as if it should have been a
favor she asked, which indeed was rather a benefit conferred on us;
for nothing would serve my lord but that he should be at the entire
charge of the voyage, who smiling said, for such good company as he
should thus enjoy he should be willing to be taxed twice as much, and
yet consider himself to be the obliged party in this contract.

"But we must be married first," Basil bluntly said.

Lady Arundel replied that Father Southwell could perform the ceremony
when we pleased--yea, on the morrow, if it should be convenient; and
that my lord should be present thereat.

I said this should be very short notice, I thought, for to be married
the next day; upon which Basil exclaimed,

"These be not times, sweetheart, for ceremonies, fashions, and nice
delays. Methinks since our betrothal there hath been sufficient
waiting for to serve the turn of the nicest lady in the world in the
matter of reserves and yeas and nays."

Which is the sharpest thing, I think, Basil hath uttered to me either
before or since we have been married. So, to appease him, I said not
another word against this sudden wedding; and the next day but one, at
nine of the clock, was then fixed for the time thereof.

On the following morning Lord Arundel and Basil (the earl had
conceived a very great esteem and good disposition toward him; as
great, and greater he told me, as for some he had known for as many
years as him hours) went out together, under pretence of shooting in
the woods on the opposite side of the river about Leominster, but
verily to proceed to Littlehampton, where the earl had appointed to
meet the captain of the vessel--a Catholic man, the son of an old
retainer of his family--with whom he had dealt for the hiring of a
vessel for to sail to France as soon as the wind should prove
favorable. Whilst they were gone upon this business, Lady Arundel and
I sat in the chamber which looked into the court, making such simple
preparations as would escape notice for our wedding, and the departure
which should speedily afterward ensue.

"I will not yield thee," her ladyship said, "to be married except in a
white dress and veil, which I shall hide in a chamber nigh unto the
oratory, where I myself will attire thee, dear love; and see, this
morning early I went out alone into the garden and gathered this store
of rosemary, for to make thee a nosegay to wear in thy bosom. Father
Southwell saith it is used at weddings for an emblem of fidelity. If
so, who should have so good a right to it as my Constance and her
Basil? But I will lay it up in a casket, which shall conceal it the
while, and aid to retain the scent thereof."

"O dear lady," I cried, seizing her hands, "do you remember the day
when you plucked rosemary in our old garden at Sherwood, and smiling,
said to me, 'This meaneth remembrance?' Since it signifieth fidelity
also, well should you affection it; for where shall be found one so
faithful in love and friendship as you?"

"Weep not," she said, pressing her fingers on her eyelids to stay her
own tears. "We must needs thank God and be joyful on the eve of thy
wedding-day; and I am resolved to meet my lord also with a cheerful
countenance, so that not in gloom but in hope he shall leave his
native land."

In converse such as this the hours went swiftly by. Sometimes we
talked of the past, its many strange haps and changes; sometimes of
the future, forecasting the manner of our lives abroad, where in
safety, albeit in poverty, we hoped to spend our days. In  the
afternoon there arrived at the castle my Lord William Howard and his
wife and Lady Margaret Sackville, who, having notice of their
brother's intent to go beyond seas on the next day, if it should be
possible, had come for to bid him farewell.

Leaving Lady Arundel in their company, I went to the terrace
underneath the walls of the castle, and there paced up and down,
chewing the cud of both sweet and sad memories. I looked at the soft
blue sky and fleecy clouds, urged along by a westerly breeze
impregnated with a salt savor; on the emerald green of the fields, the
graceful forms of the leafless trees on the opposite hills, on the
cattle peacefully resting by the river-side. I listed to the rustling
of the wind amongst the bare branches over mine head, and the bells of
a church ringing far off in the valley. "O England, mine own England,
my fair native land--am I to leave thee, never to return?" I cried,
speaking aloud, as if to ease my oppressed heart. Then mine eyes
rested on the ruined hospital of the town, the shut-up churches, the
profaned sanctuaries, and thought flying beyond the seas to a Catholic
land, I exclaimed, "The sparrow shall find herself a house, and the
turtle-dove a nest for herself--the altars of the Lord of hosts, my
king and my God."

When Basil returned, he told me that the vessel which was to take us
to France was lying out at sea near the coast. Lord Arundel and
himself had gone in a boat to speak with the captain, who did seem a
particular honest man and zealous Catholic; and the earl had bespoken
some needful accommodation for Mistress Martingale, he said, smiling;
not very commodious, indeed, but as good as on board the like craft
could be expected. If the wind remained in the same quarter in the
afternoon of the morrow, we should then sail; if it should change, so
as to be most unfavorable, the captain should send private notice of
it to the castle.

The whole of that evening the earl spent in writing a letter to her
majesty. He feared that his enemies, after his departure, would, by
their slanderous reports, endeavor to disgrace him with the people,
and cause the queen to have sinister surmises of him. He confided this
letter to the Lady Margaret, his sister, to be delivered unto her
after his arrival in France; by which it might appear, both to her and
all others, what were the true causes which had moved him to undertake
that resolution.

I do often think of that evening in the great chamber of the
castle--the young earl in the vigorous strength and beauty of manhood,
his comely and fair face now bending over his writing, now raised with
a noble and manly grief, as he read aloud portions of it, which,
methinks, would have touched any hearts to hear them; and how much the
more that loving wife, that affectionate sister, that faithful
brother, those devoted friends which seemed to be in some sort
witnesses of his last will before a final parting! I mind me of the
sorrowful, dove-like sweetness of Lady Arundel's countenance; the
flashing eyes of Lady Margaret; the loving expression, veiled by a
studied hardness, of Lord William's face; of his wife my Lady Bess's
reddening cheek and tearful eyes, which she did conceal behind the
coif of her childish namesake sitting on her knees. When he had
finished his letter, with a somewhat moved voice the earl read the
last passages thereof: "If my protestation, who never told your
majesty any untruth, may carry credit in your opinion, I here call God
and his angels to witness that I would not have taken this course if I
might have stayed in England without danger of my soul or peril of my
life. I am enforced to forsake my country, to forget my friends, to
leave my wife, to lose the hope of all worldly pleasures and earthly
commodities. All this is so grievous to flesh and blood, that I could
not desire to live if I  were not comforted with the remembrance
of his mercy for whom I endure all this, who endured ten thousand
times more for me. Therefore I remain in assured hope that myself and
my cause shall receive that favor, conceit, and rightful construction
at your majesty's hands which I may justly challenge. I do humbly
crave pardon for my long and tedious letter, which the weightiness of
the matter enforced me unto; and I beseech God from the bottom of my
heart to send your majesty as great happiness as I wish to mine own
soul."

A time of silence followed the reading of these sentences, and then
the earl said in a cheerful manner:

"So, good Meg, I commit this protestation to thy good keeping. When
thou hearest of my safe arrival in France, then straightway see to
have it placed in the queen's hands."

The rest of the evening was spent in affectionate converse by these
near kinsfolk. Basil and I repaired the while by the secret passage to
Father Southwell's chamber, where we were in turn shriven, and
afterward received from him such good counsel and rules of conduct as
he deemed fitting for married persons to observe. Before I left him,
this good father gave me, writ in his own hand, some sweet verses
which he had that day composed for us, and which I do here transcribe.
He, smiling, said he had made mention of fishes in his poem, for to
pleasure so famous an angler as Basil; and of birds, for that he knew
me to be a great lover of these soaring creatures:

  "The lopped tree in time may grow again.
  Most naked plants renew both fruit and flower;
  The sorest wight may find release of pain.
  The driest soil suck in some moistening shower;
  Times go by turn, and chances change by course.
  From foul to fair, from better hap to worse.

  "The sea of fortune doth not over flow,
  She draws her favors to the lowest ebb;
  Her time hath equal times to come and go.
  Her loom doth weave the fine and coarsest web;
  No joy so great but runneth to an end.
  No hap so hard but may in fine amend.

  "A chance may win that by mischance was lost.
  The well that holds no great, takes little fish;
  In some things all, in all things none are crossed.
  Few all they need, but none have all they wish;
  Unmeddled joys here to no man befal,
  Who least have some, who most have never all.

  "Not always fall of leaf, nor ever spring;
  No endless night, yet not eternal day;
  The saddest birds a season find to sing;
  The roughest storm a calm may soon allay;
  Thus with succeeding turns God tempereth all,
  That man may hope to rise, yet fear to fall."

The common sheet of paper which doth contain this his writing hath a
greater value in mine eyes than the most rich gift that can be thought
of.

On the next morning. Lady Arundel conducted me from mine own chamber,
first into a room where with her own hands she arrayed me in my bridal
dress, and with many tender kisses and caresses, such as a sister or a
mother would bestow, testified her affection for her poor friend; and
thence to the oratory, where the altar was prepared, and by herself in
secret decked with early primroses, which had begun to show in the
woods and neath the hedges. A small but noble company were gathered
round us that day. From pure and holy lips the Church's benison came
to us. The vows we exchanged have been faithfully observed, and long
years have set a seal on the promises then made.

Basil's wife! Oh, what a whole compass of happiness did lie in those
two words! Yea, the waves of the sea might now rage and the winds
blow. The haven might be distant and the way thither insecure. Man's
enmity or accident might yet rob us each of the other's visible
presence. But naught could now sever the cord, strong like unto a
cable chain, which bound our souls in one. Anchored in that wedded
unity, which is one of God's sacraments, till death, ay, and beyond
death also, this tie should last.

We have been young, and now are old. We have lost country, home, and
almost every friend known and affectioned in our young years; but
 that deepest, holiest love, the type of Christ's union with his
Church, still doth shed its light over the evening of life. My dear
Basil, I am assured, thinks me as fair as when we did sit together
fishing on the banks of the Ouse; and his hoary head and withered
cheeks are more lovely in mine eyes than ever were his auburn locks
and ruddy complexion. One of us must needs die before the other,
unless we should be so happy that that good should befal us as to end
our days as two aged married persons I have heard of. It was the
husband's custom, as soon as ever he unclosed his eyes, to ask his
wife how she did; but one night, he being in a deep sleep, she quietly
departed toward the morning. He was that day to have gone out
a-hunting, and it was his custom to have his chaplain pray with him
before he went out. The women, fearful to surprise him with the ill
news, had stolen out and acquainted the chaplain, desiring him to
inform him of it. But the gentleman waking did not on that day, as was
his custom ask for his wife, but called his chaplain to prayers, and,
joining with him, in the midst of the prayer expired, and both were
buried in the same grave. Methinks this should be a very desirable
end, only, if it pleased God, I would wish to have the last
sacraments, and then to die just before Basil, when his time cometh.
But God knoweth best; and any ways we are so old and so near of an
age, one cannot tarry very long behind when the other is gone.

Being at rest after our marriage touching what concerned ourselves,
compassion for Lady Arundel filled our hearts. Alas! how bravely and
how sweetly she bore this parting grief. Her intense love for her
lord, and sorrow at their approaching separation, struggled with her
resolve not to sadden their last hours, which were prolonged beyond
expectancy. For once on that day, and twice on that which followed,
when all was made ready for departure, a message came from the captain
for to say the wind, and another time the tide, would not serve; and
albeit each time, like a reprieved person, Lady Arundel welcomed the
delay, methinks these retardments served to increase her sufferings.
Little Bess hung fondly on her father's neck the last time he returned
from Littlehampton with the tidings the vessel would not sail for some
hours, kissing his face and playing with his beard.

"Ah, dearest Phil!" her mother cried, "the poor babe rejoiceth in the
sight of thee, all unwitting in her innocent glee of the shortness of
this joy. Howsoever, methinks five or six hours of it is a boon for to
thank God for;" and so putting her arm in his, she led him away to a
solitary part of the garden, where they walked to and fro, she, as she
hath since written to me, starting each time the clock did strike,
like one doomed to execution. Methinks there was this difference
between them, that he was full of hope and bright forecastings of a
speedy reunion; but on her soul lay a dead, mournful despondency,
which she hid by an apparent calmness. When, late in the evening, a
third message came for to say the ship could not depart that night, I
begun to think it would never go at all. I saw Basil looked at the
weathercock and shrugged his shoulders, as if the same thought was in
his mind. But when I spake of it, he said seafaring folks had a
knowledge in these matters which others did not possess, and we must
needs be patient under these delays. Howsoever, at three o'clock in
the morning the shipman signified that the wind was fit and all in
readiness. So we rose in haste and prepared for to depart. The
countess put her arms about my neck, and this was the last embrace I
ever had of her. My lord's brother and sisters hung about him awhile
in great grief. Then his wife put out her hands to him, and, with a
sorrow too deep for speech, fixed her eyes on his visage.


"Cheep up, sweetest wife," I heard him say. "Albeit nature suffers in
this severance from my native land, my true home shall be wherever it
shall please God to bring thee and me and our children together. God
defend the loss of this world's good should make us sad, if we be but
once so blessed as to meet again where we may freely serve him."

Then, after a long and tender clasping of her to his breast, he tore
himself away and getting on a horse rode to the coast. Basil and I,
with Mr. William Bray and Mr. Burlace, drove in a coach to the port.
It was yet dark, and a heavy mist hung on the valley. Folks were yet
abed, and the shutters of the houses closed, as we went down the hill
through the town. After crossing the bridge over the Arun the air felt
cold and chill. At the steep ascent near Leominster I put my head out
of the window for to look once more at the castle, but the fog was too
thick. At the port the coach stopped, and a boat was found waiting for
us. Lord Arundel was seated in it, with his face muffled in a cloak.
The savor of the sea air revived my spirits; and when the boat moved
off, and I felt the waves lifting it briskly, and with my hand in
Basil's I looked on the land we were leaving, and then on the watery
world before us, a singular emotion filled my soul, as if it was some
sort of death was happening to me--a dying to the past, a gliding on
to an unknown future on a pathless ocean, rocked peacefully in the
arms of his sheltering love, even as this little bark which carried us
along was lifted up and caressed by the waves of the deep sea.

When we reached the vessel the day was dawning. The sun soon emerged
from a bank of clouds, and threw its first light on the rippling
waters. A favoring wind filled our sails, and like a bird on the wing
the ship bounded on its way till the flat shore at Littlehampton and
the far-off white cliffs to the eastward were well-nigh lost sight of.
Lord Arundel stood with Basil on the narrow deck, gazing at the
receding coast.

"How sweet the air doth blow from England!" he said; "how blue the sky
doth appear to-day! and those saucy seagulls how free and happy they
do look!" Then he noticed some fishing-boats, and with a telescope he
had in his hand discerned various ships very far off. Afterward he
came and sat down by my side, and spoke in a cheerful manner of his
wife and the simple home he designed for her abroad. "Some years ago,
Mistress Constance," he said--and then smiling, added, "My tongue is
not yet used to call you Mistress Rookwood--when my sweet Nan, albeit
a wife, was yet a simple child, she was wont to say, 'Phil, would we
were farmers! You would plough the fields and cut wood in the forest,
and I should milk the cows and feed the poultry.' Well, methinks her
wish may yet come to pass. In Brittany or Normandy some little
homestead should shelter us, where Bess shall roll on the grass and
gather the fallen apples, and on Sundays put on her bravest clothes
for to go to mass. What think you thereof, Mistress Constance? and who
knoweth but you and your good husband may also dwell in the same
village, and some eighteen or twenty years hence a gay wedding for to
take place betwixt one Master Rookwood and one Lady Ann or Margaret
Howard, or my Lord Maltravers with one Mistress Constance or Muriel
Rookwood? And on the green on such a day, Nan and Basil and you and I
should lead the brawls."

"Methinks, my lord," I answered, smiling, "you do forecast too great a
condescension on your part, and too much ambition on our side, in the
planning of such a union."

"Well, well," he said; "if your good husband carrieth not beyond seas
with him the best earl's title in England, I'll warrant you in God's
sight he weareth a higher one far  away--the merit of an
unstained life and constant nobility of action; and I promise you,
beside, he will be the better farmer of the twain; so that in the
matter of tocher, Mistress Rookwood should exceed my Lady Bess or Ann
Howard."

With such-like talk as this time was whiled away; and whilst we were
yet conversing I noticed that Basil spoke often to the captain and
looked for to be watching a ship yet at some distance, but which
seemed to be gaining on us. Lord Arundel, perceiving it, then also
joined them, and inquired what sort of craft it should be. The captain
professed to be ignorant thereof; and when Basil said it looked like a
small ship-of-war, and as there were many dangerous pirates about the
Channel it should be well to guard against it, he assented thereto,
and said he was prepared for defence.

"With such unequal means," Basil replied, "as it is like we should
bring to a contest, speed should serve us better than defence."

"But," quoth Lord Arundel, "she is, 'tis plain, a swifter sailer than
this one we are in. God's will be done, but 'tis a heavy misfortune if
a pirate at this time do attack us, and so few moneys with us for to
spare!"

Now none of our eyes could detach themselves from this pursuing
vessel. The captain eluded further talk, on pretence for to give
orders and move some guns he had aboard on deck; but it was vain for
to think of a handful of men untrained to sea-warfare encountering a
superior force, such as this ship must possess, if its designs should
be hostile. As it moved nigher to us, we could perceive it to be well
manned and armed. And the captain then exclaimed:

"'Tis Keloway's ship!"

This man was of a notorious, infamous life, well known for his
sea-robberies and depredations in the Channel.

"God yield," murmured the earl, "he shall content himself with the
small sum we can deliver to him and not stay us any further."

A moment afterward we were boarded by this man, who, with his crew,
thrice as numerous as ours and armed to the teeth, comes on our deck
and takes possession of the ship. Straightway he walks to the earl and
tells him he doth know him, and had watched his embarkation, being
resolved to follow him and exact a good ransom at his hands, which if
he would pay without contention, he should himself, without further
stop or stay, pass him and his two gentlemen into France, adding, he
should take no less from him than one hundred pounds.

"I have not so much, or near unto it, with me," Lord Arundel said.

"But you can write a word or two to any friend of yours from whom I
may receive it." quoth Keloway.

"Well," said the earl, "seeing I have pressing occasion for to go to
France, and would not be willingly delayed, I must needs consent to
your terms, no choice therein being allowed me. Get me some paper," he
said to Mr. William Bray.

"Should this be prudent, my lord?" Basil whispered in his ear.

"There is no help for it, Master Rookwood," the earl replied. "Beside,
there is honor even amongst thieves. Once secure of his money, this
man hath no interest in detaining us, but rather the contrary."

And without further stopping, he hastily wrote a few lines to his
sister the Lady Margaret Sackville, in London, that she should speak
to Mr. Bridges, _alias_ Grately, a priest, to give one hundred pounds
to the bearer thereof, by the token that was between them, that _black
is white_, and withal assured her that he now certainly hoped to have
speedy passage without impediment. As soon as this paper was put into
Kelloway's hand, he read it, and immediately called on his men for to
arrest the Earl of Arundel, producing an order from the queen's
council for to prove he  was appointed to watch there for him,
and carry him back again to land where her majesty's officers did
await him.

An indescribable anguish seized my heart; an overwhelming grief, such
as methinks no other event, howsoever sad or tragical, or yet more
nearly touching me, had ever wrought in my soul, which I ascribe to a
presentiment that this should be the first link of that long chain of
woes which was to follow.

"O, my lord!" I exclaimed, almost falling at his feet, "God help you
to bear this too heavy blow!"

He took me by the hand; and never till I die shall I lose the memory
of the sweet serenity and noble steadfastness of his visage in this
trying hour.

"God willeth it," he gently said; "his holy will be done! He will work
good out of what seemeth evil to us." And then gaily added, "We had
thought to travel the same way; now we must needs journey apart. Never
fear, good friends, but both roads shall lead to heaven, if we do but
tread them piously. My chief sorrow is for Nan; but her virtue is so
great, that affliction will never rob her of such peace as God only
giveth."

Then this angelic man, forecasting for his friends in the midst of
this terrible mishap, passed into Basil's hands his pocket-book, and
said, "This shall pay your voyage, good friend; and if aught doth
remain afterward, let the poor have their share of it, for a
thank-offering, when you reach the shore in safety."

Basil, I saw, could not speak; his heart was too full. O, what a
parting ensued on that sad ocean whose waves had seemed to dance so
joyously a short space before! With what aching hearts we pressed the
young earl's hand, and watched him pass into the other ship,
accompanied by his two gentlemen, which were with him arrested! No
heed was taken of us; and Kelloway, having secured his prey, abandoned
our vessel, the captain of which seemed uneasy and ill-disposed to
speak with us. We did then suspect, which doubt hath been since
confirmed, that this seeming honest Catholic man had acted a traitor's
part, and that those many delays had been used for the very purpose of
staying Lord Arundel until such time as all was prepared for his
capture. The wind, which was in our favor, bore us swiftly toward the
French coast; and we soon lost sight of the vessel which carried the
earl back to the shores of England. Fancy, you who read, what pictures
we needs must then have formed of that return; of the dismal news
reaching the afflicted wife, the sad sister, the mournful brother, and
friends now scattered apart, so lately clustered round him! Alas! when
we landed in France, at the port of Calais, the sense of our own
safety was robbed of half its joy by fears and sorrowing for the dear
friends whose fortunes have proved so dissimilar to our own.


CHAPTER XXVIII.

The deep clear azure of the French sky, the lightsome pure air, the
quaint houses, and outlandish dresses of the people in Calais; the
sound of a foreign tongue understood, but not familiar, for a brief
time distracted my mind from painful themes. Basil led me to the
church for to give thanks to God for his mercies to us, and mostly did
it seem strange to me to enter an edifice in which he is worshipped in
a Catholic manner, which yet hath the form and appearance of a church,
and resembles not the concealed chambers in our country wherein mass
is said; an open visible house for the King of kings, not a
hiding-place, as in England. After we had prayed there a short time,
Basil put into a box at the entrance the money which Lord Arundel had
designed for the poor. A pale thin man stood at the door, which, when
we passed, said, "God  bless you!" Basil looked earnestly at him,
and then exclaimed, "As I live, Mr. Watson!" "Yea," the good man
answered, "the same, or rather the shadow of the same, risen at the
last from the bed of sickness. O Mr. Rookwood, I am glad to see you!"
"And so am I to meet with you, Mr. Watson," Basil answered; and then
told this dear friend who I was, and the sad hap of Lord Arundel,
which moved in him a great concern for that young nobleman and his
excellent lady. Many tokens of regard and interchange of information
passed between us. He showed us where he lived, in a small cottage
near unto the ramparts; and nothing would serve him but to gather for
me in the garden a nosegay of early flowerets which just had raised
their heads above the sod. He said Dr. Allen had sent him money in his
sickness, and an English lady married to a French gentleman provided
for his wants. "Ah! that was the good madame I told you of," Basil
cried, turning to me; "who would have harbored . . . ." Then he
stopped short; but Mr. Watson had caught his meaning, and with tears
in his eyes said: "Fear not to speak of her whose death bought my
life, and it may be also my soul's safety. For, God knoweth, the
thought of her doth never forsake me so much as for one hour;" and
thereupon we parted with much kindness on both sides. That night we
lay at a small hostelry in the town; and the next morning hired a cart
with one horse, which carried us to Boulogne in one day, and thence to
this village, where we have lived since for many years in great peace.
I thank God, and very much contentment of mind, and no regrets save
such as do arise in the hearts of exiles without hope of return to a
beloved native country.

The awaiting of tidings from England, which were long delayed, was at
the first a very sore trial, and those which reached us at last yet
more grievous than that suspense. Lord Arundel committed to the Tower;
his brother the Lord William and his sister the Lady Margaret not long
after arrested, which was more grief to him, his lady wrote to me,
than all his own troubles and imprisonment. But, O my God! how well
did that beginning match with what was to follow! Those ten years
which were spent amidst so many sufferings of all sorts by these two
noble persons, that the recital of them would move to pity the most
strong heart.

Mine own sorrows, leastways all sharp ones, ended with my passage into
France. If Basil showed himself a worthy lover, he hath proved a yet
better husband. His nature doth so delight in doing good that it wins
him the love of all our neighbors. His life is a constant exercise of
charity. He is most indulgent to his wife and kind to his children, of
which it hath pleased God to give him three--one boy and two girls, of
as comely visages and commendable dispositions as can reasonably be
desired. He hath a most singular affection for all such as do suffer
for their religion, and cherishes them with an extraordinary bounty to
the limits of his ability; his house being a common resort for all
banished Catholics which land at Boulogne, from whence he doth direct
them to such persons as can assist them in their need. His love toward
my unworthy self hath never decreased. Methinks it rather doth
increase as we advance in years. We have ever been actuated as by one
soul; and never have any two wills agreed so well as Basil's and mine
in all aims in this world and hopes for the next. If any, in the
reading of this history, have only cared for mine own haps, I pray
them to end their perusal of it here; but if, even as my heart hath
been linked from early years with Lady Arundel's, there be any in
which my poor writing hath awakened somewhat of that esteem for her
virtues and resentment of her sorrows which hath grown in me from long
experience of her singular worth;  if the noble atonement for
youthful offences and follies already shown in her lord's return to
his duty to her, and altered behavior in respect to God, hath also
moved them to desire a further knowledge of the manner in which these
two exalted souls were advanced by long affliction to a high point of
perfection--then to such the following pages shall not be wholly
devoid of that interest which the true recital of great misfortune
doth habitually carry with it. If none other had written the life of
that noble lady, methinks I must have essayed to do it; but having
heard that a good clergyman hath taken this task in hand, secretly
preparing materials whilst she yet lives wherewith to build her a
memorial at a future time, I have restrained myself to setting down
what, by means of her own writing or the reports of others, hath
reached my knowledge concerning the ten years which followed my last
parting with her. This was the first letter I received from this
afflicted lady after her lord's arrest:

  "O MY DEAR FRIEND--What days these have proved! Believe me, I
  never looked for a favorable issue of this enterprise. When I first
  had notice thereof, a notable chill fell on my soul, which never
  warmed again with hope. When I began to pray after hearing of it, I
  had what methinks the holy Juliana of Norwich (whose cell we did
  once visit together, as I doubt not thou dost remember) would have
  called a foreshowing, or, as others do express it, a presentiment of
  coming evil. But how soon the effect followed! I had retired to rest
  at nine of the clock; and before I was undressed Bertha came in with
  a most downcast countenance. 'What news is there?' I quickly asked,
  misdoubting some misfortune had happened. Then she began to weep.
  'Is my lord taken?' I cried, 'or worse befallen him?' 'He is taken,'
  she answered, 'and is now being carried to London for to be
  committed to the Tower. Master Ralph, the port-master, hath brought
  the news. A man, an hour ago, had reported as much in the town; but
  Mr. Fawcett would not suffer your ladyship to be told of it before a
  greater certainty thereof should appear. O woe be the day my lord
  ever embarked!' Then I heard sounds of wailing and weeping in the
  gallery; and opening the door, found Bessy's nurse and some other of
  the servants lamenting in an uncontrolled fashion. I could not shed
  one tear, but gave orders they should fetch unto me the man which
  had brought the tidings. From him I heard more fully what had
  happened; and then, in the same composed manner, desired my coach
  and horses for to be made ready to take me to London the next day at
  daybreak, and dismissed everybody, not suffering so much as one
  woman to sit up with me. When all had retired, I put on my cloak and
  hood; and listing first if all was quiet, went by the secret passage
  to the chapel-room. When I got there, Father Southwell was in it,
  saying his office. When he saw me enter at that unusual hour,
  methinks the truth was made known to him at once; for he only took
  me by the hand, and said: 'My child, this would be too hard to bear
  if it were not God's sweet will; but being so, what remaineth but to
  lie still under a Father's merciful infliction?' and then he took
  out the crucifix, which for safety was locked up, and set it on the
  altar. 'That shall speak to you better than I can,' he said; and
  verily it did; for at the sight of my dying Saviour I wept. The
  whole night was spent in devout exercises. At dawn of day Father
  Southwell said mass, and I received. Then, before any one was astir,
  I returned to mine own chamber, and, lying down for a few moments,
  afterward rung the bell, and ordered horses to be procured for to
  travel to London, whence I write these lines. I have here heard this
  report of my dear lord's journey from one which conversed with Sir
  George Carey,  who commanded the guard which conducted him, that he
  was nothing at all daunted with so unexpected a misfortune, and not
  only did endure it with great patience and courage, but, moreover,
  carried it with a joyful and merry countenance. One night in the way
  he lodged at Guildford, where seeing the master of the inn (who
  sometime was our servant, and who hath written it to one of my
  women, his sister), and some others who wished well unto him,
  weeping and sorrowing for his misfortunes, he comforted them all,
  and willed them to be of good cheer, because it was not for any
  crime--treason or the like--he was apprehended, but only
  for attempting to leave the kingdom, the which he had done only for
  his own safety. He is soon to be examined by some of the council
  sent to the Tower for this special purpose by the queen. I have
  sought to obtain access to him, but been flatly reused, and a hint
  ministered to me that albeit my residence at Arundel House is
  tolerated at the present, if the queen should come to stay at
  Somerset House, which she is soon like to do, my departure hence
  shall be enforced; but while I remain I would fain do some good to
  persons afflicted as myself. I pray you, my good Constance, when you
  find some means to despatch me a letter, therewith to send the names
  and addresses of some of the poor folks Muriel was wont to visit;
  for I am of opinion grief should not make us selfish, but rather
  move us to relieve in others the pains of which we feel the sharp
  edge ourselves. I have already met by accident with many necessitous
  persons, and they do begin in great numbers to resort to this house.
  God knoweth if the means to relieve them will not be soon lacking.
  But to make hay whilst the sun shines is a wise saying, and in some
  instances a precept. Alas! the sunshine of joy is already obscured
  for me. Except for these poor pensioners, that of fortune causeth me
  small concern.--
  Thy loving friend, A. A. and S."

"Will and Meg are at present in separate prisons. It is impossible but
that she shall be presently released; for against her nothing can be
alleged, so much as to give a pretence for an accusation. My lord and
Will's joint letter to Dr. Allen, sent by Mr. Brydges--who, out of
confidence, mentioned it to Mr. Gifford, a pretended priest, who lives
at Paris, and is now discovered to be a spy--is the ground of the
charges against them. How utterly unfounded thou well knowest; but so
much as to write to Dr. Allen is now a crime, howsoever innocent the
matter of such a correspondence should be. I do fear that in one of
his letters--but I wot not if of this they have possession--my lord,
who had just heard that the Earl of Leicester had openly vowed to make
the name of Catholic as odious in England as the name of Turk, did
say, in manner of a jest, that if some lawful means might be found to
take away this earl, it would be a great good for Catholics in
England; which careless sentence may be twisted by his enemies to his
disadvantage."

Some time afterward, a person passing from London to Rheims, brought
me this second letter from her ladyship, written at Rumford, in Essex:

"What I have been warned of verily hath happened. Upon the queen's
coming to London last month, it was signified to me I should leave it.
Now that Father Southwell hath been removed from Arundel Castle, and
no priest at this time can live in it, I did not choose to be
delivered there, without the benefit of spiritual assistance in case
of danger of death, and so hired a house in this town, at a short
distance of which a recusant gentleman doth keep one in his house. I
came from London without obtaining leave so much as once to see my
dear husband, or to send him a letter or message, or receive one from
him. But this I have learnt, that he cannot speak with any person
whatsoever but in the presence and hearing of his  keeper or the
lieutenant of the Tower, and that the room in which he is locked up
has no sight of the sun for the greatest part of the year; so that if
not changed before the winter cometh it shall prove very unwholesome;
and moreover the noisomeness thereof caused by a vault that is under
it is so great that the keeper can scarce endure to enter into it,
much less to stay there any time. Alas! what ravages shall this
treatment cause on a frame of great niceness and delicate habits, I
leave you to judge. By this time he hath been examined twice; and
albeit forged letters were produced, the falsity of which the council
were forced to admit, and he was charged with nothing which could be
substantiated, except leaving the realm without license of the queen,
and being reconciled to the Church of Rome, his sentence is yet
deferred, and his imprisonment as strict as ever. I pray God it may
not be deferred till his health is utterly destroyed, which, I doubt
not, is what his enemies would most desire.

"Last evening I had the exceeding great comfort of the coming hither
of mine own dear good Meg, who hath been some time released from
prison, with many vexatious restraints, howsoever, still laid upon
her. Albeit very much advanced in her pregnancy, nothing would serve
her when she had leave to quit London but to do me this good. This is
the first taste of joy I have had since my lord's commitment. In her
face I behold his; when she speaks I hear him. No talk is ministered
between us but of that beloved husband and brother; our common prayers
are put up for him. She hath spied his spies for to discover all which
relates to him, and hath found means to convey to him--I thank God for
it--some books of devotion, which he greatly needed. She is yet a-bed
this morning, for we sat up late yester-eve, so sweet, albeit sad, was
the converse we held after so many common sufferings. But methinks I
grudge her these hours of sleep, longing for to hear again those loved
accents which mind me of my dear Phil.

"My pen had hardly traced those last words, when a messenger arrived
from the council with an express command to Margaret from her majesty
not to stay with me another night, but forthwith to return to London.
The surprise and fear which this message occasioned hastened the event
which should have yet been delayed some weeks. A few hours after (I
thank God, in safety) a fair son was born; but in the mother's heart
and mine apprehension dispelled joy, lest enforced disobedience should
produce fresh troubles. Howsoever, she recovered quickly; and as soon
as she could be removed I lost her sweet company. Thine affectionate
friend to command,

"A. A. AND S."

Some time afterward, one Mr. Dixon, a gentleman I had met once or
twice in London, tarried a night at our house, and brought me the news
that God had given the Countess of Arundel a son, which she had
earnestly desired her husband should be informed of, but he heard it
had been refused. Howsoever, when he was urgent with his keepers to
let him know if she had been safely delivered, they gave him to
understand that she had another daughter; his enemies not being
willing he should have so much contentment as the birth of a son
should have yielded him.

"Doth the queen," I asked of this gentleman, "then not mitigate her
anger against these noble persons?"

"So far from it," he answered, "that when, at the beginning of this
trouble, Lady Arundel went to Sir Francis Knowles for to seek by his
means to obtain an audience from her majesty, in order to sue for her
husband, he told her she would sooner release him at once--which,
howsoever, she had no mind to do--than only once allow her to enter
her presence. He then, her ladyship told me, rated her exceedingly,
asking if she and her husband were not ashamed to make themselves
 papists, only out of spleen and peevish humor to cross and vex
the queen? She answered him in the same manner as her lord did one of
his keepers, who told him very many in the kingdom were of opinion
that he made show to be Catholic only out of policy; to whom he said,
with great mildness, that God doth know the secrets of all hearts, but
that he thought there was small policy for a man to lose his liberty,
hazard his estate and life, and live in that manner in a prison as he
then did."

A brief letter from Lady Tregony informed me soon after this that,
after a third examination, the court had fined Lord Arundel in £10,000
unto the queen and adjudged him to imprisonment during her pleasure.
What that pleasure proved, ten years of unmitigated suffering and slow
torture evinced; one of the most grievous of which was that his lady
could never obtain for to see him, albeit other prisoners' wives had
easy access to them. This touching letter I had from her three years
after he was imprisoned:

"MINE OWN GOOD FRIEND--Life doth wear on, and relief of one sort
leastways comes not; but God forbid I should repine. For such
instances I see in the letters of my dear lord--which when some of
his servants do leave the Tower, which, worn out as they soon become
by sickness, they must needs do to preserve their lives--he findeth
means to write to me or to Father Southwell, that I am ashamed to
grieve overmuch at anything which doth befal us--when his willingness
and contentment to suffer are so great. As when he saith to that good
father, 'For all crosses touching worldly matters, I thank God they
trouble me not much, and much the less for your singular good counsel,
which I beseech our Lord I may often remember; and to me this dear
husband writes thus: 'I beseech you, for the love of God, to comfort
yourself whatsoever shall happen, and to be best pleased with that
which shall please God best, and be his will to send. I find that
there is some intent to do me no good, but indeed to do me the most
good of all; but I am--and, thank God, doubt not but I shall be by his
grace--ready to endure the worst which flesh and blood can do unto
me.' O Constance, flesh and blood doth sometimes rebel against the
keen edge of suffering; but I pray you, my friend, how can I complain
when I hear of this much, long dearly cherished husband, ascending by
steps the ladder of perfection, advancing from virtue to virtue as the
psalm saith, never uttering one unsubmissive word toward God, or one
resentful one toward his worst enemies; making, in the most sublime
manner, of necessity virtue, and turning his loathsome prison into a
religious cell, wherein every exercise of devotion is duly practised,
and his soul trained for heaven?

"The small pittance the queen alloweth for his maintenance he so
sparingly useth, that most of it doth pass into the hands of the poor
or other more destitute prisoners than himself. But sickness and
disease prey on his frame. And the picture of him my memory draweth is
gradually more effaced in the living man, albeit vivid in mine own
portraying of it.

There is now a priest imprisoned in the Tower, not very far from the
chamber wherein my lord is confined; one of the name of Bennet. My
lord desired much to meet him, and speak with him for the comfort of
his soul, and I have found means to bring it to effect by mediation of
the lieutenant's daughter, to whom I have given thirty pounds for her
endeavors in procuring it. And moreover she hath assisted in conveying
into his chamber church-stuff and all things requisite for the saying
of mass, whereunto she tells me, to my indescribable comfort, he
himself doth serve with great humility, and therein receives the
blessed sacrament frequently. Sir Thomas Gerard, she saith, and Mr.
Shelly, which are likewise prisoners at this time, she introduces
secretly into his lodgings for to hear mass and have speech with
him. Alas! what should be a comfort to him, and so the greatest of
joys to me, the exceeding peril of these times causeth me to look upon
with apprehension; for these gentlemen, albeit well disposed, are not
famed for so much wisdom and prudence as himself, in not saying or
doing anything which might be an occasion of danger to him; and the
least lack of wariness, when there is so much discourse about the
great Spanish fleet which is now in preparation, should prove like to
be fatal. God send no worse hap befal us soon.

"In addition to these other troubles and fears, I am much molested by
a melancholy vapor, which ascends to my head, and greatly troubles me
since I was told upon a sudden of the unexpected death of Margaret
Sackville, whom, for her many great virtues and constant affection
toward myself, I did so highly esteem and affection."


From that time for a long while I had no direct news of Lady Arundel;
but report brought us woful tidings concerning her lord, who, after
many private examinations, had been brought from the Tower to the
King's Bench Court, in the hall of Westminster, and there publicly
arraigned on the charge of high treason, the grounds of which
accusation being that he had prayed and procured others to make
simultaneous prayer for twenty-four hours, and procured Mr. Bennet to
say a mass of the Holy Ghost, for the success of the Spanish fleet.
Whereas the whole truth of this matter consisted in this, that when a
report became current among the Catholics about London that a sudden
massacre of them all was intended upon the first landing of the
Spaniards, this coming to the earl's ear, he judged it necessary that
all Catholics should betake themselves to prayer, either for the
avoiding of the danger or for the better preparing themselves
thereunto, and so persuaded those in the Tower to make prayer together
for that end, and also sent to some others for the same purpose,
whereof one of greater prudence and experience than the rest signified
unto him that perhaps it might be otherwise interpreted by their
enemies than he intended, wishing him to desist, as presently
thereupon he did; but it was then too late. Some which he had trusted,
either out of fear or fair promises, testified falsely against him--of
which Mr. Bennet was one, who afterward retracted with bitter anguish
his testimony, in a letter to his lordship, which contained these
words: "With a fearful, guilty, unjust, and most tormented conscience,
only for saving of my life and liberty, I said you moved me to say a
mass for the good success of the Spanish fleet. For which unjust
confession, or rather accusation, I do again and again, and to my
life's end, most instantly crave God's pardon and yours; and for my
better satisfaction of this, my unjust admission, I will, if need
require, offer up both life and limbs in averring my accusation to be,
as it is indeed, and as I shall answer before God, angels, and men,
most unjust, and only done out of fear of the Tower, torments, and
death." Notwithstanding the earl's very stout and constant denial of
the charge, and pleading the above letter of Mr. Bennet, retracting
his false statement, he was condemned of high treason, and had
sentence pronounced against him. But the execution was deferred, and
finally the queen resolved to spare his life, but yet by no means to
release him. His estates, and likewise his lady's, were forfeited to
the crown, and he at that time dealt with most unkindly, as the
following letter will show:

"DEAR CONSTANCE--At last I have found the means of sending a packet by
a safe hand, which in these days, when men do so easily turn
traitors--notable instances of which, to our exceeding pain and
trouble, have lately occurred--is no easy matter. I doubt not but thy
fond affectionate heart hath followed with a sympathetic grief the
anguish of mine  during the time past, wherein my husband's life
hath been in daily peril; and albeit he is now respited, yet, alas! as
he saith himself, and useth the knowledge to the best purpose, he is
but a doomed man; reprieved, not pardoned; spared, not released. Mine
own troubles beside have been greater than can be thought of; by
virtue of the forfeiture of my lord's estates and mine, my home hath
been searched by justices, and no room, no corner, no trunk or coffer,
left unopened and unransacked. I have often been brought before the
council and most severely examined. The queen's officers and others in
authority--to whom I am sometimes forced to sue for favor, or some
mitigation of mine own or my lord's sufferings--do use me often very
harshly, and reject my petitions with scorn and opprobrious language.
All our goods are seized for the queen. They have left me nothing but
two or three beds, and these, they do say, but for a time. When
business requires, I am forced to go on foot, and slenderly attended;
my coach being taken from me. I have retained but two of my servants
--my children's nurse being one. I have as yet no allowance, as is
usual in such cases, for the maintenance of my family; so I am forced
to pay them and buy victuals with the money made by the sale of mine
own jewels; and I am sometimes forced to borrow and make hard shifts
to procure necessary provisions and clothes for the children; but if I
get eight pounds a week, which the queen hath been moved to allow me,
then methinks I shall think myself no poorer than a Christian woman
should be content to be; and I have promised Almighty God, if that
good shall befal us, to bestow one hundred marks out of it yearly on
the poor. I am often sent out of London by her majesty's commands,
albeit some infirmities I do now suffer from force me to consult
physicians there. Methinks when I am at Arundel House I am not wholly
parted from my lord, albeit my humble petition, by means of friends,
to see him is always denied. When I hear he is sick, mine anguish
increases. The like favor is often granted to Lady Latimore and others
whose husbands are at this time prisoners in the Tower, but I can
never obtain it. The lieutenant's daughter, whom I do sometimes see,
when she is in a conversible mood doth inform me of my dear husband's
condition, and relates instances of his goodness and patience which
wring and yet comfort mine heart. What think you of his never having
been heard so much as once to complain of the loss of his goods or the
incommodities of his prison; of his gentleness and humility where he
is himself concerned; of his boldness in defending his religion and
her ministers, which was alike shown, as well as his natural
cheerfulness, in a conversation she told me had passed between her
father, the lieutenant, and him, a few days ago? You have heard, I
ween, that good Father Southwell was arrested some time back at Mr.
Bellamy's house; it is reported by means of the poor unhappy soul his
daughter, whom I met one day at the door of the prison, attired in a
gaudy manner and carrying herself in a bold fashion; but when she met
mine eye hers fell. Alas! poor soul, God help her and bring her to
repentance. Well, now Father Southwell is in the Tower, my lord, by
Miss Hopton's melons, hath had once or twice speech with him, and doth
often inquire of the lieutenant about him, which when he did so the
other day he used the words 'blessed father' in speaking of him. The
lieutenant (she said) seemed to take exception thereat, saying, 'Term
you him blessed father, being as he is an enemy to his country?' My
lord answered: 'How can that be, seeing yourself hath told me
heretofore that no fault could be laid unto him but his religion?'
Then the lieutenant said: 'The last time I was in his cell your dog,
my lord, came in and licked his hand,' Then quoth my lord,
patting his dog fondly: 'I love him the better for it.' 'Perhaps,'
quoth the lieutenant in a scoffing manner, it might be he came thither
to have his blessing.' To which my lord replied, 'It is no new thing
for animals to seek a blessing at the hands of holy men, St. Jerome
writing how the lions which had digged St. Paul the hermit's grave
stood waiting with their eyes upon St. Anthony expecting his
blessing.'

'Is it not a strange trial, mine own Constance, and one which hath not
befallen many women, to have a fondly loved husband yet alive, and to
be sometimes so near unto him that it should take but a few moments to
cross the space which doth divide us, and yet never behold him; year
after year passing away, and the heart waxing sick with delays?
Howsoever, one sad firm hope I hold, which keepeth me somewhat careful
of my health, lest I should be disabled when that time cometh--one on
which I fix my mind with apprehension and desire to defer the approach
thereof, yet pray one day to see it--yea, to live long enough for this
and then to die, if it shall please God. When mine own Philip is on
his death-bed, when the slow consumptive disease which devoureth his
vitals obtaineth its end, then, I ween, no woman upon earth, none that
I ever heard of or could think of, can deny me to approach him and
receive his last embrace. Oh that this should be my best comfort, mine
only hope!"

I pass over many intervening letters from this afflicted lady which at
distant intervals I received, in one of which she expressed her sorrow
at the execution at Tyburn of her constant friend and guide, Father
Southwell, and likewise informed me of Mistress Wells's death in
Newgate, and transcribe this one, written about six months afterward,
in which she relates the closing scene of her husband's life:

"MINE OWN DEAR CONSTANCE--All is over now, and my overcharged heart
casteth about for some alleviation in its excessive grief, which may
be I shall find in imparting to one well acquainted with his virtues
and my love for him what I have learnt touching the closing scenes of
my dear lord's mortal life. For think not I have been so happy as to
behold him again, or that he should die in my arms. No; that which was
denied me for ten long years neither could his dying prayers obtain.
For many months notice had been given unto me by his servants and
others that his health was very fast declining. One gentleman
particularly told me he himself believed his end to be near. His
devout exercises were yet increased--the bent of his mind more and
more directed solely toward God and heaven. In those times which were
allotted to walking or other recreation, his discourse and
conversation either with his keeper or the lieutenant or his own
servant, was either tending to piety or some kind of profitable
discourse, most often of the happiness of those that suffer anything
for our Saviour's sake; to which purpose he had writ with his own hand
upon the wall of his chamber this Latin sentence, 'Quanto plus
afflictionis pro Christo in hoc saeculo, tanto plus gloriae cum
Christo in futuro;' the which he used to show to his servants,
inviting them, as well as himself, to suffer all with patience and
alacrity.

"In the month of August tidings were brought unto me that, sitting at
dinner, he had fallen so very ill immediately upon the eating of a
roasted teal, that some did suspect him to be poisoned. I sent him
some antidotes, and all the remedies I could procure; but all in vain.
The disease had so possessed him that it could not be removed, but by
little and little consumed his body, so that he became like an
anatomy, having nothing left but skin and bone. Much talk hath been
ministered anent his being poisoned. Alas! my thinking is, and ever
shall be, the slow poison he died of was lack of air, of sunshine, of
kindness,  of loving aid, of careful sympathy. When I heard his
case was considered desperate, the old long hopes, sustained for ten
years, that out of the extremity of grief one hour of comfort should
arise, woke up; but now I was advised not to stir in this matter
myself, for it should only incense the queen, who had always hated me;
whereas my lord she once had liked, and it might be, when she heard he
was dying, she should relent. She had made a kind of promise to some
of his friends that before his death his wife and children should come
unto him; whereupon, conceiving that now his time in the world could
not be long, he writ a humble letter to her petitioning the
performance of her promise. The lieutenant of the Tower carried this
letter, and delivered it with his own hands to the queen, and brought
him her answer by word of mouth. What think you, mine own Constance,
was the answer she sent that dying man? God forgave her! Philip did;
yea, and so do I--not fully at the time, now most fully. His crown
should have been less glorious but for the heart-martyrdom she
invented.

"This was her message: 'That if he would but once go to the Protestant
church his request should not only be granted, but he should moreover
be restored to his honor and estate with as much favor as she could
show.' Oh, what were estates and honors to that dying saint! what her
favor to that departing soul! One offering, one sacrifice, one final
withdrawing of affection's thirsty and parched lips from the chalice
of a supreme earthly consolation, and all was accomplished; the
bitterness of death overpast. He gave thanks to the lieutenant for his
pains; he said he could not accept her majesty's offers upon that
condition, and added withal that he was sorry he had but one life to
lose in that cause. A very worthy gentleman who was present at this
passage related it to me; and Lord Mountague I have also had it from,
which heard the same from his father-in-law, my Lord Dorset.
Constance, for a brief while a terrible tumult raged in my soul. Think
what it was to know one so long, so passionately loved, dying nigh
onto and yet apart from me, dying unaided by any priest--for though he
had a great desire to be assisted by Father Edmund, by whose means he
had been reconciled, it was by no means permitted that either he or
any other priest should come to him--dying without a kindred face to
smile on him, without a kinsman for to speak with him and list to his
last wishes. He desired to see his brother William or his uncle Lord
Henry; at least to take his last leave of them before his death; but
neither was that small request granted--no, not so much as to see his
brother Thomas, though both then and ever he had been a Protestant.
And all this misery was the fruit of one stem, cruel, unbending
hatred--of one proud human will; a will which was sundering what God
had joined together. Like a bird against the bars of an iron cage, my
poor heart dashed itself with wild throbbings against these human
obstacles. But not for very long, I thank God; brief was the storm
which convulsed my soul. I soon discerned his hand in this great
trial--his will above all human will; and while writhing under a
Father's merciful scourge, I could yet bless him who held it I pray
you, Constance, how should a woman have endured so great an anguish
which had not been helped by him? Methinks what must have sustained me
was that before-mentioned gentleman's report of my dear lord's great
piety and virtue, which made me ashamed of not striving to resemble
him in howsoever small a degree. Oh, what a work God wrought in that
chosen soul! What meekness, what humility, what nobleness of heart! He
grew so faint and weak by degrees that he was not able to leave his
bed. His physicians coming to visit him some days before his death, he
desired  them not to trouble themselves now any more, his case
being beyond their skill. They thereupon departing, Sir Michael
Blount, then lieutenant of the Tower, who had been ever very hard and
harsh unto him, took occasion to come and visit him, and, kneeling
down by his bedside, in humble manner desired my dear Phil to forgive
him. Whereto mine own beloved husband answered in this manner, 'Do you
ask forgiveness, Mr. Lieutenant? Why, then, I forgive you in the same
sort as I desire myself to be forgiven at the hands of God;' and then
kissed his hand, and offered it in most kind and charitable manner to
him, and holding his fast in his own said, 'I pray you also to forgive
me whatever I have said or done in anything offensive to you,' and he
melting into tears and answering 'that he forgave him with all his
heart;' my lord raised himself a little upon his pillow, and made a
brief, grave speech unto the lieutenant in this manner: 'Mr.
Lieutenant, you have showed both me and my men very hard measure.'
'Wherein, my lord?' quoth he. 'Nay,' said my lord, 'I will not make a
recapitulation of anything, for it is all freely forgiven. Only I am
to say unto you a few words of my last will, which being observed,
may, by the grace of God, turn much to your benefit and reputation. I
speak not for myself; for God of his goodness hath taken order that I
shall be delivered very shortly out of your charge; only for others I
speak who may be committed to this place. You must think, Mr.
Lieutenant, that when a prisoner comes hither to the Tower that he
bringeth sorrow with him. Oh, then do not add affliction to
affliction; there is no man whatsoever that thinketh himself to stand
surest but may fall. It is a very inhuman part to tread on him whom
misfortune hath cast down. The man that is void of mercy God hath in
great detestation. Your commission is only to keep in safety, not to
kill with severity. Remember, good Mr. Lieutenant, that God who with
his finger turneth the unstable wheel of this variable world, can in
the revolution of a few days bring you to be a prisoner also, and to
be kept in the same place where now you keep others. There is no
calamity that men are subject unto but you may also taste as well as
any other man. Farewell, Mr. Lieutenant; for the time of my short
abode come to me whenever you please, and you shall be heartily
welcome as my friend.' My dear lord, when he uttered these words,
should seem to have had some kind of prophetic foresight touching this
poor man's fate; for I have just heard this day, seven weeks only
after my husband's death, that Sir Michael Blount hath fallen into
great disgrace, lost his office, and is indeed committed close
prisoner in that same Tower where he so long kept others.

"And now my faltering pen must needs transcribe the last letter I
received from my beloved husband, for your heart, dear friend, is one
with mine. You have known its sufferings through the many years evil
influences robbed it of that love which, for brief intervals of
happiness afterward and this long separation since, hath, by its
steady and constant return, made so rich amends for the past. In these
final words you shall find proofs of his excellent humility and
notable affection for my unworthy self, which I doubt not, my dear
instance, shall draw water from your eyes. Mine yield no moisture now.
Methinks these last griefs have exhausted in them the fountain of
tears.

"'Mine own good wife, I must now in this world take my last farewell
of you; and as I know no person living whom I have so much offended as
yourself, so do I account this opportunity of asking your forgiveness
as a singular benefit of Almighty God. And I most humbly and heartily
beseech you, even for his sake and of your charity, to forgive me all
whereinsoever I have offended you; and the assurance I have of this
your  forgiveness is my greatest contentment at this present, and
will be a greater, I doubt not, when my soul is ready to depart out of
my body. I call God to witness it is no small grief unto me that I
cannot make you recompense in this world for the wrongs I have done
you. Affliction gives understanding. God, who knows my heart, and has
seen my true sorrow in that behalf, has, I hope, of his infinite
mercy, remitted all, I doubt not, as you have done in your singular
charity, to mine infinite comfort.

"Now what remaineth but in a few brief sentences to relate how this
loved husband spent his last hours, and the manner of his death? Those
were for the most part spent in prayer; sometimes saying his beads,
sometimes such psalms and prayers as he knew by heart. Seeing his
servants (one of which hath been the narrator to me of these his final
moments) stand by his bedside in the morning weeping in a mournful
manner, he asked them 'what o'clock it was? they answering that it was
eight or thereabout, 'Why, then,' said he, 'I have almost run out my
course, and come to the end of this miserable mortal life,' desiring
them not to weep for him, since he did not doubt, by the grace of God,
but all would go well with him; which being said he returned to his
prayers upon his beads again, though then with a very slow, hollow,
and fainting voice; and so continued as long as he was able to draw so
much breath as was sufficient to sound out the names of Jesus and
Mary, which were the last words he was ever heard to speak. The last
minute of his last hour being come, lying on his back, his eyes firmly
fixed toward heaven, his long, lean, consumed arms out of the bed, his
hands upon his breast, laid in cross one upon the other, about twelve
o'clock at noon, in a most sweet manner, without any sign of grief or
groan, only turning his head a little aside as one falling into a
pleasing sleep, he surrendered his soul into the hands of God who to
his own glory had created it. And she who writeth this letter, she who
loved him since her most early years--who when he was estranged from
her waited his return--who gloried in his virtues, doated on his
perfections, endured his afflictions, and now lamenteth his death,
hath nothing left but to live a widow; indeed with no other glory than
that which she doth borrow from his merits, until such time as it
shall please God to take her from this earth to a world where he hath
found, she doth humbly hope, rest unto his soul."

The Countess of Arundel is now aged. The virtues which have crowned
her mature years are such, as her youth did foreshadow. My pen would
run on too fast if it took up that theme. This only will I add, and so
conclude this too long piece of writing--she hath kept her constant
resolve to live and die a widow. I have seen many times letters from
both Protestants and Catholics which made unfeigned protestations that
they were never so edified by any as by her. As the Holy Scriptures do
say of that noble widow Judith, "Not one spoke an ill word of her,"
albeit these times are extremely malicious. For mine own part I never
read those words of Holy Writ, "Who shall find a valiant woman?" and
what doth follow, but I must needs think of Ann Dacre, the wife of
Philip Howard, earl of Arundel and Surrey.


After the lapse of some years, it hath been my hap to have a sight of
this manuscript, the reading of which, even as the writing of it in
former days, doth cause me to live over again my past life. This lapse
of time hath added nothing notable except the dreadful death of
Hubert, my dear Basil's only brother, who suffered last year for the
share he had, or leastways was judged to have, in the Gunpowder Plot
and treason. Alas! he which once, to improve his fortunes, denied his
faith, when fortune turned her back  upon him grew into a
virulent hatred of those in power, once his friends and tempters, and
consorted with desperate men; whether he was privy to their counsels,
or only familiar with them previous to their crimes, and so fell into
suspicion of their guilt, God knoweth. It doth appear from some good
reports that he died a true penitent. There is a better hope methinks
for such as meet in this world with open shame and suffering than for
secret sinners who go to their pompous graves unchastised and
unabsolved.

By his brother's death Basil recovered his lands; for his present
majesty hath some time since recalled the sentence of his banishment.
And many of his friends have moved him to return to England; but for
more reasons than one he refused so much as to think of it, and has
compounded his estate for £700, 8s. 6d.

Our children have now grown unto ripe years. Muriel (who would have
been a nun if she had followed her godmother's example) is now
married, to her own liking and our no small contentment, to a very
commendable young gentleman, the son of Mr. Yates, and hath gone to
reside with him at his seat in Worcestershire; and Ann, Lady Arundel's
god-daughter, nothing will serve but to be a "holy Mary," as the
French people do style those dames which that great and good prelate,
M. de Genève, hath assembled in a small hive at Annecy, like bees to
gather honey of devotion in the garden of religion. This should seem a
strange fancy, this order being so new in the Church, and the place so
distant; but time will show if this should be God's will; and if so,
then it must needs be ours also.

What liketh me most is that my son Roger doth prove the very image of
his father, and the counterpart of him in his goodness. I am of
opinion that nothing better can be desired for him than that he never
lose so good a likeness.

And now farewell, pen and ink, mine old companions, for a brief moment
resumed, but with a less steady hand than heretofore; now not to be
again used except for such ordinary purposes as housewifery and
friendship shall require.

[THE END]
Constance Sherwood - Part 2
