All's WellAlice's Victory

By Emily Sarah Holt________________________________________________________________________This book is set in the sixteenth century, at the beginning of theReformation. The action is in the Weald of Kent, a hugely forested areathat extended as far as Hampshire. The family at the centre of thestory had been converted to Protestantism, but still outwardly clung toCatholicism. This meant that the local priest, through hearingconfessions, knew something of what was going on, and carried theinformation to the Bishop. One of the younger women of the family hadbeen particularly advanced in her Protestant action and beliefs. She istaken before the Bishop, and is condemned to jail, where she is verybadly treated, sleeping on straw, without change of clothing, and fedonly on bread and water. The place where she was kept was changed forthe better, after she had been brought for further interview before theBishop. But this was only because she was to be burnt alive, in themanner of Holy Church of those days. 

A moving story that makes a good audiobook, of little more than 7 hours'duration. NH________________________________________________________________________

ALL'S WELLALICE'S VICTORY

BY EMILY SARAH HOLT

CHAPTER ONE. 

FRIENDS AND NEIGHBOURS. 

"Give you good-morrow, neighbour! Whither away with that great fardel[Bundle], prithee?"

"Truly, Mistress, home to Staplehurst, and the fardel holdeth broadclothfor my lads' new jerkins. " The speakers were two women, both on theyounger side of middle age, who met on the road between Staplehurst andCranbrook, the former coming towards Cranbrook and the latter from it. They were in the midst of that rich and beautiful tract of country knownas the Weald of Kent, once the eastern part of the great Andredes Weald, a vast forest which in Saxon days stretched from Kent to the border ofHampshire. There was still, in 1556, much of the forest about theWeald, and even yet it is a well-wooded part of the country, the oakbeing its principal tree, though the beech sometimes grows to anenormous size. Trees of the Weald were sent to Rome for the building ofSaint Peter's. 

"And how go matters with you, neighbour?" asked the first speaker, whosename was Alice Benden. 

"Well, none so ill, " was the reply. "My master's in full work, andwe've three of our lads at the cloth-works. We're none so bad off assome. "

"I marvel how it shall go with Sens Bradbridge, poor soul! She'll bebad off enough, or I err greatly. "

"Why, how so, trow? I've not heard what ails her. "

"Dear heart! then you know not poor Benedict is departed?"

"Eh, you never mean it!" exclaimed the bundle-bearer, evidently shocked. "Why, I reckoned he'd taken a fine turn toward recovery. Well, besure! Ay, poor Sens, I'm sorry for her. "

"Two little maids, neither old enough to earn a penny, and she astranger in the town, pretty nigh, with never a 'quaintance saving themnear about her, and I guess very few pennies in her purse. Ay, 'tis asad look-out for Sens, poor heart. "

"Trust me, I'll look in on her, and see what I may do, so soon as I'veborne this fardel home. Good lack! but the burying charges 'll comeheavy on her! and I doubt she's saved nought, as you say, Benedict beingsick so long. "

"I scarce think there's much can be done, " said Alice, as she movedforward; "I was in there of early morrow, and Barbara Final, she tookthe maids home with her. But a kindly word's not like to come amiss. Here's Emmet [See Note 1] Wilson at hand: she'll bear you company home, for I have ado in the town. Good-morrow, Collet. "

"Well, good-morrow, Mistress Benden. I'll rest my fardel a bit on thestile while Emmet comes up. "

And, lifting her heavy bundle on the stile, Collet Pardue wiped herheated face with one end of her mantle--there were no shawls in thosedays--and waited for Emmet Wilson to come up. 

Emmet was an older woman than either Alice or Collet, being nearly fiftyyears of age. She too carried a bundle, though not of so formidable asize. Both had been to Cranbrook, then the centre of the cloth-workingindustry, and its home long before the days of machinery. There werewoven the solid grey broadcloths which gave to the men of the Weald thetitle of "the Grey-Coats of Kent. " From all the villages round about, the factory-hands were recruited. The old factories had stood from thedays when Edward the Third and his Flemish Queen brought over theweavers of the Netherlands to improve the English manufactures; and someof them stand yet, turned into ancient residences for the countrysquires who had large stakes in them in the old days, or peeping outhere and there in the principal streets of the town, in the form of oldgables and other antique adornments. 

"Well, Collet! You've a brave fardel yonder!"

"I've six lads and two lasses, neighbour, " said Collet with a laugh. "Takes a sight o' cloth, it do, to clothe 'em. "

"Be sure it do! Ay, you've a parcel of 'em. There's only my man andTitus at our house. Wasn't that Mistress Benden that parted from youbut now? She turned off a bit afore I reached her. "

"Ay, it was. She's a pleasant neighbour. "

"She's better than pleasant, she's good. "

"Well, I believe you speak sooth. I'd lief you could say the same ofher master. I wouldn't live with Master Benden for a power o' money. "

"Well, I'd as soon wish it too, for Mistress Benden's body; but I'm notso certain sure touching Mistress Benden's soul. 'Tis my belief ifMaster Benden were less cantankerous, Mistress wouldn't be nigh sogood. "

"What, you hold by the old rhyme, do you--?

 "`A spaniel, a wife, and a walnut tree, The more they be beaten, the better they be. '"

"Nay, I'll not say that: but this will I say, some folks be likecamomile--`the more you tread it, the more you spread it. ' When yousqueeze 'em, like clover, you press the honey forth: and I countMistress Benden's o' that sort. "

"Well, then, let's hope poor Sens Bradbridge is likewise, for she's liketo get well squeezed and trodden. Have you heard she's lost hermaster?"

"I have so. Mistress Final told me this morrow early. Nay, I doubtshe's more of the reed family, and 'll bow down her head like a bulrush. Sens Bradbridge'll bend afore she breaks, and Mistress Benden 'll breakafore she bends. "

"'Tis pity Mistress Benden hath ne'er a child; it might soften hermaster, and anyhow should comfort her. "

"I wouldn't be the child, " said Emmet drily. 

Collet laughed. "Well, nor I neither, " said she. "I reckon they'll notoften go short of vinegar in that house; Master Benden's face 'd turnall the wine, let alone the cream. I'm fain my master's not o' thatfashion: he's a bit too easy, my Nick is. I can't prevail on him tothwack the lads when they're over-thwart; I have to do it myself. "

"I'll go bail you'd not hurt 'em much, " said Emmet, with an amusedglance at the round, rosy, good-humoured face of the mother of the six"over-thwart" lads. 

"Oh, will you! But I am a short mistress with 'em, I can tell you. OurAphabell shall hear of it, I promise you, when I get home. I bade himyester-even fetch me two pound o' prunes from the spicer's, and gave himthreepence in his hand to pay for 'em; and if the rascal went not andlost the money at cross and pile with Gregory White, and never a prunehave I in the store-cupboard. He's at all evers playing me tricks o'that fashion. 'Tisn't a week since I sent him for a dozen o' Pariscandles, and he left 'em in the water as he came o'er the bridge. Eh, Mistress Wilson, but lads be that pestiferous! You've but one, and thatone o' the quiet peaceable sort--you've somewhat to be thankful for, Ican tell you, that hasn't six like me, and they a set o' contrarious, outrageous, boisterous caitiffs as ever was seen i' this world. "

"Which of 'em would you wish to part with, Collet?"

"Well, be sure!" was Collet's half-laughing answer, as she mentallyreviewed the young gentlemen in question--her giddy, thoughtlessAphabell, her mischievous Tobias, her Esdras always out at elbows, hernoisy, troublesome Noah, her rough Silvanus, whom no amount of"thwacking" seemed to polish, and her lazy, ease-loving Valentine. "Nay, come, I reckon I'll not make merchandise of any of 'em this bout. They are a lot o' runagates, I own, but I'm their mother, look you. "

Emmet Wilson smiled significantly. "Ay, Collet, and 'tis well for youand me that cord bears pulling at. "

"You and me?" responded Collet, lifting her bundle higher, into aneasier position. "'Tis well enough for the lads, I dare say; but whatado hath it with you and me?"

"I love to think, neighbour, that somewhat akin to it is said by nowsand thens of us, too, in the Court of the Great King, when the enemyaccuseth us--`Ay, she did this ill thing, and she's but a poor blacksinner at best; but thou shalt not have her, Satan; I'm her Father. '"

"You're right there, Emmet Wilson, " said Collet, in a tone which showedthat the last sentence had touched her heart. "The work and care thatmy lads give me is nought to the sins wherewith we be daily angering theLord. He's always forgiving us, be sure. "

"A sight easier than men do, Collet Pardue, take my word for it. "

"What mean you, neighbour?" asked Collet, turning round to look hercompanion in the face, for Emmet's tone had indicated that she meantmore than she said. 

"I mean one man in especial, and his name's Bastian. "

"What, the priest? Dear heart! I've not angered him, trow?"

"You soon will, _if_ you cut your cloth as you've measured it. How manytimes were you at mass this three months past?"

"How many were you?" was the half-amused answer. 

"There's a many in Staplehurst as hasn't been no oftener, " said Emmet, "that I know: but it'll not save you, Collet. The priest has his eye onyou, be sure. "

"Then I'll keep mine on him, " said Collet sturdily, as she paused at herown door, which was that of the one little shoemaker's shop in thevillage of Staplehurst. "Good-morrow, neighbour. I'll but lay down myfardel, and then step o'er to poor Sens Bradbridge. "

"And I'll come to see her this even. Good-morrow. "

And Emmet Wilson walked on further to her home, where her husband wasthe village baker and corn-monger. 

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

Note 1. Emmet is a very old variation of Emma, and sometimes speltEmmot; Sens is a corruption of Sancha, naturalised among us in thethirteenth century; and Collet or Colette, the diminutive of Nichola, acommon and favourite name in the Middle Ages. 

CHAPTER TWO. 

CHRISTABEL. 

Alice Benden had reached Cranbrook, and was busied with her variouserrands. Her position was slightly superior to that of Emmet andCollet, for she was the wife of a man who "lived upright, " whichenigmatical expression signified that he had not to work for his living. Edward Benden's father had made a little money, and his son, who had nochildren to whom to leave his property, chose to spend it rather thanbequeath it to distant relatives who were strangers to him. He ownedsome half-dozen houses at Staplehurst, one of which was occupied by thePardues, and he lived on the rents of these, and the money saved by histhrifty father. The rents he asked were not unreasonable, but if atenant failed to pay, out he must go. He might as well appeal to thedoor-posts as to Edward Benden. 

This agreeable gentleman treated his wife much as he did his tenants. He gave a sum of money into her hands for certain purchases, and withthat sum those purchases must be made. It was not of the least use toexplain failure by an unexpected rise in prices, or the fact that thearticle required could not be had at a given time. Mr Benden expectedperfection--in every one but himself. Excuses, many and often verypoor, were admitted for that favoured individual, but no other had achance to offer any. 

On the present occasion, Alice had ten shillings for her marketing, withwhich she was expected to provide six rabbits, a dozen pigeons, twenty-four eggs, five yards of buckram, a black satin cap and a brownsilk doublet for her husband, a pair of shoes for herself, and sundrythings at the spicer's. The grocer, or grosser, as the word wasoriginally spelt, only sold wholesale, and his stock as we have it wasdivided among the spicer, pepperer, and treacle-monger. That her moneywould not stretch thus far Alice well knew, and she knew also that ifshe were to avoid a scolding, Mr Benden's personal wants must besupplied, whatever became of her own. Her first call, therefore, was atthe capper's for the satin cap, which cost one shilling and eightpence;then at the tailor's for the doublet, which took four and sixpence; thenshe paid ninepence for the pigeons, which were for Mr Benden's personaleating; and next she went to the spicer's. A sugarloaf she must have, expensive as it was, for her tyrant required his dishes sweet, anddemanded that the result should be effected by dainty sugar, not likecommon people by honey or treacle: nor did she dare to omit thecurrants, since he liked currant cake with his cheese and ale. Twopounds of prunes, and four of rice, she meant to add; but those were notespecially for him, and must be left out if needful. When she hadreached this point, Alice paused, and counted up what money she hadleft. 

"Doublet, 4 shillings 6 pence; cap, 1 shilling 8 pence; pigeons, 9pence; sugarloaf, 7 pence; currants, 1 shilling: total, 8 shillings 6pence. " Thus ran Alice's calculations. "Only eighteenpence left. Theother things I wanted will come to 6 shillings 9 pence. What can I dowithout?"

The buckram must go: that was the heaviest article in the list, fiveyards at ninepence a yard. Alice's Sunday gown must be worn without anew lining for a while longer. Two rabbits instead of six, at twopencea piece; three pennyworth of eggs at eight a penny: these she couldscarcely do without. The shoes, too, were badly wanted. Rice andprunes could not be had to-day. Alice bought a pair of cheaper shoesthan she intended, paying tenpence instead of a shilling; purchased thetwo rabbits and the eggs; and found that she had one penny left. Shedecided that this would answer her purpose--nay, it must do so. MrBenden was not likely to ask if she had all she needed, so long as shedid not fail to supply his own requirements. She arranged with thepoulterer to put by the rabbits, pigeons, and eggs, for which she wouldsend a boy in the afternoon; and carrying the rest of her parcels, withwhich she was well laden, she took the road to Staplehurst. 

As she turned the corner of the last house in Cranbrook, she was broughtto a stand-still by a voice behind her. 

"Alice!"

A light sprang to Alice's eyes as she turned quickly round to greet aman a few years older than herself--a man with grave dark eyes and abrown beard. Passing all her parcels into the left hand, she gave himthe right--an action which at that time was an indication of intimatefriendship. The kiss and the hand-clasp have changed places since then. 

"Why, Roger! I look not to see thee now. How goes it this morrow withChristie?"

"As the Lord will, good sister. "

"And that, mefeareth, is but evil?"

"Nay, I will not lay that name on aught the Lord doth. But she sufferssorely, poor darling! Wilt come round our way and look in on her, Alice?"

"I would I might, Roger!" said Alice, with a rather distressed look. "But this morrow--"

"Thou hast not good conveniency thereto. " Roger finished the sentencefor her. "Then let be till thine occasion serveth. Only, when it sodoth, bethink thee that a look on Aunt Alice is a rare comfort to thelittle maid. "

"Be thou sure I shall not forget it. Tom came in last night, Roger. Heand Tabitha and the childre, said he, fare well. "

"That's a good hearing. And Edward hath his health?"

"Oh ay, Edward doth rarely well. "

Mr Benden was not apt to lose his health, which partly accounted forthe very slight sympathy he was wont to show with those who were. Itwas noticeable that while other people were spoken of by affectionatediminutives both from Alice and her brother, Edward and Tabitha receivedtheir names in full. 

"Well, then, Alice, I shall look for thee--when thou shalt be able tocome. The Lord have thee in His keeping!"

"The Lord be with thee, dear Roger!"

And Roger Hall turned down a side street, while Alice went on towardStaplehurst. They were deeply attached to each other, this brother andsister, and all the more as they found little sympathy outside theirmutual affection. Roger was quite aware of Alice's home troubles, andshe of his. They could see but little of each other, for while MrBenden had not absolutely forbidden his brother-in-law to enter hishouse, it was a familiar fact to all parties that his sufficiently sharptemper was not softened by a visit from Roger Hall, and Alice'ssufferings from the temper in question were generally enough to preventher from trying it further. It was not only sharp, but also uncertain. What pleased him to-day--and few things did please him--was by no meanssure to please him to-morrow. Alice trod on a perpetual volcano, whichwas given to opening and engulfing her just at the moment when she leastexpected it. 

Roger's home troubles were of another sort. His wife was dead, and hisone darling was his little Christabel, whose few years had hitherto beenpassed in pain and suffering. The apothecary was not able to find outwhat hidden disorder sapped the spring of little Christie's health, andmade her from her very babyhood a frail, weak, pallid invalid, scarcelyfit to do anything except lie on a sofa, learn a few little lessons fromher father, and amuse herself with fancy work. A playfellow she couldseldom bear. Her cousins, the three daughters of her Uncle Thomas, wholived about a mile away, were too rough and noisy for the frail child, with one exception--Justine, who was lame, and could not keep up withthe rest. But Justine was not a comfortable companion, for shepossessed a grumbling temper, or it would perhaps be more correct to sayshe was possessed by it. She suffered far less than Christie, yetChristie was always bright and sunny, while Justine was dark and cloudy. Yet not even Justine tried Christie as did her Aunt Tabitha. 

Aunt Tabitha was one of those women who wish and mean to do a great dealof good, and cannot tell how to do it. Not that she realised thatinability by any means. She was absolutely convinced that nearly allthe good done in the Weald of Kent was done by Tabitha Hall, while thereal truth was that if Tabitha Hall had been suddenly transported toBotany Bay, or any other distant region, the Weald of Kent would havegot along quite as well without her. According to Aunt Tabitha, the onegrand duty of every human creature was to rouse himself and otherpeople: and, measured by this rule, Aunt Tabitha certainly did her duty. She earnestly impressed on Alice that Mr Benden would develop into aperfect angel if only she stood up to him; and she was never tired ofassuring Christie that her weakness and suffering were entirely theresult of her own idle disinclination to rouse herself. Thus urged, Christie did sometimes try to rouse herself, the result being that whendeprived of the stimulating presence of Aunt Tabitha, she was fit fornothing but bed for some time afterwards. It was a good thing for herthat Aunt Tabitha's family kept her busy at home for the most part, sothat her persecutions of poor Christie were less frequent than theywould otherwise have been. 

Mr Thomas Hall, the younger brother of Roger and Alice, had the air ofa man who had been stood up to, until he had lost all power or desire ofstanding up for himself. He remarked that it was a fine morning with anaspect of deprecation that would have made it seem quite cruel todisagree with him, even if it were raining hard. He never contradictedhis Tabitha: poor man, he knew too well what would come of it! It wouldhave been as easy for him to walk up to the mouth of a loaded cannonwhen the gunner was applying the match, as to remark to her, in howevermild a tone, that he preferred his mutton boiled when he knew she likedit roasted. Yet he was a good man, in his meek unobtrusive way, andChristie liked her Uncle Thomas next best to her father and Aunt Alice. 

"Christie, I marvel you are not weary!" said her lively, robust cousinFriswith [a corruption of Frideawide], one day. 

Not weary! Ah, how little Friswith knew about it!

"I am by times, Friswith, " said Christie meekly. 

"Mother saith she is assured you might have better health an' you would. You lie and lie there like a log of wood. Why get you not up and goabout like other folks?"

"I can't, cousin; it hurts me. "

"Hurts you, marry! I wouldn't give in to a bit of a hurt like that! Inever mind being hurt. "

Christie silently doubted that last statement. 

"Hear you, Christie?"

"Yes, Friswith, I hear. "

"Then why rouse you not up, as Mother saith?"

"I can't, Friswith; my head pains me this morrow. "

"Lack-a-daisy, what a fuss you make o'er a bit of pain! Well, I must beaway--I've to go to Cranbrook of an errand for Mother; she lacks asarcenet coif. If I can scrimp enough money out of this, I'll have somecarnation ribbon to guard my hat--see if I don't!"

"Oh, Friswith! It isn't your money, 'tis Aunt Tabitha's. "

"I'll have it, though; I hate to go shabby. And I can tell you, I metBeatrice Pardue last night, with a fresh ribbon on hers. I'll not haveher finer than me. She's stuck-up enough without it. You look out onSunday as I go by the window, and see if my hat isn't new guarded withcarnation. I'll get round Mother somehow; and if she do give me awhipping, I'm not so soft as you. Good-morrow!"

"Friswith, don't!"

Friswith only laughed as she closed the door on Christabel, and ran offlightly down the Cranbrook road. 

CHAPTER THREE. 

THE COMFORTABLE JUSTICE. 

Mr Justice Roberts sat in his dining-room after supper, with a tankardof ale at his elbow. Had the "pernicious weed" been discovered at thatdate, he would probably also have had a pipe in his hand; but tobaccobeing yet a calamity of the future, the Justice was not smoking. 

He was, however, very comfortable. He sat in a big leather chair, whichrested his portly figure; he had just had a good supper, consisting of apartridge pie and a dish of juicy pears; he had sold a horse thatmorning at considerable profit; his mind was as easy as his body. 

There was only one thing the occurrence of which Mr Roberts would havethought it worth his while to deprecate at that moment. This was, anybody coming to bother him. The worthy Justice did not like to bebothered. A good many people are of the same opinion. He had thatevening but one enemy in the world, and that was the man who should nextrap at his house door. 

"Rap-a-tap-tap-tap!"

"Go to Jericho!" said the Justice to the unseen individual who was thusabout to disturb his rest. "I want none of you. Why on earth can't youlet a man alone?--What is it, Martha?"

"Please you, Master, 'tis Master Benden would have a word with you. "

"What can the companion want?" mildly growled the Justice. "Well! lethim in, and bring another tankard. Good evening, Master Benden. A fineautumn eve, trow. "

Mr Benden's face said that he had come to talk about something of moremoment than autumn evenings. He sat down opposite the Justice, buttonedhis long gown up to the neck, as if to gird himself for action, andcleared his throat with an air of importance. 

"Master Roberts, I am come on a grave matter and a sad. "

"Can't deal with grave matters after supper, " said the Justice. "Comeagain in the morning. Take a pear. "

"Sir, this is a serious business. "

"Business hours are over. I never do business out of hours. "

"To-night, Master Roberts, and to-night only, shall serve for thisbusiness. "

"I do no business out of hours!" solemnly repeated the officer of thelaw. "Take a pear--take two pears, and come again in the morning. "

Mr Benden shook his head in a tragic manner, and let the pears alone. 

"They are good pears, " said the Justice. "If you love no pears, put onein your pocket with my commendations to good Mistress Benden. How dothshe?--well, I hope. "

"Were I able, Sir, " replied the visitor impressively, "to bear yourcommendations to good Mistress Benden, I were the happier man. But, alas! I am not at that pass. "

"What, come you hither to complain of your wife? Fie, Master Benden!Go you home and peace her, like a wise man as you are, and cast her halfa suffering for some woman's gear. "

Mr Benden might most truthfully have made reply that he had ere thatevening bestowed on his wife not half a suffering only, but many wholeones: but he knew that the Justice meant half a sovereign, which wasthen pronounced exactly like suffering. 

"Sir!" he said rather angrily, "it pleases you to reckon lightly of thismatter: but what, I pray you, if you have to make account thereon withthe Queen's Grace's laws, not to speak of holy Church? Sir, I give youto wit that my wife is an ill hussy, and an heretic belike, and lacketha sharp pulling up--sharper than I can give her. She will not go tochurch, neither hear mass, nor hath she shriven her this many a day. You are set in office, methinks, to administer the laws, and have noright thus to shuffle off your duty by hours and minutes. I summon youto perform it in this case. "

Mr Justice Roberts was grave enough now. The half-lazy, half-jocosetone which he had hitherto worn was cast aside entirely, and theexpression of his face grew almost stern. But the sternness was not allfor the culprit thus arraigned before him; much of it was for theprosecutor. He was both shocked and disgusted with the course MrBenden had taken: which course is not fiction, but fact. 

"Master Benden, " said he, "I am two men--the Queen's officer of herlaws, and plain Anthony Roberts of Cranbrook. You speak this even butto Anthony Roberts: and as such, good Master, I would have you bethinkyou that if your wife be brought afore me as Justice, I must deal withher according to law. You know, moreover, that in case she shall admither guilt, and refuse to amend, there is no course open to me save tocommit her to prison: and you know, I suppose, what the end of that maybe. Consider well if you are avised to go through with it. A man needcount the cost of building an house ere he layeth in a load of bricks. "

"You are not wont, Master Justice, to be thus tender over women, " saidBenden derisively. "Methinks ere now I have heard you to thank thesaints you never wedded one. "

"And may do so yet again, Master Benden. I covet little to have a wifeto look after. "

Like many men in his day, Mr Roberts looked upon a wife not as somebodywho would look after him, in the sense of making him comfortable, butrather as one whom he would have the trouble of perpetually keeping outof all sorts of ways that were naughty and wrong. 

"But that is not your case, " he continued in the same stern tone. "Youset to-night--if you resolve to persevere therein--a ball rolling thatmay not tarry till it reach the fire. Are you avised thereon?"

"I am. Do your duty!" was the savage reply. 

"Then do you yours, " said Mr Roberts coldly, "and bring Mrs Bendenbefore me next sessions day. There is time to forethink you ere itcome. "

Unconscious of the storm thus lowering over her, Alice Benden wassitting by little Christie's sofa. There were then few playthings, andno children's books, and other books were scarce and costly. Fiftyvolumes was considered a large library, and in few houses even ofeducated people were there more books than about half-a-dozen. For aninvalid confined to bed or sofa, whether child or adult, there waslittle resource save needlework. Alice had come to bring her littleniece a roll of canvas and some bright-coloured silks. Having so muchtime to spare, and so little variety of occupation, Christie was a moreskilful embroideress than many older women. A new pattern was a greatpleasure, and there were few pleasures open to the invalid and lonelychild. Her sole home company was her father, for their one servant, Nell, was too busy, with the whole work of the house upon her hands, todo more for Christabel than necessity required; and Mr Hall, who wasmanager of one of the large factories in Cranbrook, was obliged to beaway nearly the whole day. Other company--her Aunt Alice excepted--wasrather a trial than a pleasure to Christabel. The young people wererough and noisy, even when they tried not to be so, and the child'snerves were weak. Aunt Tabitha worried her to "rouse herself, and notbe a burden on her poor father"; and how gladly would Christabel havedone it! Uncle Thomas was also a harassing visitor, though in anotherway. He never knew what to say, when he had once asked how the invalidfelt: he only sat and gazed at her and the window alternately, now andthen, as though by a mental jerk, bringing out a few words. 

"He causes me to feel so naughty, Aunt, " said Christie dolefully, "and Ido want to be good. He sits and looks on me till I feel--I feel--AuntAlice, I can't find the words: as if all my brains would come out of myfinger-ends, if he went on. And now and then he says a word or two--such as `Rain afore night, likely, ' or `Bought a drove of pigsyesterday, ' and I can only say, `Yes, uncle. ' I think 'tis hard forboth of us, Aunt Alice, for we don't know what to say one to the other. I can't talk to _him_, and he can't talk to _me_. "

Alice laughed, and then the tears almost rose in her eyes, as she softlysmoothed Christie's fair hair. She knew full well the sensation ofintense, miserable nerve-strain, for which the little girl strove invain to find words. 

"'Tis hard to be patient, little Christie, " she said tenderly. "But Godknoweth it, dear heart; and He is very patient with us. "

"O Aunt Alice, I know! And I am so sorry afterwards, when I should havebeen quiet and patient, and I have spoken crossly. People know not howhard it is, and how hard one tries: they only see when one gives way. They see not even how ashamed one is afterwards. "

"Truth, sweet heart; but the Lord seeth. "

"Aunt, think you the Lord Jesus ever felt thus?"

"He never felt sin, Christie; but I reckon He knew as well as any of uswhat it is to be wearied and troubled, when matters went not to Hiscomfort. `The contradiction of sinners' covereth a great deal. "

"I wonder, " said Christie plaintively, "if He felt as if it hurt Himwhen His brethren banged the doors! Friswith alway does when she comes;and it is like as if she struck me on the ears. And she never seems tohear it!"

"I cannot tell, sweeting, what He felt in the days of His flesh atNazareth; but I can tell thee a better thing--that He doth feel now, andfor thee. `I am poor and needy, but the Lord careth for me. ' Keep thatin thine heart, little Christie; it shall be like a soft pillow for thyweary head. "

Alice rose to go home, and tied on her blue hood. 

"O Aunt Alice, must you go? Couldn't you tarry till Father comes?"

"I think not, my dear heart. Tell thy father I had need to haste away, but I will come again and see both him and thee to-morrow. "

To-morrow!

"Give him my loving commendations. Good-night, my child. " And Alicehurried away. 

CHAPTER FOUR. 

TABBY SHOWS HER CLAWS. 

Friswith Hall was returning from Cranbrook in a state of greatsatisfaction. She had made an excellent bargain; and she was the sortof girl to whose mind a bargain had the flavour of a victory. In thefirst place, she had squeezed both coif and ribbon out of her money; andin the second, she had--as she fondly believed--purchased an articleworth one-and-tenpence for eighteenpence. 

As she came up to the last stile she had to pass, Friswith saw two girlssitting on it--the elder a slender, delicate-looking girl of somefourteen years, the younger a sturdy, little, rosy-faced damsel ofseven. They looked up on hearing steps, and the elder quitted her seatto leave Friswith room to pass. 

"Good-morrow, Pen! So you've got Patience there?"

"I haven't much, I'm afraid, " said Pen, laughing. "I came out herebecause the lads made such a noise I could scarce hear myself speak; andI wanted to teach Patience her hymn. Charity knows hers; but Patiencelearns slower. "

"Are they with you, then--both?"

"For a few days. Mistress Bradbridge is gone to visit her brother atChelmsford, so she left her little maids with Mother. "

"What a company must you be! How can you ever squeeze into the house?"

"Oh, folks can squeeze into small corners when they choose, " said PenuelPardue, with a smile. "A very little corner will hold both Charity andPatience. "

"Then you haven't much of either, " answered Friswith satirically. "Lookyou here, Pen!"

And unrolling her ribbon, she displayed its crimson beauties. 

"What's that for?"

"For my hat! You can tell Beatrice, if you like, she won't be thebest-dressed maid at church next Sunday. "

"I should never suppose she would, " was the quiet reply. 

"Oh, I saw her blue ribbons! But I'll be as grand as she, you'll seenow. Mother sent me to buy her a coif, and I got this for the moneytoo. Don't you wish you were me?"

"No, Friswith, I don't think I do, " said Penuel gravely. 

"That's because you think Mother will scold. I'll stand up to her ifshe do. She's always bidding us stand up to folks, and I'll see how shelikes it herself a bit!"

With which very dutiful speech, Friswith took her departure. 

Penuel looked after her for a moment, and then, with a shake of her headwhich meant more than words, turned back to Patience and the hymn. 

"Now, little Patience, try to learn the next verse. I will say it overto thee. 

 "`And in the presence of my foes My table Thou shalt spread; Thou shalt, O Lord, fill full my cup, And eke anoint my head. '"

"Who be my foes, Pen?" said Patience. 

"Folks that tease and trouble thee, my child. "

"Oh!" responded Patience, instantly making a practical application. "Toby and Silas, that is. But they didn't see you spread the table, Pen. They were out playing on the green. "

Penuel tried to "improve" this very literal rendering of the Psalm, butfound it impossible to advance further than the awakening in Patience'smind an expectation of a future, but equally literal table, the daintieson which Toby and Silas would not be privileged to share. 

"I won't give them the lessest bit, 'cause they're my foes, " saidPatience stubbornly. "You shall have some, Pen, and so shall Beatie--and Abbafull, if he's good. He tied my shoe. "

"Aphabell, not Abbafull, " corrected Penuel. "But, Patience, that won'tserve: you've got to forgive your enemies. "

"They shan't have one bit!" announced Patience, putting her hands behindher back, as if to emphasise her statement. "Pen, what does `anoint myhead' mean?"

"Pour oil on it, " said Penuel. 

"I won't have oil on my head! I'll pour it on Silas and Toby. It'llrun down and dirt their clothes, and then Mother Pardue'll thwack 'em. "

"Patience, Patience! Little maids mustn't want to have peoplethwacked. "

"I may want my foes thwacked, and I will!" replied Patience sturdily. 

"Look at the people coming up the road, " answered Penuel, thinking itwell to make a diversion. "Why, there's Master Benden and his mistress, and Mistress Hall, and ever so many more. What's ado, I marvel?"

About a dozen persons comprised the approaching group, which was broughtup by a choice assortment of small boys, among whom Penuel's brothers, Esdras and Silvanus, were conspicuous. Mr Benden walked foremost, holding his wife by her wrist, as if he were afraid of her running away;whilst she went with him as quietly as if she had no such intention. Almost in a line with them was Tabitha Hall, and she was pouring out atorrent of words. 

"And you'll rue it, Edward Benden, you take my word for it! You savagebarbarian, to deal thus with a decent woman that never shamed you norgave you an ill word! Lack-a-day, but I thank all the saints on mybended knees I'm not your wife! I'd--"

"So do I, Mistress!" was Mr Benden's grim answer. 

"I'd make your life a burden to you, if I were! I'd learn you toill-use a woman! I'd give it you, you white-livered dotipole [cowardlysimpleton] of a Pharisee! Never since the world began--"

"Go to!" shrieked the boys behind, in great glee. "Scratch him, Tabby, do!"

Alice never uttered a word, either to her husband or her sister-in-law. She heard it all as though she heard not. Catching the eye of herbrother Esdras, Penuel beckoned to him, and that promising youthsomewhat reluctantly left the interesting group, and shambled up to hiseldest sister at the stile. 

"Esdras, what is all this? Do tell me. "

"'Tis Master Benden, a-carrying of his mistress afore the Justices, andMistress Hall's a-showing him the good love she bears him for it. "

"Afore the Justices! Mistress Benden! Dear saints, but wherefore?"

"Oh, I wis nought of the inwards thereof, " said Esdras, pulling a switchfrom the hedge. "Some saith one thing, and some another. But theysaith she'll go to prison, safe sure. "

"Oh, Esdras, I am sorry!" said Penuel, in a tone of great distress. "Mother will be sore troubled. Everybody loves Mistress Benden, and fewloveth her master. There's some sorry blunder, be thou sure. "

"Very like, " said Esdras, turning to run off after the disappearingcompany. 

"Esdras, " said little Patience suddenly, "you've got a big hole in you. "

"Oh, let be! my gear's alway in holes, " was the careless answer. "It'llhold together till I get back, I reckon. Here goes!"

And away went Esdras, with two enormous holes in his stockings, and along strip of his jacket flying behind him like a tail. 

"Oh dear, this world!" sighed Penuel. "I'm afraid 'tis a bad place. Come, little Patience, let us go home. "

When the girls reached Mrs Pardue's cottage, they found there themother of Patience, Mrs Bradbridge. She sat talking earnestly to MrsPardue, who was busy washing, and said little in answer beyond suchreplies, compatible with business, as "Ay, " "I reckon so, " or "To besure!"

"Mother!" said Penuel, as she led Patience in, "have you heard of thismatter of Mistress Benden's?"

"Nay, child, " replied Collet, stopping in the process of hanging up askirt to dry. "Why, whatso? Naught ill, I do hope and trust, toMistress Benden. I'd nigh as soon have aught hap evil to one of my ownas her. "

"Eh, neighbour, 'tis all a body need look for, " sighed poor WidowBradbridge, lifting Patience on her knee. "This world's naught savetrouble and sorrow--never was sin' the Flood, more especially forwomen. "

"She's had up to the Justices, Mother, but I couldn't hear for why; andher own husband is he that taketh her. "

"He'll get his demerits, be sure, " said Mrs Bradbridge. 

"Well, and I wouldn't so much mind if he did, " was Mrs Pardue'senergetic comment. "He never was fit to black her shoes, he wasn't. Alice Benden afore the Justices! why, I'd as soon believe I ought to bethere. If I'd ha' knowed, it should ha' cost me hot water but I'd ha'been with her, to cheer up and stand by the poor soul. Why, it shouldabhor any Christian man to hear of such doings!"

"Mistress Hall's withal, Mother: and I guess Master Benden 'll have hiswater served not much off the boil. "

"I'm fain to hear it!" said Collet. 

"Eh, she was at him, I can tell you! and she handled the matter shrewdlytoo. So was Esdras and Silas, and a sort more lads, a-crying, `Scratchhim, Tabby!' and she scraught him right well. "

"The naughty caitiffs!" exclaimed their mother. "Howbeit, when theycome home we shall maybe know the inwards of the matter. "

The boys did not come home for some hours. When they did, Esdras slunkup the ladder, his garments being in a state which, as Silas had justkindly informed him, "smelt of the birch, " and not desiring theapplication of that remedy sooner than could be helped. Silas flung hiscap into the furthest corner, with a shout of "Hooray!" which sent hismother's hands to her ears. 

"Bless the lad!--he'll deafen a body, sure enough! Now then, speak, caitiff, and tell us what's ado with Mistress Benden. Is she let off?"

"She's sent a-prison, " shouted Silas, in tones which seemed likely tocarry that information down the row. "Justice axed her why she went notto church, and quoth she, `That can I not do, with a good conscience, since there is much idolatry committed against the glory of God. ' Andthen she was committed. Justice didn't love his work o'er well, andMaster Benden, as he was a-coming away, looked as sour as crabs. Andold Tabby--Oh, lack-a-daisy-me! didn't she have at him! She's a goodun, and no mistake! She stuck to his heels all the way along, and shebeat him black and blue with her tongue, and he looked like a butt ofalegar with a hogshead o' mustard in it. Hooray for old Tabby!"--andSilas announced that sentiment to the neighbourhood at the top of hisvery unsubdued voice. 

CHAPTER FIVE. 

REPENTANCE. 

"Sil-van-us Par-due!" Five very distinct syllables from his mothergreeted the speech wherein Master Silas expressed his appreciation ofthe action of Mrs Tabitha Hall. "Silas, I would you were as 'shamed ofyourself as I am of you. "

"Well, Mother, " responded Silas, with a twinkle in a pair of shiningbrown eyes, "if you'll run up yonder ladder and take half a look atEsdras, you'll not feel nigh so 'shamed of me at after!"

This skilful diversion of the attack from himself to his brother--a featwherein every son of Adam is as clever as his forefather--effected theend which Master Silvanus had proposed to himself. 

"Dear heart alive!" cried Mrs Pardue, in a flutter, "has that lad torehis self all o' pieces?"

"There isn't many pieces left of him, " calmly observed Silas. 

Mrs Pardue disappeared up the ladder, from which region presently camethe sound of castigation, with its attendant howls from the sufferer, while Silas, having provided himself with a satisfactory cinder, proceeded, in defiance of Penuel's entreaties, to sketch a rather cleverstudy of Mrs Tabitha Hall in the middle of his mother's newly washedtable-cloth. 

"Eh, Pen, you'll never do no good wi' no lads!" lamented MrsBradbridge, rising to depart. "Nought never does lads a bit o' goodsave thrashing 'em. I'm truly thankful mine's both maids. They're asight o' trouble, lads be. Good even. "

As Mistress Bradbridge went out, Mr Pardue was stepping in. 

"Silas, let be!" said his father quietly; and Silas made a face, butpocketed the cinder for future use. "Pen, where's Mother?"

Mrs Pardue answered for herself by coming down the ladder. 

"There! I've given it Esdras: now, Silas, 'tis thy turn. "

No pussy cat could have worn an aspect of more exquisite meekness thanMr Silvanus Pardue at that moment, having dexterously twitched a towelso as to hide the work of art on which he had been engaged the momentbefore. 

"I've done nothing, Mother, " he demurely observed, adding with consciousvirtue, "I never tear my clothes. "

"You've made a pretty hole in your manners, my master, " replied hismother. "Nicholas, what thinkest a lad to deserve that nicks MistressHall with the name of `Old Tabby'?"

Nicholas Pardue made no answer in words, but silently withdrew theprotecting towel, and disclosed the sufficiently accurate portrait ofMistress Tabitha on the table-cloth. 

"Thou weary gear of a pert, mischievous losel!" [wretch, rascal] criedCollet. "Thou shalt dine with Duke Humphrey [a proverbial expressionfor fasting] this morrow, and sup on birch broth, as I'm a living woman!My clean-washed linen that I've been a-toiling o'er ever since three o'the clock! Was there nought else to spoil but that, thou rascal?"

"Oh ay, Mother, " said Silas placidly. "There's your new partlet, andPen's Sunday gown. "

Mrs Pardue's hand came down not lightly upon Silas. 

"I'll partlet thee, thou rogue! I'll learn thee to dirt clean gear, andmake work for thy mother! If ever in all my born days I saw a worserlad--"

The door was darkened. Collet looked up, and beheld the parish priest. Her hold of Silas at once relaxed--a fact of which that lively gentlemanwas not slow to take advantage--and she dropped a courtesy, not veryheartfelt, as the Reverend Philip Bastian made his way into the cottage. Nicholas gave a pull to his forelock, while Collet, bringing forward achair, which she dusted with her apron, dismissed Penuel with a look. 

The priest's face meant business. He sat down, leaned both hands on hisgold-headed cane, and took a deliberate look at both Nicholas and Colletbefore he said a word beyond the bare "Good even. " After waiting longenough to excite considerable uneasiness in their minds, he inquired indulcet tones--

"What have you to say to me, my children?"

It was the woman who answered. "Please you. Father, we've nought tosay, not in especial, without to hope you fare well this fine even. "

"Indeed!--and how be you faring?"

"Right well, an't like you, Father, saving some few pains in my bones, such as I oft have of a washing-day. "

"And how is it with thy soul, daughter?"

"I lack not your help therein, I thank you, " said Collet somewhatspiritedly. 

"Do you not so? I pray you, where have you stood in the church sincelast May, that never once have I, looking from the altar, seen yourfaces therein? Methinks you must have found new standing-room, behindthe rood-screen, or maybe within the font, " suggested the priestsatirically. "Wit you that this is ever the beginning of heresy? Haveyou heard what has befallen your landlord's wife, Mistress Benden?Doubtless she thought her good name and repute should serve her in thiscase. Look you, they have not saved her. She lieth this night inCanterbury Gaol, whither you may come belike, an' you have not a care, and some of your neighbours with you. Moreover, your dues be not fullypaid--"

"Sir, " replied Nicholas Pardue, "I do knowledge myself behind in thatmatter, and under your good leave, I had waited on you ere the week wereout. A labouring man, with a great store of children, hath not alwaymoney to his hand when it most list him to pay the same. "

"So far, well, " answered the priest more amiably. "I will tarry a time, trusting you shall in other ways return to your duty. God give you agood even!"

And with seven shillings more in his pocket than when he entered, theRev. Philip Bastian went his way. Nicholas and Collet looked at eachother with some concern. 

"We've but barely 'scaped!" said the latter. "What do we now, Nick?Wilt go to church o' Sunday?"

"No, " said Nicholas quietly. 

"Shall I go without thee, to peace him like?"

"Not by my good-will thereto. "

"Then what do we?"

"What we have hitherto done. Serve God, and keep ourselves from idols. "

"Nick, I do by times marvel if it be any ill to go. _We_ worship noidols, even though we bow down--"

"`Thou shalt not bow down to them' is the command. "

"Ay, but they were images of false gods. "

"Read the Commandment, good wife. They were `any graven image, or thelikeness of any thing that is in Heaven above, or in the earth beneath, or in the waters under the earth. ' Not a word touching false gods readI there. "

"Why, but that were to condemn all manner of painting and such like--even yon rogue's likeness of Mistress Hall yonder. "

"Scarcely, methinks, so long as it were not made for worship. Thecherubim were commanded to be made. But if so were, wife--whether werebetter, that the arts of painting and sculpture were forgotten, or thatGod should be dishonoured and His commands disobeyed?"

"Well, if you put it that way--"

"Isn't it the true way?"

"Ay, belike it is. But he'll be down on us, Nick. "

"No manner of doubt, wife, but he will, and Satan too. But `I am withthee, and no man shall invade thee to hurt thee, ' [see Note] saith theLord unto His servants. "

"They've set on Mistress Benden, trow. "

"Nay, not to hurt her. `Some of you shall they cause to be put todeath. . . Yet shall not an hair of your head perish. '"

"Eh, Nick, how shall that be brought about?"

"I know not, Collet, neither do I care. The Lord's bound to bring itabout, and He knows how. I haven't it to do. "

"'Tis my belief, " said Collet, shaking the table-cloth, in a fondendeavour to obliterate the signs of Master Silas and his art, "thatMaster Benden 'll have a pretty bill to pay, one o' these days!"

Her opinion would have been confirmed if she could have looked into thewindow at Briton's Mead, as Mr Benden's house was called. For EdwardBenden was already coming to that conclusion. He sat in his lonelyparlour, without a voice to break the stillness, after an uncomfortablesupper sent up in the absence of the mistress by a girl whom Alice hadnot yet fully trained, and who, sympathising wholly with her, was notconcerned to increase the comfort of her master. At that time themistress of a house, unless very exalted, was always her own housekeeperand head cook. 

Mr Benden was not a man usually given to excess, but he drank deeplythat evening, to get out of the only company he had, that of his ownself-reproachful thoughts. He had acted in haste--spurred on, notdeterred, by Tabitha's bitter speeches; and he was now occupied inrepenting considerably at leisure. He knew as well as any one couldhave told him, that he was an unpopular man in his neighbourhood, andthat no one of his acquaintance would have done or suffered much forhim, save that long-suffering wife who, by his own act, lay that night aprisoner in Canterbury Gaol. Even she did not love him--he had nevergiven her room nor reason; but she would have done her duty by him, andhe knew it. 

He looked up to where her portrait hung upon the wall, taken ten yearsago, in the bloom of her youth. The eyes were turned towards him, andthe lips were half parted in a smile. 

"Alice!" he said, as if the picture could have heard him. "Alice!"

But the portrait smiled on, and gave no answer. 

"I'll have you forth, Alice, " he murmured. "I'll see to it the firstthing to-morrow. Well, not to-morrow, neither; market-day at Cranbrook. I meant to take the bay horse to sell there. Do no harm, trow, to lether tarry a two-three days or a week. I mean you no harm, Alice; onlyto bring you down a little, and make you submissive. You're a bit toomuch set on your own way, look you. I'll go to Master Horden and MasterColepeper, and win them to move Dick o' Dover to leave her go forth. Itshall do her a power of good--just a few days. And I can ne'er put upwith many suppers like this--I must have her forth. Should have thoughto' that sooner, trow. Ay, Alice--I'll have you out!"

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

Note. Most of the Scriptural quotations are taken from Cranmer's Bible. 

CHAPTER SIX. 

PEPPERED BROTH. 

"Father! O Father! Must I forgive Uncle Edward? I don't see how Ican. "

"I'm afraid you must, Christie, if you look to follow Christ. "

"But how can I? To use dear Aunt Alice so cruelly!"

"How can God forgive thee and me, Christie, that have used His blessedSon far, far worser than Uncle Edward hath used Aunt Alice, or evercould use her?"

"Father, have you forgiven him?"

It was a hard question. Next after his little Christie herself, thedearest thing in the world to Roger Hall was his sister Alice. Hehesitated an instant. 

"No, you haven't, " said Christie, in a tone of satisfaction. "Then I'msure I don't need if _you_ haven't. "

"Dost thou mean, then, to follow Roger Hall, instead of the Lord Jesus?"

Christie parried that difficult query by another. 

"Father, _love_ you Uncle Edward?"

"I am trying, Christie. "

"I should think you'd have to try about a hundred million years!" saidChristie. "I feel as if I should be as glad as could be, if a big bearwould just come and eat him up!--or a great lion, I would not mind whichit was, if it wouldn't leave the least bit of him. "

"But if Christ died for Uncle Edward, my child?"

"I don't see how He could. I wouldn't. "

"No, dear heart, I can well believe that. `Scarce will any man die fora righteous man. . . But God setteth out His love toward us, seeing thatwhile we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. ' And He left us `anensample, ' my Christie, `that we should follow His steps. '"

"I can't, Father; I can't!"

"Surely thou canst not, without the Lord make thee able. Thou canstnever follow Christ in thine own strength. But `His strength is madeperfect through weakness. ' I know well, my dear heart, 'tis vastlyharder to forgive them that inflict suffering on them we love dearly--far harder than when we be the sufferers ourselves. But God can enableus to do even that, Christie. "

Christie's long sigh, as she turned on her cushion, said that it wasalmost too hard for her to believe. But before she had found an answer, the door opened, and Mrs Tabitha Hall appeared behind it. 

"Well, Roger Hall, how love you your good brother-in-law this morrow?"was her greeting. "I love not his action in no wise, sister. "

"What mean you by that? Can you set a man's action in one basket, andhimself in another? It's a strain beyond E-la, that is. " [See note. ]

"We're trying to forgive Uncle Edward, Aunt, " said Christie from hercouch, in a rather lugubrious tone. 

"Pleasant work, isn't it?" was Aunt Tabitha's answer. "I haven'tforgiven him, nor tried neither; nor I amn't going. "

"But Father says we must. "

"Very good; let him set us the ensample. "

Aunt Tabitha made herself comfortable in Mr Hall's big chair, which hevacated for her convenience. By her side she set down her largemarket-basket, covered with a clean cloth, from which at one endprotruded the legs of two geese, and at the other the handle of a newfrying-pan. 

"I've been up to see him this morrow; I thought he'd best not come shorto' bitters. But he's off to Cranbrook with his bay horse--at the leastso saith Mall--and I shall need to tarry while he comes back. It'll nothurt: bitters never lose strength by standing. I'll have it out withhim again, come this even. "

"Best not, Tabitha. It should maybe turn to more bitters for poorAlice, if you anger him yet further. And we have no right tointerfere. "

"What mean you by that, Roger Hall?" demanded Mistress Tabitha, inwarlike tones. "No right, quotha! If that isn't a man, all o'er! I'vea right to tell my brother-in-law he's an infamous rascal, and I'll doit, whether I have or no! No right, marry come up! Where else is he tohear it, prithee? You talk of forgiving him, forsooth, and Alice neverstands up to him an inch, and as for that Tom o' mine, why, he canscarce look his own cat in the face. Deary weary me! where would youall be, I'd like to know, without I looked after you? You'd letyourselves be trod on and ground down into the dust, afore you'd do somuch as squeal. That's not my way o' going on, and you'd best know it. "

"Thank you, Sister Tabitha; I think I knew it before, " said Mr Hallquietly. 

"Please, Aunt Tabitha--" Christie stopped and flushed. 

"Well, child, what's ado?"

"Please, Aunt, if you wouldn't!" suggested Christie lucidly. "You see, I've got to forgive Uncle Edward, and when you talk like that, it makesme boil up, and I can't. "

"Boil up, then, and boil o'er, " said Aunt Tabitha, half-amused. "I'lltarry to forgive him, at any rate, till he says he's sorry. "

"But Father says God didn't wait till we were sorry, before the LordJesus died for us, Aunt Tabitha. "

"You learn your gram'mer to suck eggs!" was the reply. "Well, if you'reboth in that mind, I'd best be off; I shall do no good with you. " AndAunt Tabitha swung the heavy market-basket on her strong arm as lightlyas if it were only a feather's weight. "Good-morrow; I trust you'llhear reason, Roger Hall, next time I see you. Did you sup your herbs, Christie, that I steeped for you?"

"Yes, Aunt, I thank you, " said Christabel meekly, a vivid recollectionof the unsavoury flavour of the dose coming over her, and creating afervent hope that Aunt Tabitha would be satisfied without repeating it. 

"Wormwood, and betony, and dandelion, and comfrey, " said Aunt Tabitha. "Maybe, now, you'd best have a change; I'll lay some camomile and gingerto steep for you, with a pinch of balm--that'll be pleasant enough tosup. "

Christabel devoutly hoped it would be better than the last, but shewisely refrained from saying so. 

"As for Edward Benden, I'll mix him some wormwood and rue, " resumed AuntTabitha grimly: "and I'll not put honey in it neither. Good-morrow. You've got to forgive him, you know: much good may it do you! It'll notdo him much, without I mistake. "

And Aunt Tabitha and her basket marched away. Looking from the window, Mr Hall descried Mr Benden coming up a side road on the bay horse, which he had evidently not succeeded in selling. He laughed to himselfas he saw that Tabitha perceived the enemy approaching, and evidentlyprepared for combat. Mr Benden, apparently, did not see her till hewas nearly close to her, when he at once spurred forward to get away, pursued by the vindictive Tabitha, whose shrill voice was audible as sheran, though the words could not be heard. They were not, however, difficult to imagine. Of course the horse soon distanced the woman. Aunt Tabitha, with a shake of her head and another of her clenched fistat the retreating culprit, turned back for her basket, which she had setdown on the bank to be rid of its weight in the pursuit. 

Mr Benden's reflections were not so pleasant as they might have been, and they were no pleasanter for having received curt and cold welcomethat morning from several of his acquaintances in Cranbrook. Peoplemanifestly disapproved of his recent action. There were many whosympathised but little with Alice Benden's opinions, and would even havebeen gratified by the detection and punishment of a heretic, who werenotwithstanding disgusted and annoyed that a quiet, gentle, andgenerally respected gentlewoman should be denounced to the authoritiesby her own husband. He, of all men, should have shielded and screenedher. Even Justice Roberts had nearly as much as told him so. MrBenden felt himself a semi-martyr. The world was hard on disinterestedvirtue, and had no sympathy with self-denial. It is true, the world didnot know his sufferings at the hands of Mary, who could not send up adecent hash--and who was privately of opinion that an improper hash, orno hash at all, was quite good enough for the man who had accused herdear mistress to the authorities. Mr Benden was growing tired ofdisinterested virtue, which was its own reward, and a very poor one. 

"I can't stand this much longer; I must have Alice back!" was hisreflection as he alighted from the bay horse. 

But Nemesis had no intention of letting him off thus easily. MistressTabitha Hall had carried home her geese and frying-pan, and afterroasting and eating the former with chestnut sauce, churning the week'ssupply of butter, setting the bread to rise, and indicating to Friswithand Joan, her elder daughters, what would be likely to happen to them ifthe last-named article were either over or under-baked, she changed hergown from a working woollen to an afternoon camlet, and took her way toBriton's Mead. Mr Benden had supped as best he might on a very toughchicken pie, with a crust not much softer than crockery, and neither hisdigestion nor his temper was in a happy condition, when Mary rapped atthe door, and much to her own satisfaction informed her master thatMistress Hall would fain have speech of him. Mr Benden groaned almostaudibly. Could he by an act of will have transported Tabitha to thefurther side of the Mountains of the Moon, nobody in Staplehurst wouldhave seen much more of her that year. But, alas! he had to run thegauntlet of her comments on himself and his proceedings, which he wellknew would not be complimentary. For a full hour they were closetedtogether. Mary, in the kitchen, could faintly hear their voices, andrejoiced to gather from the sound that, to use her own expression, "themaster was supping his broth right well peppered. " At last MistressTabitha marched forth, casting a Parthian dart behind her. 

"See you do, Edward Benden, without you want another basin o' hot water;and I'll set the kettle on to boil this time, I promise you!"

"Good even, Mary, " she added, as she came through the kitchen. "He(without any antecedent) has promised he'll do all he can to fetch herforth; and if he doesn't, and metely soon too, he'll wish he had, that'sall!"

So saying, Mistress Tabitha marched home to inspect her bread, and ifneed were, to "set the kettle on" there also. 

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

Note: _E-la_ is the highest note in the musical system of Guidod'Aretino, which was popular in the sixteenth century. "A strain beyondE-la, " therefore, signified something impossible or unreasonable. 

CHAPTER SEVEN. 

WHEREIN ALICE COMES HOME. 

Partly moved by a faint sense of remorse, partly by Mrs Tabitha's sharpspeeches, and partly also--perhaps most of all--by his privatediscomfort in respect of Mary's culinary unskilfulness, Mr Benden sethimself to eat his dose of humble pie. He waited on Mr Horden ofFinchcocks, and Mr Colepeper of Bedgebury Park, two of the chief men ofposition and influence in his neighbourhood, to entreat them to exertthemselves in persuading the Bishop to release Alice as soon aspossible. The diocese, of course, was that of Cardinal Pole; but thisportion of it was at that time in the hands of his suffragan, DrRichard Thornton, Bishop of Dover, whom the irreverent populacefamiliarly termed Dick of Dover. This right reverend gentleman was notof the quiet and reasonable type of Mr Justice Roberts. On thecontrary, he had a keen scent for a heretic, and took great delight inbringing one into tribulation. On receiving the letters wherein Messrs. Horden and Colepeper interceded for Alice Benden, his Lordship orderedthe prisoner to be brought before him. 

The Archbishop's gaoler went down to the prison, where Alice Benden, agentlewoman by birth and education, shared one large room with women ofthe worst character and lowest type, some committed for slight offences, some for heavy crimes. These women were able to recognise in an instantthat this prisoner was of a different order from themselves. Those whowere not fallen into the depths, treated her with some respect; but thelowest either held aloof from her or jeered at her--mostly the latter. Alice took all meekly; did what she could for the one or two that wereailing, and the three or four who had babies with them; spoke words ofGospel truth and kindly sympathy to such as would let her speak them:and when sleep closed the eyes and quieted the tongues of most, meditated and communed with God. The gaoler opened the door a littleway, and just put his head into the women's room. The prisoners mighthave been thankful that there were separate chambers for men andwomen. . . Such luxuries were unknown in many gaols at that date. 

"Alice Benden!" he said gruffly. 

Alice rose, gave back to its mother a baby she had been holding, andwent towards the gaoler, who stood at the top of the stone steps whichled down from the door. 

"Here I am, Master Gaoler: what would you with me?"

"Tie on your hood and follow me; you are to come afore my Lord ofDover. "

Alice's heart beat somewhat faster, as she took down her hood from oneof the pegs around the room, and followed the gaoler through a longpassage, up a flight of steps, across a courtyard, and into the hallwhere the Bishop was holding his Court. She said nothing which thegaoler could hear: but the God in whom Alice trusted heard an earnestcry of--"Lord, I am Thine; save Thine handmaid that trusteth in Thee!"

The gaoler led her forward to the end of a long table which stood beforethe Bishop, and announced her name to his Lordship. 

"Alice Benden, of Briton's Mead, Staplehurst, an' it like yourLordship. "

"Ah!" said his Lordship, in an amiable tone; "she it is touching whom Ihad letters. Come hither to me, I pray you, Mistress. Will you now gohome, and go to church in time coming?"

That meant, would she consent to worship images, and to do reverence tothe bread of the Lord's Supper as if Christ Himself were present? Therewas no going to church in those days without that. And that, as AliceBenden knew, was idolatry, forbidden by God in the First and SecondCommandments. 

"If I would have so done, " she said in a quiet, modest tone, "I needednot have come hither. "

"Wilt thou go home, and be shriven of thy parish priest?"

"No, I will not. " Alice could not believe that a man could forgivesins. Only God could do that; and He did not need a man through whom todo it. The Lord Jesus was just as able to say to her from His throneabove, as He had once said on earth to a poor, trembling, despisedwoman--"Thy sins be forgiven thee; go in peace. "

Something had made "Dick of Dover" unusually gentle that afternoon. Heonly replied--"Well, go thy ways home, and go to church when thou wilt. "

Alice made no answer. She was resolved to promise nothing. But apriest who stood by, whether mistakenly thinking that she spoke, or kindenough to wish to help her, answered for her--"She says she will, myLord. "

"Enough. Go thy ways!" said the Bishop, who seemed to wish to set herat liberty: perhaps he was a little afraid of the influential men whohad interceded for her. Alice, thus dismissed, walked out of the hall afree woman. As she came out into Palace Street, a hand was laid uponher shoulder. 

"Well, Alice!" said Edward Benden's voice. "I wrought hard to fetch youforth; I trust you be rightly thankful. Come home. "

Not a word did he say of the pains he had taken originally to drive herinto the prison; neither did Alice allude to that item. She only saidin the meekest manner--"I thank you, Edward"--and followed her lord andmaster down Mercery Lane towards Wincheap Gate. She did not even askwhether he had made any preparations for her journey home, or whether heexpected her to follow him on foot through the five-and-twenty mileswhich lay between Canterbury and Staplehurst. But when they reached thewestern corner of the lane, Mr Benden stopped at the old Chequers Inn, and in a stentorian voice demanded "that bay. " The old bay horse whichAlice knew so well, and which her husband had not succeeded in sellingfor more than its worth, as he desired, was brought forth, laden with asaddle and pillion, on the latter of which Alice took her place behindMr Benden. 

Not a word was spoken by either during the journey. They were about amile from Staplehurst, and had just turned a corner in the road, whenthey were greeted by words in considerable number. 

"Glad to see you!" said a brown hood--for the face inside it was notvisible. "I reckoned you'd think better of it; but I'd got a good fewbitters steeping for you, in case you mightn't. Well, Alice! how likedyou yonder?--did Dick o' Dover use you metely well?--and how came he tolet you go free? Have you promised him aught? He doesn't set folks atliberty, most commonly, without they do. Come, speak up, woman! andlet's hear all about it. "

"I have promised nothing, " said Alice calmly; "nor am I like so to do. Wherefore the Bishop let me go free cannot I tell you; but I reckon thatEdward here wist more of the inwards thereof than I. How go matterswith you, Tabitha?"

"Oh, as to the inwards, " said the brown hood, with a short, satiricallaugh, "I guess I know as much as you or Edward either; 'twas rather theoutwards I made inquiry touching. Me? Oh, I'm as well as common, andso be folks at home; I've given Friswith a fustigation, and tied up Joanto the bedpost, and told our Tom he'd best look out. He hasn't thespirit of a rabbit in him. I'd fain know where he and the childre 'd bethis day month, without I kept matters going. "

"How fares Christabel, I pray you?"

"Oh, same as aforetime; never grows no better, nor no worser. It capsme. She doesn't do a bit o' credit to my physicking--not a bit. AndI've dosed her with betony, and camomile, and comfrey, and bugloss, andhart's tongue, and borage, and mugwort, and dandelion--and twenty herbsbeside, for aught I know. It's right unthankful of her not to mend; butchildre is that thoughtless! And Roger, he spoils the maid--neverstands up to her a bit--gives in to every whim and fantasy she takes inher head. If she cried for the moon, he'd borrow every ladder in theparish and lash 'em together to get up. "

"What 'd he set it against?" gruffly demanded Mr Benden, who had notuttered a word before. 

"Well, if he set it against your conceit o' yourself, I guess he'd gethigh enough--a good bit higher than other folks' conceit of you. Imarvel if you're ashamed of yourself, Edward Benden. I am. "

"First time you ever were ashamed of yourself. "

"Ashamed of _myself_?" demanded Tabitha Hall, in tones of supremecontempt, turning her face full upon the speaker. "You'll not butteryour bread with that pot o' dripping, Edward Benden, if you please. You're not fit to black my shoes, let alone Alice's, and I'm rightpleased for to tell you so. "

"Good even, Mistress Hall; 'tis time we were at home. "

"Got a home-truth more than you wanted, haven't you? Well, 'tis timeenough Alice was, so go your ways; but as where 'tis time you were, mydainty master, that's the inside of Canterbury Gaol, or a worser placeif I could find it; and you've got my best hopes of seeing you there oneo' these days. Good den. "

The bay horse was admonished to use its best endeavours to reachBriton's Mead without delay, and Mistress Tabitha, tongue and all, wasleft behind on the road. 

"Eh, Mistress, but I'm fain to see you!" said Mary that evening, as sheand Alice stood in the pleasant glow of the kitchen fire. "I've had aweary fortnight on't, with Master that contrarious, I couldn't do noughtto suit him, and Mistress Hall a-coming day by day to serve him wi'vinegar and pepper. Saints give folks may be quiet now! We've hadtrouble enough to last us this bout. "

"I am glad to come home, Mall, " was the gentle answer. "But man is bornto trouble, and I scarce think we have seen an end of ours. Godlearneth His servants by troubles. "

"Well, I wouldn't mind some folks being learned thus, but I'd fain seeother some have a holiday. What shall I dress for supper, Mistress?There's a pheasant and a couple of puffins, and a platter of curds andwhey, and there's a sea-pie in the larder, and a bushel o' barberries. "

"That shall serve, Mall. We had best lay in some baconed herrings fornext fish-day; your master loves them. "

"Afore I'd go thinking what he loved, if I were you!"

This last reflection on Mary's part was not allowed to be audible, butit was very earnest notwithstanding. 

CHAPTER EIGHT. 

REPENTING HIS REPENTANCE. 

It was Saturday evening, and three days after Alice returned home. MrBenden sat in the chimney-corner, having just despatched a much moresatisfactory supper than Mary had ever allowed him to see during hermistress's imprisonment; and Alice, her household duties finished forthe day, came and sat in the opposite corner with her work. 

The chimney-corner, at that date, was literally a chimney-corner. Therewere no grates, and the fire of logs blazed on a wide square hearth, around which, and inside the chimney, was a stone seat, comfortablycushioned, and of course extremely warm. This was the usual eveningseat of the family, especially its elder and more honourable members. How they contrived to stand the very close quarters to the blazing logs, and how they managed never to set themselves on fire, must be left tothe imagination. 

Alice's work this evening was knitting. Stockings? Certainly not; theidea of knitted stockings had not yet dawned. Stockings were still, asthey had been for centuries, cut out of woollen cloth, and sewn togetherlike any other garment. The woman who was to immortalise her name bythe brilliant invention of knitting stockings was then a little girl, just learning to use her needles. What Alice was knitting this eveningwas a soft woollen cap, intended for the comfort of Mr Benden's head. 

The inside of the head in question was by no means so comfortable asAlice was preparing to make the outside. Mr Benden was pulled twoways, and not knowing which to go, he kept trying each in turn andretracing his steps. He wanted to make Alice behave herself; by whichhe meant, conform to the established religion as Queen Mary hadRomanised it, and go silently to church without making insubordinateobjections to idolatry, or unpleasant remarks afterwards. This was onlyto be attained, as it seemed to him, by sending her to prison. But, also, he wanted to keep her out of prison, and to ensure the continuanceof those savoury suppers on which his comfort and contentment depended, and the existence of which appeared to depend on her remaining at home. How were the two to be harmoniously combined? Reflections of this kindresulted in making Mr Benden a very uncomfortable man; and he was a manwith whom to be uncomfortable was to be unreasonable. 

"Alice!" he said at last, after a period of silent thought Alice lookedup from her work. 

"The morrow shall be Sunday. "

Alice assented to that indisputable fact. 

"You'll come to church with me?"

For one instant Alice was silent. Her husband thought she was waveringin her decision, but on that point he was entirely mistaken. She wasdoing what Nehemiah did when he "prayed to the God of heaven" betweenthe King's question and his answer. Well she knew that to reply in thenegative might lead to reproach, prison, torture, even death. Yet thatwas the path of God's commandments, and no flowery By-path Meadow musttempt her to stray from it. In her heart she said to Him who hadredeemed her--

 "Saviour, where'er Thy steps I see, Dauntless, untired, I follow Thee!"

and then she calmly answered aloud, "No, Edward, that I cannot do. "

"What, hath your taste of the Bishop's prison not yet persuaded you?"returned he angrily. 

"Nay, nor never will. "

"Then you may look to go thither again, my mistress. "

"Very well, Edward. " Her heart sank low, but she did not let him seeit. 

"You'll either go to church, or here you bide by yourself. "

"I thought to go and sit a while by Christie, " she said. 

"You'll not go out of this house. I'll have no whisperings betwixt youand those brethren of yours--always tuting in your ear, and setting youup to all manner of mischief. You'd not be so troublesome if you hadn'tRoger Hall at your back--that's my belief. You may just keep away fromthem; and if they keep not away from you, they'll maybe get what theyshall love little. "

Alice was silent for a moment. Then she said very quietly, "As youwill, Edward. I would only ask of you one favour--that I may speak oncewith Roger, to tell him your pleasure. "

"I'll tell him fast enough when I see him. Nay, my mistress: you comenot round me o' that fashion. I'll not have him and you plotting to winyou away ere the catchpoll [constable] come to carry you hence. You'lltarry here, without you make up your mind to be conformable, and go tochurch. "

The idea of escape from the toils drawing close around her had neverentered Alice's brain till then. Now, for one moment, it surged in wildexcitement through her mind. The next moment it was gone. A voiceseemed to whisper to her--

"The cup which thy Father hath given thee, wilt thou not drink it?"

Then she said tranquilly, "Be it as you will. Because I cannot rightlyobey you in one matter, I will be the more careful in all other to orderme as you desire. "

Mr Benden answered only by a sneer. He did not believe in meekness. In his estimation, women who pretended to be meek and submissive wereonly trying to beguile a man. In his heart he knew that this gentleobedience was not natural to Alice, who had a high spirit and plenty offortitude; and instead of attributing it to the grace of God, which wasits real source, he set it down to a desire to cheat him in someunrevealed fashion. 

He went to church, and Alice stayed at home as she was bidden. Findingthat she had done so, Mr Benden tried hard to discover that one of herbrothers had been to see her, sharply and minutely questioning Mary onthe subject. 

"I told him nought, " said Mary afterwards to Mistress Tabitha: "and goodreason why--there was nought to tell. But if every man Jack of you hadbeen here, do you think I'd ha' let on to the likes o' him?"

A very uncomfortable fortnight followed. Mr Benden was in theexasperating position of the Persian satraps, when they could find nooccasion against this Daniel. He was angry with the Bishop forreleasing Alice at his own request, angry with the neighbouring squires, who had promoted the release, angry with Roger Hall for not allowinghimself to be found visiting his sister, most angry with Alice forgiving him no reasonable cause for anger. The only person with whom hewas not angry was his unreasonable self. 

"If it wasn't for Mistress yonder, I should be in twenty minds not totarry here, " said Mary to Mistress Tabitha, whom she overtook in theroad as both were coming home from market. "I'd as lief dwell in thehouse with a grizzly bear as him. How she can put up with him that meekas she do, caps me. Never gives him an ill word, no matter how many shegets; and I do ensure you, Mistress Hall, his mouth is nothing pleasant. And how do you all, I pray you? for it shall be a pleasure to my poormistress to hear the same. Fares little Mistress Christabel anybetter?"

"Never a whit, Mall; and I am at my wits' end to know what I shall nextdo for her. She wearies for her Aunt Alice, and will not allow of me inher stead. "

Mary felt privately but small astonishment at this. 

"I sent Friswith and Justine over to tarry with her, but she seemed tohave no list to keep them; they were somewhat too quick for her, Ireckon. " By quick, Mistress Hall meant lively. "I'll tell you what, Mary Banks--with all reverence I speak it, but I do think I could orderthis world better than it is. "

"Think you so, Mistress Hall? And how would you go to do it?"

"First business, I'd be rid of that Edward Benden. Then I'd set Alicein her brother Roger's house, to look after him and Christabel. She'dbe as happy as the day is long, might she dwell with them, and had thatcantankerous dolt off her hands for good. Eh dear! but if Master Hall, my father-in-law, that made Alice's match with Benden, but had it to doo'er again, I reckon he'd think twice and thrice afore he gave her tothat toad. The foolishness o' folks is beyond belief. Why, she mighthave had Master Barnaby Final, that was as decent a man as ever steppedin leather--he wanted her: but Benden promised a trifle better in way ofmoney, and Master Hall, like an ass as he was, took up wi' him. There'sno end to men's doltishness [foolishness]. I'm homely, [plain-spoken]you'll say, and that's true; I love so to be. I never did care fordressing my words with all manner o' frippery, as if they were going toCourt. 'Tis a deal the best to speak plain, and then folks know whatyou're after. "

When that uncomfortable fortnight came to an uncomfortable end, MrBenden went to church in a towering passion. He informed such of hisfriends as dared to approach him after mass, that the perversity andobduracy of his wife were beyond all endurance on his part. Stayanother week in his house she should not! He would be incalculablyindebted to any friend visiting Cranbrook, if he would inform theJustices of her wicked ways, so that she might be safely lodged again ingaol. An idle young man, more out of thoughtless mischief than from anyworse motive, undertook the task. 

When Alice Benden appeared the second time before the Bench, it was notwith ease-loving, good-natured Justice Roberts that she had to do. SirJohn Guildford was now the sitting magistrate, and he committed her toprison with short examination. But the constable, whether from pity orfor some consideration of his own convenience, did not wish to take her;and the administration of justice being somewhat lax, she was ordered bythat official to go home until he came for her. 

"Go home, forsooth!" cried Mr Benden in angry tones. "I'll not haveher at home!"

"Then you may carry her yourself to Canterbury, " returned the constable. "I cannot go this week, and I have nobody to send. "

"Give me a royal farthing, and I will!" was the savage answer. 

The constable looked in his face to see if he meant it. Then he shookhis head, dipped his hand into his purse, and pulled out half-a-crown, which he passed to Mr Benden, who pocketed this price of blood. Alicehad walked on down the Market Place, and was out of hearing. Mr Bendenstrode after her, with the half-crown in his pocket. 

CHAPTER NINE. 

ALICE DECIDES FOR HERSELF. 

"Not that road, Mistress!"

Alice had nearly reached the end of the Market Place, when her husband'sharsh call arrested her. She had been walking slowly on, so that hemight overtake her. On hearing this, she paused and waited for him tocome up. 

"That's not the way to Canterbury!" said Mr Benden, seizing her by thewrist, and turning her round. 

"I thought we were going home, " said Alice quietly. 

"Methinks, Mistress, there's somewhat wrong with your hearing thismorrow. Heard you not the Justice commit you to gaol?"

"Truly I so did, Edward; but I heard also the constable to say that hewould come for me when it should stand with his conveniency, and Ireckoned it was thus settled. "

"Then you reckoned without your host. The constable hath given me moneyto carry you thither without delay, and that will I with a very goodwill. "

"Given you money!"

Through six years of unhappy married life Alice Benden had experiencedenough of her husband's constant caprice and frequent brutality; butthis new development of it astonished her. She had not supposed that hewould descend so far as to take the price of innocent blood. The toneof her voice, not indignant, but simply astonished, increased MrBenden's anger. The more gently she spoke, the harsher his voice grew. This is not unusual, when a man is engaged in wilfully doing what heknows to be wrong. 

"Verily, your hearing must be evil this morrow, Mistress!" he said, withsome wicked words to emphasise his remark. "The constable hath paid mea royal farthing, and here it is"--patting his pocket as he spoke--"andI have yet to earn it. Come, step out; we have no time to lose. "

Alice came to a sudden stand-still. 

"No, Edward, " she said firmly. "You shall not carry me to gaol. I willhave a care of your character, though you little regard mine. I prayyou, unhand me, and I will go mine own self to the constable, andentreat him to take me, as his office and duty are. " [This part of thestory, however extraordinary, is pure fact. ]

In sheer amazement, Mr Benden's hand unloosed from Alice's arm; andseizing her opportunity, she walked rapidly back to the Court House. For a moment he stood considering what to do. He had little moreconcern for his own reputation than for hers; but he felt that if hefollowed her to the constable, he could scarcely avoid refunding thathalf-crown, a thing he by no means desired to do. This reflectiondecided him. He went quickly to the inn where he had left his horse, mounted, and rode home, leaving Alice to her own devices, to walk homeor get taken to Canterbury in any way she could. 

The constable was not less astonished than Mr Benden. He was notaccustomed to receive visits from people begging to be taken to gaol. He scratched his head, put it on one side and looked at Alice as if shewere a curiosity in an exhibition, then took off his cap again, andscratched his head on the other side. 

"Well, to be sure!" he said at last. "To tell truth, my mistress, Iknow not what to do with you. I cannot mine own self win this day toCanterbury, and I have no place to tarry you here; nor have I any tosend withal save yon lad. "

He pointed as he spoke to his son, a lad of about twelve years old, whosat on the bench by the Court House door, idly whistling, and throwingup a pebble to catch it again. 

"Then, I pray you, Master Constable, " said Alice eagerly, "send the ladwith me. I am loth to put you to this labour, but verily I am forced toit; and methinks you may lightly guess I shall not run away fromcustody. "

The constable laughed, but looked undecided. 

"In very deed, " said he, "I see not wherefore you should not go home andtarry there, till such time as I come to fetch you. But if it must be, it must. I will go saddle mine horse, and he shall carry you toCanterbury with George. "

While the constable went to saddle the horse, and Alice sat on the benchwaiting till it was ready, she fought with a very strong temptation. Her husband would not receive her, so much she knew for a certainty; butthere were others who would. How welcome Roger would have made her! andwhat a perfect haven of rest it would be, to live even for a few dayswith him and Christabel! Her old father, too, at Frittenden, who hadtold her not many days before, with tears in his eyes, how bitterly herepented ever giving her to Edward Benden. It must be remembered thatin those days girls were never permitted to choose for themselves, whether they wished to marry a man or not; the parents always decidedthat point, and sometimes, as in this instance, they came to a sadlymistaken decision. Alice had not chosen her husband, and he had nevergiven her any reason to love him; but she had done her best to be a goodwife, and even now she would not depart from it. The temptation wassore, and she almost gave way under it. But the constant habit ofreferring everything to God stood her in good stead in this emergency. To go and stay with her brother, whose visits to her Mr Benden hadforbidden, would be sure to create a scandal, and to bring his name intoeven worse repute than it was at present. She must either be atBriton's Mead or in Canterbury Gaol; and just now the gaol was the onlypossible place for her. Be it so! God would go with her into thegaol--perhaps more certainly than into Roger's home. And the placewhere she could be sure of having God with her was the place where Alicechose and wished to be. 

Her heart sank heavily as she heard the great door of the gaol clang tobehind her. Alice was made of no materials more all-enduring than fleshand blood. She could enjoy rest and pleasantness quite as well as otherpeople. And she wondered drearily, as she went down the steps into thewomen's room, how long she was to stay in that unrestful and unpleasantplace. 

"Why, are you come again?" said one of the prisoners, as Alice descendedthe steps. "What, you wouldn't conform? Well, no more would I. "

Alice recognised the face of a decent-looking woman who had come in thesame day that she was released, and in whom she had felt interested atthe time from her quiet, tidy appearance, though she had no opportunityof speaking to her. She sat down now on the bench by her side. 

"Are you here for the like cause, friend? I mind your face, methinks, though I spake not to you aforetime. "

"Ay, we row in the same boat, " said the woman with a pleasant smile, "and may as well make us known each to other. My name's Rachel Potkin, and I come from Chart Magna: I'm a widow, and without children left tome, for which I thank the Lord now, though I've fretted o'er it many atime. Strange, isn't it, we find it so hard to remember that He seesthe end from the beginning, and so hard to believe that He is safe to dothe best for us?"

"Ay, and yet not strange, " said Alice with a sigh. "Life's weary workby times. "

"It is so, my dear heart, " answered Rachel, laying a sympathising handon Alice's. "But, bethink you, He's gone through it. Well, and what'syour name?"

"My name is Alice Benden, from Staplehurst. "

"Are you a widow?"

Had Tabitha been asked that question in the same circumstances, shewould not improbably have replied, "No; worse luck!" But Alice, as wehave seen, was tender over her husband's reputation. She only returneda quiet negative. Rachel, whose eyes were keen, and ears ditto, heardsomething in the tone, and saw something in the eyes, which Alice had noidea was there to see and hear, that made her say to herself, "Ah, poorsoul! he's a bad sort, not a doubt of it. " Aloud she only said, --

"And how long look you to be here--have you any notion?"

Prisoners in our milder days are committed to prison for a certain term. In those days there was no fixed limit. A man never knew for acertainty, when he entered the prison, whether he would remain there forten days or for fifty years. He could only guess from appearances howlong it might be likely to be. 

"Truly, friend, that know I not. God knoweth. "

"Well said, Mistress Benden. Let us therefore give thanks, and take ourhearts to us. "

Just then the gaoler came up to them. 

"Birds of a feather, eh?" said he, with not unkindly humour. For agaoler, he was not a hard man. "Mistress Benden, your allowance isthreepence by the day--what shall I fetch you?"

The prisoners were permitted to buy their own food through the prisonofficials, up to the value of their daily allowance. Alice considered amoment. 

"A pennyworth of bread, an' it like you, Master; a farthing's worth ofbeef; a farthing's worth of eggs; and a pennyworth of ale. Thehalfpenny, under your good pleasure, I will keep in hand. "

Does the reader exclaim, Was that the whole day's provision? Indeed itwas, and a very fair day's provision too. For this money Alice wouldreceive six rolls or small loaves of bread, a pound of beef, two eggs, and a pint of ale, --quite enough for supper and breakfast. The ale wasnot so much as it seems, for they drank ale at every meal, evenbreakfast, only invalids using milk. To drink water was thought adreadful hardship, and they had no tea or coffee. 

The gaoler nodded and departed. 

"Look you, Mistress Benden, " said Rachel Potkin, "I have thought bytimes to try, being here in this case, on how little I could live, so asto try mine endurance, and fit me so to do if need were. Shall we essayit together, think you? Say I well?"

"Very well, Mistress Potkin; I were fain to make the trial. How much isyour allowance by the day?"

"The like of yours--threepence. "

"We will try on how little we can keep in fair health, " said Alice witha little laugh, "and save our money for time of more need. On whatshall we do it, think you?"

"Why, I reckon we may look to do it on fourpence betwixt us. "

"Oh, surely!" said Alice. "Threepence, I well-nigh think. "

While this bargain was being made, Mr Benden sat down to supper, a porkpie standing before him, a dish of toasted cheese to follow, and afrothed tankard of ale at his elbow. Partly owing to her mistress'sexhortations, Mary had changed her tactics, and now sought to mollifyher master by giving him as good a supper as she knew how to serve. ButMr Benden was hard to please this evening. "The pork is as tough asleather, " he declared; "the cheese is no better than sawdust, and theale is flat as ditch-water. " And he demanded of Mary, in rasping tones, if she expected such rubbish to agree with him?

"Ah!" said Mary to herself as she shut the door on him, "'tis yourconscience, Master, as doesn't agree with you. "

CHAPTER TEN. 

TRYING EXPERIMENTS. 

Old Grandfather Hall had got a lift in a cart from Frittenden, and cameto spend the day with Roger and Christabel. It was a holy-day, forwhich cause Roger was at home, for in those times a holy-day was alwaysa holiday, and the natural result was that holiday-making soon took theplace of keeping holy. Roger's leisure days were usually spent by theside of his little Christie. 

"Eh, Hodge, my lad!" said Grandfather Hall, shaking his white head, ashe sat leaning his hands upon his silver-headed staff, "but 'tis astrange dispensation this! Surely I never looked for such as this inmine old age. But 'tis my blame--I do right freely confess 'tis myblame. I reckoned I wrought for the best; I meant nought save my maid'shappiness: but I see now I had better have been content with fewer ofthe good things of this life for the child, and have taken more thoughtfor an husband that feared God. Surely I meant well, --yet I did evil; Isee it now. "

"Father, " said Roger, with respectful affection, "I pray you, rememberthat God's strange dispensations be at times the best things He hath togive us, and that of our very blunders He can make ladders to lift usnearer to Himself. "

"Ay, lad, thou hast the right; yet must I needs be sorry for my poorchild, that suffereth for my blunder. Hodge, I would thou wouldst visither. "

"That will I, Father, no further than Saint Edmund's Day, the which youwot is next Tuesday. Shall I bear her any message from you?"

Old Mr Hall considered an instant; then he put his hand into his purse, and with trembling fingers pulled out a new shilling. 

"Bear her this, " said he; "and therewithal my blessing, and do her towit that I am rarely troubled for her trouble. I cannot say more, lestit should seem to reflect upon her husband: but I would with all mineheart--"

"Well, Nell!" said a voice in the passage outside which everybody knew. "Your master's at home, I count, being a holy-day? The old master herelikewise?--that's well. There, take my pattens, that's a good maid. I'll tarry a bit to cheer up the little mistress. "

"Oh dear!" said Christabel in a whisper, "Aunt Tabitha won't cheer me abit; she'll make me boil over. And I'm very near it now; I'm sure Imust be singing! If she'd take me off and put me on the hob! AuntAlice would, if it were she. "

"Good-morrow!" said Aunt Tabitha's treble tones, which allowed no oneelse's voice to be heard at the same time. "Give you good-morrow, Father, and the like to thee, Christie. Well, Roger, I trust you're ina forgiving mood _this_ morrow? You'll have to hammer at it a while, Ireckon, afore you can make out that Edward Benden's an innocent cherub. I'd as lief wring that man's neck as eat my dinner!--and I mean to tellhim so, too, afore I do it. "

Aunt Tabitha left her sentence grammatically ambiguous, but practicallylucid enough to convey a decided impression that a rod for Mr Bendenwas lying in tolerably sharp pickle. 

"Daughter, " said old Mr Hall, "methinks you have but a strange notionof forgiveness, if you count that it lieth in a man's persuading himselfthat the offender hath done him no wrong. To forgive as God forgiveth, is to feel and know the wrong to the full, and yet, notwithstanding thesame, to pardon the offender. "

"And in no wise to visit his wrong upon him? Nay, Father; that'd nota-pay me, I warrant you. "

"That a man should escape the natural and temporal consequences of hisevil doing, daughter, is not the way that God forgives. He rarelyremits that penalty: more often he visits it to the full. But he loveththe offender through all, and seeks to purge away his iniquity andcleanse his soul. "

"Well-a-day! I can fashion to love Edward Benden that way, " saidTabitha, perversely misinterpreting her father-in-law's words. "I'llmix him a potion 'll help to cleanse his disorder, you'll see. Bittersbe good for sick folks; and he's grievous sick. I met Mall a-coming;she saith he snapped her head right off yester-even. "

"Oh dear!" said literal Christie. "Did she get it put on again, AuntTabitha, before you saw her?"

"It was there, same as common, " replied Tabitha grimly. 

"He's not a happy man, or I mistake greatly, " remarked Roger Hall. 

"He'll not be long, if I can win at him, " announced Tabitha, more grimlystill. "Good lack! there he is, this minute, crossing the Second AcreClose--see you him not? Nell, my pattens--quick! I'll have at himwhile I may!"

And Tabitha flew. 

Christabel, who had lifted her head to watch the meeting, laid it downagain upon her cushions with a sigh. "Aunt Tabitha wearies me, Father, "she said, answering Roger's look of sympathetic concern, "She's like ablowy wind, that takes such a deal out of you. I wish she'd come at mea bit quieter. Father, don't you think the angels are very quiet folks?I couldn't think they'd come at me like Aunt Tabby. "

"The angels obey the Lord, my Christie, and the Lord is very gentle. He`knoweth our frame, ' and `remembereth that we are but dust. '"

"I don't feel much like dust, " said Christie meditatively. "I feel morelike strings that somebody had pulled tight till it hurt. But I do wishAunt Tabitha would obey the Lord too, Father. I can't think _she_ knowsour frame, unless hers is vastly unlike mine. "

"I rather count it is, Christie, " said Roger. 

Mr Benden had come out for his airing in an unhappy frame of mind, andhis interview with Tabitha sent him home in a worse. Could he by aneffort of will have obliterated the whole of his recent performances, hewould gladly have done it; but as this was impossible, he refused toconfess himself in the wrong. He was not going to humble himself, hesaid gruffly--though there was nobody to hear him--to that spiteful catTabitha. As to Alice, he was at once very angry with her, and very muchput out by her absence. It was all her fault, he said again. Why couldshe not behave herself at first, and come to church like a reasonablewoman, and as everybody else did? If she had stood out for a new dress, or a velvet hood, he could have understood it; but these new-fanglednonsensical fancies nobody could understand. Who could by anypossibility expect a sensible man to give in to such rubbish?

So Mr Benden reasoned himself into the belief that he was an ill-usedmartyr, Alice a most unreasonable woman, and Tabitha a wicked fury. Having no principles himself, that any one else should have them wasboth unnecessary and absurd in his eyes. He simply could not imaginethe possibility of a woman caring so much for the precepts or the gloryof God, that she was ready for their sakes to brave imprisonment, torture, or death. 

Meanwhile Alice and her fellow-prisoner, Rachel Potkin, were engaged intrying their scheme of living on next to nothing. We must not forgetthat even poor people, at that time, lived much better than now, so faras eating is concerned. The Spanish noblemen who came over with QueenMary's husband were greatly astonished to find the English peasants, asthey said, "living in hovels, and faring like princes. " The poorestthen never contented themselves with plain fare, such as we think teaand bread, which are now nearly all that many poor people see from oneyear's end to another. Meat, eggs, butter, and much else were too cheapto make it necessary. 

So Alice and Rachel arranged their provisions thus: every two days theysent for two pounds of mutton, which cost some days a farthing, and somea halfpenny; twelve little loaves of bread, at 2 pence; a pint and ahalf of claret, or a quart of ale, cost 2 pence more. The halfpenny, which was at times to spare, they spent on four eggs, a few rashers ofbacon, or a roll of butter, the price of which was fourpence-halfpennythe gallon. Sometimes it went for salt, an expensive article at thattime. Now and then they varied their diet from mutton to beef; but ofthis they could get only half the quantity for their halfpenny. Onfish-days, then rigidly observed, of course they bought fish instead ofmeat. For a fortnight they kept up this practice, which to them seemedfar more of a hardship than it would to us; they were accustomed to anumber of elaborate dishes, with rich sauces, in most of which wine wasused; and mere bread and meat, or even bread and butter, seemed verypoor, rough eating. Perhaps, if our ancestors had been content withsimpler cookery, their children in the present day would have had lesstrouble with doctors' bills. 

Roger Hall visited his sister, as he had said, on Saint Edmund's Day, the sixteenth of November. He found her calm, and even cheerful, verymuch pleased with her father's message and gift, and concerned that Maryshould follow her directions to make Mr Benden comfortable. That sheforgave him she never said in words, but all her actions said itstrongly. Roger had to curb his own feelings as he promised to take themessage to this effect which Alice sent to Mary. But Alice could prettywell see through his face into his heart, and into Mary's too; and shelooked up with a smile as she added a few words:--

"Tell Mall, " she said, "that if she love me, and would have me yet againat home, methinks this were her wisest plan. "

Roger nodded, and said no more. 

CHAPTER ELEVEN. 

TABITHA'S BASKET. 

Of all the persons concerned in our story at this juncture, the leastunhappy was Alice Benden in Canterbury Gaol, and the most miserable wasEdward Benden at Briton's Mead. His repentance was longer this time incoming, but his suffering and restlessness certainly were not so. Hetried all sorts of ways to dispel them in vain. First, he attempted tolose himself in his library, for he was the rich possessor of twenty-sixvolumes, eight of which were romances of chivalry, wherein valiantknights did all kinds of impossibilities at the behest of fair damsels, rescued enchanted princesses, slew two-headed giants, or wandered formonths over land and sea in quest of the Holy Grail, which few of themwere sufficiently good even to see, and none to bring back to Arthur'sCourt. But Mr Benden found that the adventures of Sir Isumbras, or thewoes of the Lady Blanchefleur, were quite incapable of making him forgetthe very disagreeable present. Then he tried rebuilding and newlyfurnishing a part of his house; but that proved even less potent todivert his thoughts than the books. Next he went into company, laughedand joked with empty-headed people, played games, sang, and amusedhimself in sundry ways, and came home at night, to feel more solitaryand miserable than before. Then, in desperation, he sent for the barberto bleed him, for our forefathers had a curious idea that unless theywere bled once or twice a year, especially in spring, they would neverkeep in good health. We perhaps owe some of our frequent poverty ofblood to that fancy. The only result of this process was to make MrBenden feel languid and weak, which was not likely to improve hisspirits. Lastly, he went to church, and was shriven--namely, confessedhis sins, and was absolved by the priest. He certainly ought to havebeen happy after that, but somehow the happiness would not come. He didnot know what to do next. 

All these performances had taken some time. Christmas came and passed--Christmas, with its morning mass and evening carols, its nightly waits, its mummers or masked itinerant actors, its music and dancing, its gamesand sports, its plum-porridge, mince-pies, and wassail-bowl. There werenone of these things for Alice Benden in her prison, save a mince-pie, to which she treated herself and Rachel: and there might as well havebeen none for her husband, for he was unable to enjoy one of them. Thefrosts and snows of January nipped the blossoms, and hardened the roads, and made it difficult work for Roger Hall to get from Staplehurst toCanterbury: yet every holy-day his pleasant face appeared at the windowof the gaol, and he held a short sympathising chat with Alice. Thegaoler and the Bishop's officers came to know him well. It is a wonder, humanly speaking, that he was never arrested during these frequentvisits: but God kept him. 

"Good den, Alice, " he said as he took leave of her on the evening ofSaint Agnes' Day, the twenty-first of January. "I shall scarce, methinks, win hither again this month; but when our Lady Day nextcometh, I will essay to see thee. Keep a good heart, my sister, and Godbe with thee. "

"I do so, Roger, " replied Alice cheerily. "Mistress Potkin here is arare comfort unto me; and God is in Canterbury Gaol no less than atStaplehurst. I would fain, 'tis true, have been able to come andcomfort Christie; but the Lord can send her a better help than mine. Give my loving commendations to the sweet heart, and may God reward theefor the brave comfort thou hast been to me all this winter! Farewell. "

The next day, another and a less expected visitor presented himself. Atired bay horse drooped its weary head at the door of the Bishop'sPalace, and a short, thick-set, black-haired man, with bushy eyebrows, inquired if he might be allowed to speak with his Lordship. The Bishopordered him to be admitted. 

"Well, and what would you, my son?" he asked condescendingly of theapplicant. 

"An't like your Lordship, my name is Edward Benden, of Staplehurst, andI do full reverently seek the release of my wife, that is in your gaolfor heresy. "

The Bishop shook his head. He had before now held more than oneinterview with Alice, and had found that neither promises nor threatshad much weight with her. Very sternly he answered--"She is anobstinate heretic, and will not be reformed. I cannot deliver her. "

"My Lord, " responded Mr Benden, "she has a brother, Roger Hall, thatresorteth unto her. If your Lordship could keep him from her, she wouldturn; for he comforteth her, giveth her money, and persuadeth her not toreturn. "

"Well!" said the Bishop. "Go home, good son, and I will see what I cando. " [This conversation is historical. ]

If Mr Benden had not been in a brown study as he went into the Chequersto "sup his four-hours"--in modern phrase, to have his tea--and to givehis horse a rest and feed before returning home, he would certainly haverecognised two people who were seated in a dark corner of the innkitchen, and had come there for the same purpose. The man kept his hatdrawn over his face, and slunk close into the corner as though he wereanxious not to be seen. The woman sat bolt upright, an enormous, fullbasket on the table at her right hand, and did not appear to care in theleast whether she were seen or not. 

"Is yon maid ever a-coming with the victuals?" she inquired in a ratherharsh treble voice. 

"Do hush, Tabby!" said the man in the most cautious of whispers. "Didstnot see him a moment since?"

"Who? Dick o' Dover?"

"Tabitha!" was the answer in a voice of absolute agony. "Do, formercy's sake!--Edward. "

The last word was barely audible a yard away. 

Mrs Hall turned round in the coolest manner, and gazed about till shecaught sight of her brother-in-law, who happened to have his back to thecorner in which they were seated, and was watching two men play atdominoes while he waited for his cakes and ale. 

"Humph!" she said, turning back again. "Thomas Hall, I marvel if therebe this even an hare in any turnip-field in Kent more 'feared of thehounds than you. --Well, Joan, thou hast ta'en thy time o'er thesecakes. "

The last remark was addressed to the waitress, who replied with anamused smile--

"An't like you, Mistress, my name's Kate. "

"Well said, so thou bringest us some dainty cates [delicacies]. --Now, Tom, help yourself, and pass that tankard. "

"Tabitha, he'll hear!"

"Let him hear. I care not an almond if he hear every word I say. He'llhear o' t'other side his ears if he give us any trouble. "

Mr Benden had heard the harsh treble voice, and knew it. But he was ascomically anxious as Thomas Hall himself that he and the fair Tabithashould not cross each other's path that evening. To run away he felt tobe an undignified proceeding, and if Tabitha had set her mind onspeaking to him, utterly useless. Accordingly, he kept his backcarefully turned to her, and professed an absorbing interest in thedominoes. 

The cakes and ale having received due attention, Mr Hall paid the bill, and slunk out of the door, with the stealthy air and conscious face of aman engaged in the commission of a crime. Mrs Hall, on the contrary, took up her big basket with the open, leisurely aspect of virtue whichhad nothing to fear, and marched after her husband out of the Chequers. 

"Now then, Thomas Hall, whither reckon you to be a-going?" she inquired, before she was down the steps of the inn, in a voice which must havepenetrated much further than to the ears of Mr Benden in the kitchen. "Not that way, numskull!--to the left. "

Poor Thomas, accustomed to these conjugal amenities, turned meekly roundand trotted after his Tabitha, who with her big basket took the lead, and conducted him in a few minutes to the door of the gaol. 

"Good den, Master Porter! We be some'at late for visitors, but needsmust. Pray you, may we have speech of Mistress Benden, within here?"

The porter opened the wicket, and they stepped inside. 

"You're nigh on closing time, " said he. "Only half-an-hour to spare. "

"I can do my business in half-an-hour, I thank you, " replied Tabitha, marching across the courtyard. 

The porter, following them, unlocked the outer door, and locked it againafter them. To the gaoler who now received them they repeated theirerrand, and he produced another key, wherewith he let them into thewomen's prison. Alice and Rachel were talking together in the corner ofthe room, and Tabitha set down herself and her basket by the side of hersister-in-law. 

"Good even, Alice!" she said, leaving her husband to see after himself, as she generally did. "We're a bit late, but better late than never, inespecial when the ship carrieth a good cargo. Here have I brought you acouple of capons, a roll of butter, a jar of honey, and another ofmarmalade, a piece of a cheese, a goose-pie baken with lard, a pot o'green ginger, and nutmegs. I filled up with biscuits and reasons. "

By which last word Mistress Tabitha meant to say that she had filled theinterstices of her basket, not with intelligent motives, but with driedgrapes. 

"I con you right hearty thanks, Sister Tabitha, " said Alice warmly, "forso rich provision! Verily, but it shall make a full pleasant change inour meagre diet; for my friend here, that hath been a mighty comfortunto me, must share in all my goods. 'Tis marvellous kindly in you tohave thus laden yourself for our comforts. Good even, Tom! I am fainto behold thee. I trust you and all yours be well?"

"Maids lazy, Father 'plaining of pains in his bones, Christabel as iscommon, Roger well, Mary making o' candles, " replied Tabitha rapidly. "As for yon ill-doing loon of a husband of yours, he's eating cakes andsupping ale at the Chequers Inn. "

"Edward here!" repeated Alice in surprised tones. 

"Was when we came forth, " said Tabitha, who while she talked was busyunlading her basket. "Hope your lockers 'll hold 'em. Time to close--good even! No room for chatter, Thomas Hall--say farewell, and march!"

And almost without allowing poor Thomas a moment to kiss his imprisonedsister, and beg her to "keep her heart up, and trust in the Lord, "Mistress Tabitha swept him out of the door in front of her, and with thebig basket on her arm, lightened of its savoury contents, marched himoff to the Chequers for the horse. 

CHAPTER TWELVE. 

PANDORA. 

In the projecting oriel window of a very pleasant sitting-room, whoseinside seat was furnished with blue velvet cushions, sat a girl ofseventeen years, dressed in velvet of the colour then known aslion-tawny, which was probably a light yellowish-brown. It was trimmed, or as she would have said, turned up, with satin of the same colour, wascut square, but high, at the throat, and finished by gold embroiderythere and on the cuffs. A hood of dark blue satin covered her head, andcame down over the shoulders, set round the front with small pearls in agolden frame shaped somewhat like a horseshoe. She was leaning her headupon one hand, and looking out of the window with dreamy eyes thatevidently saw but little of the landscape, and thinking so intently thatshe never perceived the approach of another girl, a year or two hersenior, and similarly attired, but with a very different expression inher lively, mischievous eyes. The hands of the latter came down on theshoulders of the meditative maiden so suddenly that she started andalmost screamed. Then, looking up, a faint smile parted her lips, andthe intent look left her eyes. 

"Oh! is it you, Gertrude?"

"Dreaming, as usual, Pan? Confess now, that you wist not I was in thechamber. "

"I scarce did, True. " The eyes were growing grave and thoughtful again. 

"Sweet my lady!--what conneth she, our Maiden Meditation? Doth sheessay to find the philosopher's stone?--or be her thoughts of the trueknight that is to bend low at her feet, and whisper unto her some daythat he loveth none save her? I would give a broad shilling for thefirst letter of his name. "

"You must give it, then, to some other than me. Nay, True; my fantasiesbe not of thy lively romancing sort. I was but thinking on a littlemaid that I saw yester-even, in our walk with Aunt Grena. "

"What, that dainty little conceit that came up to the house with herbasket of needlework that her mother had wrought for Aunt Grena? Shewas a pretty child, I allow. "

"Oh no, not Patience Bradbridge. My little maid was elder than she, andlay on a day-bed within a compassed window. I marvelled who she were. "

"Why, you surely mean that poor little whitefaced Christabel Hall!She's not pretty a whit--without it be her hair; she hath fair hair thatis not over ill. But I marvel you should take a fantasy to her; thereis nought taking about the child. "

"You alway consider whether folks be pretty, Gertrude. "

"Of course I do. So doth everybody. "

"I don't. "

"Oh, you! You are not everybody, Mistress Dorrie. "

"No, I am but one maid. But I would fain be acquaint with that child. What said you were her name? All seems strange unto me, dwelling solong with Grandmother; I have to make acquaintance with all the folkswhen I return back home. "

"Christabel Hall is her name; she is daughter to Roger Hall, the managerat our works, and he and she dwell alone; she hath no mother. "

"No mother, hath she?--and very like none to mother her. Ah, now Iconceive her looks. "

"I marvel what you would be at, Pandora. Why, you and I have no mother, but I never mewled and moaned thereafter. "

"No, Gertrude, I think you never did. "

"Aunt Grena hath seen to all we lacked, hath not she?"

"Aunt is very kind, and I cast no doubt she hath seen to all youlacked. " Pandora's tone was very quiet, with a faint pathos in it. 

"Why, Dorrie, what lacked you that I did not?" responded Gertrude, turning her laughing face towards her sister. 

"Nothing that I could tell you, True. What manner of man is this RogerHall?"

"A right praisable man, Father saith, if it were not for one disorder inhim, that he would fain see amended: and so being, Dorrie, I scarcethink he shall be a-paid to have you much acquaint with his little maid, sithence he hath very like infected her with his foolish opinions. "

"What, is he of the new learning?"

Gertrude failed to see the sudden light which shot into Pandora's eyes, as she dropped them on the cushion in the endeavour to smooth anentangled corner of the fringe. 

"That, and no less. You may guess what Father and Aunt reckon thereof. "

"Father was that himself, Gertrude, only five years gone, when I went todwell in Lancashire. "

"Pan, my dear heart, I do pray thee govern thy tongue. It maybesignifies but little what folks believe up in the wilds and forestsyonder, and in especial amongst the witches: but bethink thee, we behere within a day's journey or twain of the Court, where every man'seyes and ears be all alive to see and hear news. What matters it whathapped afore Noah went into the ark? We be all good Catholics now, atthe least. And, Pan, we desire not to be burned; at all gates, I don't, if you do. "

"Take your heart to you, sister; my tongue shall do you none ill. I cankeep mine own counsel, and have ere now done the same. "

"Then, if you be so discreet, you can maybe be trusted to makeacquaintance with Christie. But suffer not her nor Roger to win youfrom the true Catholic faith. "

"I think there is little fear, " said Pandora quietly. 

The two sisters were nieces of Mr Justice Roberts, and daughters of MrRoberts of Primrose Croft, who was owner of the works of which RogerHall was manager. Theirs was one of the aristocratic houses of theneighbourhood, and themselves a younger branch of an old county familywhich dated from the days of Henry the First. The head of that house, Mr Roberts of Glassenbury, would almost have thought it a condescensionto accept a peerage. The room in which the girls sat was handsomelyfurnished according to the tastes of the time. A curtain of rich shotsilk--"changeable sarcenet" was the name by which they knew it--screenedoff the window end of it at pleasure; a number of exceedinglystiff-looking chairs, the backs worked in tapestry, were ranged againstthe wall opposite the fire; a handsome chair upholstered in blue velvetstood near the fireplace. Velvet stools were here and there about theroom, and cushions, some covered with velvet, some with crewel-work, were to be seen in profusion. They nearly covered the velvet settle, atone side of the fire, and they nestled in soft, plumy, inviting fashion, into the great Flanders chair on the other side. In one corner was "achest of coffins"--be not dismayed, gentle reader! the startling phraseonly meant half-a-dozen boxes, fitting inside each other in graduatedsizes. Of course there was a cupboard, and equally of course thewhite-washed walls were hung with tapestry, wherein a green-kirtledDiana, with a ruff round her neck and a farthingale of sufficientbreadth, drew a long arrow against a stately stag of ten, which, shortof outraging the perspective, she could not possibly hit. A door nowopened in the corner of the room, and admitted a lady of some fortyyears, tall and thin, and excessively upright, having apparently beenmore starched in her mind and carriage than in her dress. Pandoraturned to her. 

"Aunt Grena, will you give me leave to make me acquainted with MasterHall's little maid--he that manageth the cloth-works?"

Aunt Grena pursed up her lips and looked doubtful; but as that was herusual answer to any question which took her by surprise, it was notaltogether disheartening. 

"I will consult my brother, " she said stiffly. 

Mr Roberts, who was a little of the type of his brother the Justice, having been consulted, rather carelessly replied that he saw no reasonwhy the maid should not amuse herself with the child if she wished it. Leave was accordingly granted. But Aunt Grena thought it necessary toadd to it a formidable lecture, wherein Pandora was warned of allpossible and impossible dangers that might accrue from the satisfactionof her desire, embellished with awful anecdotes of all manner ofmisfortunes which had happened to girls who wanted or obtained their ownway. 

"And methinks, " concluded Mistress Grena, "that it were best I took youmyself to Master Hall's house, there to see the maid, and make sure thatshe shall give you no harm. "

Gertrude indulged herself in a laugh when her aunt had departed. 

"Aunt Grena never can bear in mind, " she said, "that you and I, Pan, areabove six years old. Why, Christie Hall was a babe in the cradle when Iwas learning feather-stitch. "

"Laugh not at Aunt Grena, True. She is the best friend we have, and thekindliest. "

"Bless you, Dorrie! I mean her no ill, dear old soul! Only I believeshe never was a young maid, and she thinks we never shall be. And I'lltell you, there was some mistake made in my being the elder of us. Itshould have been you, for you are the soberer by many a mile. "

Pandora smiled. "I have dwelt with Grandmother five years, " she said. 

"Well, and haven't I dwelt with Aunt Grena well-nigh nineteen years?No, Pan, that's not the difference. It lieth in the nature of us two. I am a true Roberts, and you take after our mother's folks. "

"Maybe so. Will you have with us, True, to Master Hall's?"

"I? Gramercy, no! I'm none so fond of sick childre. "

"Christie is not sick, so to speak, Bridget saith; she is but lame andweak. "

"Well, then she is sick, so _not_ to speak! She alway lieth of a couch, and I'll go bail she whines and mewls enough o'er it. "

"Nay, Bridget saith she is right full of cheer, and most patient, notwithstanding her maladies. And, True, the poor little maid is alonethe whole day long, save on holy-days, when only her father can be withher. Wouldst thou not love well to bring some sunshine into her littlelife?"

"Did I not tell you a minute gone, Pandora Roberts, that you and I werecast in different moulds? No, my Minorite Sister, I should not loveit--never a whit. I want my sunshine for mine own life--not to brightensick maids and polish up poor childre. Go your ways, O best ofPandoras, and let me be. I'll try over the step of that new minuetwhile you are gone. "

"And would you really enjoy that better than being kind to a sick child?O True, you do astonish me!"

"I should. I never was cut out for a Lady Bountiful. I could not doit, Dorrie--not for all the praises and blessings you expect to get. "

"Gertrude, _did_ you think--"

"An't like you, Mistress Pandora, the horses be at the door, andMistress Grena is now full ready. "

CHAPTER THIRTEEN. 

A NEW FRIEND FOR CHRISTABEL. 

"O Aunt Tabitha! have you and Uncle Thomas been to Canterbury? and didyou really see dear Aunt Alice? How looks she? and what said she? I dowant to know, and Father never seems to see, somehow, the things I want. Of course I would not--he's the best father that ever was, AuntTabitha, and the dearest belike; but somehow, he seems not to _see_things--"

"He's a man, " said Aunt Tabitha, cutting short Christabel's labouredexplanation; "and men never do see, child. They haven't a bit ofgumption, and none so much wit. Ay, we've been; but we were late, andhadn't time to tarry. Well, she looks white belike, as folks alway dowhen they be shut up from the air; but she seems in good health, and ingood cheer enough. She was sat of the corner, hard by a woman thathath, said she, been a good friend unto her, and a right comfort, andwho, said she, must needs have a share in all her good things. "

"Oh, I'm glad she has a friend in that dreadful place! What's her name, Aunt, an' it like you?"

"Didn't say. "

"But I would like to pray for her, " said Christie with a disappointedlook; "and I can't say, `Bless that woman. '"

"Why not?" said Aunt Tabitha bluntly. "Art 'feared the Lord shall beperplexed to know which woman thou meanest, and go and bless the wrongone?"

"Why, no! He'll know, of course. And, please, has Aunt Alice a cushionfor her back?"

Tabitha laughed curtly. "Cushions grow not in prisons, child. Nay, she's never a cushion. "

"Oh, I'm sorry!" said Christie mournfully. "And I've got three! I wishI could give her one of mine. "

"Well, I scarce reckon she'd have leave to keep it, child. Howbeit, thou canst pray thy father to make inquiration. "

"Oh ay! I'll pray Father to ask. Thank you, Aunt Tabitha. Was AuntAlice very, very pleased to see you?"

"Didn't ask her. She said some'at none so far off it. Dear heart! butwhat ado is here?"

And Tabitha rose to examine the details of the "ado. " Two fine horsesstood before the gate, each laden with saddle and pillion, the formerholding a serving-man, and the latter a lady. From a third horse therider, also a man-servant in livery, had alighted, and he was now comingto help the ladies down. They were handsomely dressed, in a style whichshowed them to be people of some consequence: for in those days thetexture of a woman's hood, the number of her pearls, and the breadth ofher lace and fur were carefully regulated by sumptuary laws, and woebetide the esquire's daughter, or the knight's wife, who presumed topoach on the widths reserved for a Baroness!

"Bless us! whoever be these?" inquired Tabitha of nobody in particular. "I know never a one of their faces. Have they dropped from the clouds?"

"Perhaps it's a mistake, " suggested Christie. 

"Verily, so I think, " rejoined her aunt. "I'd best have gone myself tothem--I'm feared Nell shall scarce--"

But Nell opened the door with the astonishing announcement of--"MistressGrena Holland, and Mistress Pandora Roberts, to visit the littlemistress. "

If anything could have cowed or awed Tabitha Hall, it would certainlyhave been that vision of Mistress Grena, in her dress of dark bluevelvet edged with black fur, and her tawny velvet hood with its gold-setpearl border. She recognised instinctively the presence of a womanwhose individuality was almost equal to her own, with the education andbearing of a gentlewoman added to it. Christabel was astonished at therespectful way in which Aunt Tabitha rose and courtesied to thevisitors, told them who she was, and that the master of the house wasaway at his daily duties. 

"Ay, " said Mistress Grena gently, "we wot that Master Hall must needsleave his little maid much alone, for my brother, Master Roberts ofPrimrose Croft, is owner of the works whereof he is manager. "

This announcement brought a yet lower courtesy from Tabitha, who nowrealised that members of the family of Roger Hall's master had come tovisit Christabel. 

"And as young folks love well to converse together apart from theirelders, and my niece's discretion may well be trusted, " added MistressGrena, "if it serve you, Mistress Hall, we will take our leave. Whichroad go you?"

"I will attend you, my mistress, any road, if that stand with yourpleasure. "

"In good sooth, I would gladly speak with you a little. I have anerrand to Cranbrook, and if it answer with your conveniency, then shallyou mount my niece's horse, and ride with me thither, I returning hitherfor her when mine occasion serveth. "

Tabitha having intimated that she could make this arrangement very wellsuit her convenience, as she wished to go to Cranbrook some day thatweek, the elder women took their departure, and Pandora was left alonewith Christie. 

Some girls would have been very shy of one another in thesecircumstances, but these two were not thus troubled; Pandora, becauseshe was too well accustomed to society, and Christie because she was toomuch excited by the unwonted circumstances. Pandora drew Christie outby a few short, well-directed questions; and many minutes had not passedbefore she knew much of the child's lonely life and often sorrowfulfancies. 

"Father's the best father that ever was, or ever could be!" saidChristie lovingly: "but look you, Mistress, he is bound to leave me--hecan't tarry with me. And I've no sisters, and no mother; and AuntTabitha can't be here often, and Aunt Alice is--away at present. "

"Thou art somewhat like me, little Christie, for though I have onesister, I also have no mother. "

"Do you miss her, Mistress?" asked Christie, struck by the pathos ofPandora's tone. 

"Oh, so much!" The girl's eyes filled with tears. 

"I can't remember my mother, " said Christie simply. "She was good, everybody says; but I can't recollect her a whit. I was only a babywhen she went to Heaven, to live with the Lord Jesus. "

"Ah, but I do remember mine, " was Pandora's answer. "My sister wasthirteen, and I was eleven, when our mother died; and I fretted so muchfor her, they were feared I might go into a waste, and I was sent awayfor five years, to dwell with my grandmother, well-nigh all the lengthof England off. I have but now come home. So thou seest I can feelsorry for lonesome folks, little Christie. "

Christie's face flushed slightly, and an eager, wistful look came intoher eyes. She was nerving herself to make a confession that she hadnever made before, even to her father or her Aunt Alice. She did notpause to ask herself why she should choose Pandora as its recipient; sheonly felt it possible to say it to the one, and too hard to utter it tothe others. 

"It isn't only lonesomeness, and that isn't the worst, either. Buteverybody says that folks that love God ought to work for Him, and Ican't do any work. It doth Him no good that I should work in colouredsilks and wools, and the like; and I can't do nothing else: so I can'twork for God. I would I could do something. I wouldn't care how hardit was. Justine--that's one of my cousins--grumbles because she saysher work is so hard; but if I could work, I wouldn't grumble, howeverhard it was--if only it were work for God. "

"Little Christie, " said Pandora softly, stroking the fair hair, "shall Itell thee a secret?"

"If it please you, Mistress. " The answer did not come with anyeagerness; Christie thought the confession, which had cost hersomething, was to be shelved as a matter of no interest, and herdisappointment showed itself in her face. 

Pandora smiled. "When I was about thy years, Christie, one day as Icame downstairs, I made a false step, and slid down to the bottom of theflight. It was not very far--maybe an half-dozen steps or more: but Ifell with my ankle doubled under me, and for nigh a fortnight I couldnot walk for the pain. I had to lie all day on a day-bed; and thoughdivers young folks were in the house, and many sports going, I could notshare in any, but lay there and fretted me o'er my misfortune. I wasnot patient; I was very impatient. But there was in the house a goodman, a friend of my grandmother, that came one even into the parlourwhere I lay, and found me in tears. He asked me no questions. He didbut lay his hand upon my brow as I lay there with my kerchief to mineeyes, and quoth he, `My child, to do the work of God is to do His will. 'Hast thou yet learned my lesson, Christie?"

Christie's eyes were eager enough now. She saw that the answer wascoming, not put aside for something more entertaining to Pandora. 

"Many and many a time, Christie, hath that come back to me, when I havebeen called to do that which was unpleasing to me, that which perchanceseemed lesser work for God than the thing which I was doing. And I haveoft found that what I would have done instead thereof was not the workGod set me, but the work I set myself. "

"Then can I work for God, if I only lie here?"

"If God bid thee lie there, and bear pain and weakness, and weariness, dear child, then that is His work, because it is His will for thee. Itwould not be work for God, if thou wert to arise and scour the floor, when He bade thee 'bide still and suffer. Ah, Christie, we are all ofus sore apt to make that blunder--to think that the work we setourselves is the work God setteth us. And 'tis very oft He giveth uscross-training; the eager, active soul is set to lie and bear, while thetimid, ease-loving nature is bidden to arise and do. But so long as itis His will, it is His work. "

It did not strike Christie as anything peculiar or surprising that hernew acquaintance should at once begin to talk to her in this strain. She had lived exclusively with people older than herself, and all whomshe knew intimately were Christian people. Aunt Tabitha sometimespuzzled her; but Christie's nature was not one to fret and strain over apoint which she could not comprehend. It seemed to her, therefore, notonly right, but quite a matter of course, that Pandora Roberts should beof the same type as her father and her Aunt Alice. 

"I thank you, Mistress, " she said earnestly. "I will do mine utmost tobear it in mind, and then, maybe, I shall not be so impatient as oft Iam. "

"Art thou impatient, Christabel?"

"Oh, dreadfully!" said Christie, drawing a long sigh. "Not always, lookyou; there be times I am content, or if not, I can keep it all insidemostly. But there be times it will not tarry within, but comes rightout, and then I'm so 'shamed of myself afterward. I marvel how it isthat peevishness isn't like water and other things--when they comepouring out, they are out, and they are done; but the more peevishnesscomes out of you, the more there seems to be left in. 'Tis not oft, look you, it really comes right outside: that would be shocking! but'tis a deal too often. And I _do_ want to be like the Lord Jesus!"

Something bright and wet dropped on Christabel's forehead as Pandorastooped to kiss her. 

"Little Christie, " she said tenderly, "I too right earnestly desire tobe like the Lord Jesus. But the best of all is that the Lord Himselfdesires it for us. He will help us both; and we will pray each forother. "

CHAPTER FOURTEEN. 

UNEXPECTED TIDINGS. 

When Roger Hall came home that evening, he was greeted by Christie withan amount of excited enthusiasm which he did not often hear from hislittle invalid daughter. 

"Oh Father, Father! I have a new friend, and such a good, pleasant maidshe is!"

Christie did not term her new friend "nice, " as she certainly would havedone in the present day. To her ear that word had no meaning exceptthat of particular and precise--the meaning which we still attach to itsrelative "nicety. "

"A new friend, forsooth?" said Christie's father with a smile. "And whois she, sweet heart? Is it Mistress Final's niece, that came to visither this last week?"

"Oh no, Father! 'Tis somebody much--ever so much grander! Only think, the master's daughter, Mistress Pandora Roberts, came with her aunt, Mistress Holland; and Mistress Holland went on to Cranbrook, and tookAunt Tabitha with her--she was here when she came--and Mistress Pandoratarried with me, and talked, till her aunt came back to fetch her. Oh, she is a sweet maid, and I do love her!"

Roger Hall looked rather grave. He had kept himself, and even more, hisChristie, from the society of outsiders, for safety's sake. For eitherof them to be known as a Gospeller, the name then given to the true, firm-hearted Protestants, would be a dangerous thing for theirliberties, if not their lives. Pandora Roberts was the daughter of aman who, once a Protestant, had conformed to the Romanised form ofreligion restored by Queen Mary, and her uncle was one of themagistrates on the Cranbrook bench. Roger was sorry to hear that one sonearly allied to these dangerous people had found his little violetunder the leaves where he had hoped that she was safely hidden. A sharppang shot through his heart as the dread possibility rose before him ofhis delicate little girl being carried away to share the comfortlessprison of his sister. Such treatment would most likely kill her verysoon. For himself he would have cared far less: but Christie!

He was puzzled how to answer Christie's praises of Pandora. He did notwish to throw cold water on the child's delight, nor to damage her newlyfound friend in her eyes. But neither did he wish to drag her into thethorny path wherein he had to walk himself--to hedge her round withperpetual cautions and fears and terrors, lest she should let slip someword that might be used to their hurt. An old verse says--

 "Ye gentlemen of England That sit at home at ease, Ye little know the miseries And dangers of the seas. "

And it might be said with even greater truth--Ye men and women, ye boysand girls of free, peaceful, Protestant England, ye little know thedangers of life in lands where Popish priests rule, nor the miseriesthat you will have to endure if they ever gain the ascendancy hereagain!

Roger Hall had never heard Dr Abernethy's wise advice--"When you don'tknow what to do, do nothing. " But in this emergency he acted on thatprinciple. 

"I trust, my dear heart, " he said quietly, "that it may please the Lordto make thee and this young gentlewoman a blessing to each other. "

"Oh, it will, I know, Father!" said Christie, quite unsuspicious of thecourse of her father's thoughts. "Only think, Father! she told me firstthing, pretty nigh, that she loved the Lord Jesus, and wanted to be likeHim. So you see we couldn't do each other any hurt, could we?"

Roger smiled rather sadly. 

"I am scarce so sure of that, my Christie. Satan can set snares evenfor them that love the Lord; but 'tis true, they be not so like to slipas they that do not. Is this young mistress she that dwelt away fromhome some years back, or no?"

"She is, Father; she hath dwelt away in the shires, with hergrandmother, these five years. And there was a good man there--she toldme not his name--that gave her counsel, and he said, `To do God's workis to do God's will. ' That is good, Father, isn't it?"

"Good, and very true, sweeting. "

Roger Hall had naturally all the contempt of a trueborn man of Kent forthe dwellers in "the shires, " which practically meant everybody inEngland who was not a native of Kent. But he knew that God had said, "He that despiseth his neighbour sinneth;" so he said in his heart, "Getthee behind me, Satan, " to the bad feeling, and went on to wonder whothe good man might be. Had Pandora told the name of that man, halfRoger's doubts and terrors would have taken flight. The name of MasterJohn Bradford of Manchester--the martyr who eighteen months before hadglorified the Lord in the fires--would have been an immediate passportto his confidence. But Pandora knew the danger of saying more than wasneedful, and silently suppressed the name of her good counsellor. 

Some days elapsed before Roger was again able to visit Canterbury. Theywere very busy just then at the cloth-works, and his constant presencewas required. But when February began, the pressure was past, and onthe first holy-day in that month, which was Candlemas Day, he rode tothe metropolitan city of his county on another visit to Alice. On hisarm he carried a basket, which held a bottle of thick cream, a dozennew-laid eggs, and a roll of butter; and as he came through Canterbury, he added to these country luxuries the town dainties of a bag of datesand half a pound each of those costly spices, much used and liked atthat time--cloves, nutmeg, and cinnamon. On these articles he spent 7shillings 8 pence--8 pence for the dates, 3 shillings for cinnamon, 2shillings 6 pence for cloves, and 1 shilling 6 pence for nutmegs. Lastly, he bought a sugarloaf, then an unusual luxury, which cost him 7pence. The basket was now quite full, and leaving his horse at the StarInn, he went up to the prison, and struck with his dagger on the greatbell, which was then the general mode of ringing it. Every man, exceptlabourers, carried a dagger. The porter had become so accustomed to thesight of Roger, that he usually opened the door for him at once, with anod of greeting. But this morning, when he looked from the wicket tosee who it was, he did not open the door, but stood silently behind it. Roger wondered what this new style of conduct meant. 

"May I within, by your good leave, to see my sister?" he asked. 

"You may within, if you desire to tarry here, by my Lord's good leave, "said the porter; "but you'll not see your sister. "

"Why, what's ado?" asked Roger in consternation. 

"Removed, " answered the porter shortly. 

"Whither?"

"Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies, " was the proverbialreply. 

"Lack-a-day! Can I find out?"

The porter elevated his eyebrows, and shrugged his shoulders. 

"Come within a moment, " said he. 

Roger obeyed, and the porter drew him into his lodge, where he spoke ina cautious whisper. 

"Master Hall, you be an honest man; and though I am here found, yet Itrust so am I. If you be likewise a wise man, you will find somewhat tokeep you at home for the future. Whither Mistress Benden is now taken, I could not tell you if I would: but this can I say, you'll follow ifyou have not a care. Be ruled by me, that am dealing by you as by afriend, and keep out of Canterbury when you are out, and let that be assoon as you may. For your good stuff, leave it an' you will forMistress Potkin: but if you tarry here, or return and be taken, say notyou were not warned. Now, void your basket, and go. "

Like a man dazed or in a dream, Roger Hall slowly emptied his basket ofthe good things which he had brought for Alice. He was willing enoughthat Rachel Potkin should have those or any other comforts he couldbring her. But that basket had been packed under Christie's eyes, andin part by Christie's hands, and the child had delighted herself in thethought of Aunt Alice's pleasure in every item. And when at last theroll of butter was lifted out, and behind it the eggs which it hadconfined in a safe corner, and Roger came to the two tiny eggs whichChristie had put in with special care, saying, "Now, Father, you'll besure to tell Aunt Alice those eggs were laid by my own little hen, andshe must eat them her own self, because I sent them to her"--as Rogertook out the eggs of Christie's hen, he could hardly restrain a sob, which was partly for the child's coming disappointment, and partlycaused by his own anxious suspense and distress. The porter had notspoken very plainly--he had probably avoided doing so on purpose--but itwas sufficiently manifest that the authorities had their eyes on Rogerhimself, and that he ran serious risk of arrest if he remained inCanterbury. 

But what had they done with Alice? He must find her. Whatever becameof him, he must look for Alice. 

Roger turned away from the gate of the gaol, sick at heart. He scarcelyremembered even to thank the friendly porter, and turned back to repairthe omission. 

"If you be thankful to me, " was the porter's significant answer, "lookyou take my counsel. "

Slowly, as if he were walking in a dream, and scarcely knew where he wasgoing, Roger made his way back to the Star. There all was bustle andcommotion, for some people of high rank had just arrived on a pilgrimageto the shrine of Saint Thomas of Canterbury, or rather to the placewhere the shrine had stood in past ages. King Henry the Eighth haddestroyed the shrine, and a soldier had "rattled down proud Becket'sglassy bones, " but the spot where it had been was considered holy, andthe poor deluded people even yet sometimes came to worship there, and tomake their painful way up the Pilgrims' Stairs, which they had to ascendon their knees. Those stairs are now to be seen in CanterburyCathedral, worn by the thousands of knees which went up them, the poorcreatures fancying that by this means they would obtain pardon of theirsins, or earn a seat in Heaven. 

The bustle in the inn rather favoured Roger's escape. He mounted hishorse, tied the basket to his saddle, and rode out of Wincheap Gate, wondering all the while how he could discover the place to which Alicehad been removed, and how he should tell Christie. He met severalpeople on the road, but noticed none of them, and reached his own housewithout having exchanged a word with any one he knew. He let himselfin, and with a sinking heart, opened the parlour door. 

"Dear heart, Master Hall!" said the voice of Collet Pardue, who wasseated by Christie's couch, "but there's ill news in your face! What'sado, prithee?"

"Oh, Father, is Aunt Alice sick?" cried Christie. 

Roger came round to the couch, and knelt down, one hand clasping that ofhis little girl, and the other tenderly laid upon her head. 

"My Christie, " he said, "they have taken Aunt Alice away, I know notwhither. But our Father knows. Perchance He will show us. But whetheror not, all is well with her, for she is in His care that loveth hermore than we. "

CHAPTER FIFTEEN. 

MR. BENDEN'S DESSERT. 

"Taken her away from the gaol! and you wot not whither? Well, RogerHall, you're as pretty a man of your hands as ever I did behold!"

"How signify you, Sister Tabitha?"

"Would I ever have turned back from Canterbury till I'd found out?Marry, not I! I'd have known all about it in half a twink. "

"Please, Aunt Tabitha, if you have half a twink to spare--I know notwhat it is, but I suppose you do--won't you go and find out Aunt Alice?"

This practical suggestion from Christie was quietly ignored. 

"'Tis right like a man as ever I did see! Catch a woman turning back inthat fashion afore she'd half done her work!"

"But, Aunt Tabitha, " urged Christie, for her father sat in silence, andshe felt herself bound to defend him, "have you forgotten what theporter said to Father? If they--"

"Pack o' nonsense!" snorted Aunt Tabitha. "He would fain keep him fromcontinual coming, and he spake out the first thing that came in hishead, that's all. None but a babe like thee should take any note ofsuch rubbish. Can't you speak up, Roger Hall? or did you drop yourtongue where you left your wits?"

"Methinks you have a sufficiency for us both, Tabitha, " said Rogerquietly, leaving it uncertain whether he alluded to the tongue or thewits. 

"Mean you to go again to-morrow?"

"That cannot I yet say. I lack time to think--and to pray likewise. "

"Lack time to _think_! Gramercy me! How long doth a man want to gatherup his wits together? I should have thought of fifty things whilst Irode back from Canterbury. "

"So I did, Tabitha; but I wis not yet which was the right. "

"Ay, you're a brave hand at thinking, but I want to _do_. "

"That will I likewise, so soon as I have thought out what is best to do. I see it not as yet. "

"Lack-a-daisy me! Well, my fine master, I'll leave you to yourthinking, and I'll get to my doing. As to second and third, I'll tarrytill I reach 'em; but I know what comes first. "

"What mean you to do, Tabitha?"

"I mean to walk up to Briton's Mead, and give Edward Benden a sweet-sopto his supper. I've had a rod in pickle any day this three months, andI reckon 'tis in good conditions by now. I'll give him some'at he'llenjoy. If he skrike not afore I've done with him--!"

Leaving her sentence the more expressive for its incompleteness, Mistress Tabitha stalked out of the room and the house, not pausing forany farewells. 

"Father, " said Christie, a little fearfully, "aren't you 'feared AuntTabitha shall get into prison, the way she talks and runs right atthings?"

"Nay, Christie, I scarce am, " said Roger. 

He knew that Faithful is brought to the stake in Vanity Fair morefrequently than Talkative. 

In the dining-room at Briton's Mead Mr Benden was sitting down to hissolitary supper. Of the result of his application to the Bishop he hadnot yet heard. He really imagined that if Roger Hall could be kept outof her way, Alice would yield and do all that he wished. He gave hercredit for no principle; indeed, like many in his day, he would havelaughed at the bare idea of a woman having any principle, or being ableto stand calmly and firmly without being instigated and supported by aman. Roger, therefore, in his eyes, was the obstacle in the way ofAlice's submission. He did not in the least realise that the realobstacle against which he was striving was the Holy Spirit of God. 

To a man in Mr Benden's position, who, moreover, had always been anepicure, his meals were a relief and an enjoyment. He was then lesstroubled by noxious thoughts than at any other time. It was with a sighof something like satisfaction that he sat down to supper, unfolded hisnapkin, and tucked it into his doublet, muttered a hurried grace, andhelped himself to the buttered eggs which Mary had sent up light andhot. He was just putting down the pepper-cruet, when he became aware ofsomething on the settle in the corner, which he could not fairly see, and did not understand. Mr Benden was rather short-sighted. He peeredwith eyes half shut at the unknown object. 

"What's that?" he said, half aloud. 

_That_ responded by neither sound nor motion. It looked very like ahuman being; but who could possibly be seated on his settle at this latehour without his knowing it? Mr Benden came to the conclusion that itwould be foolish to disturb himself, and spoil an excellent supper, forthe sake of ascertaining that Mary had forgotten to put away hisfur-lined cloak, which was most likely the thing in the corner. Hewould look at it after supper. He took up his spoon, and was in the actof conveying it to his mouth, when the uncanny object suddenly changedits attitude. 

"Saints bless us and love us!" ejaculated Mr Benden, dropping thespoon. 

He really was not at all concerned about the saints loving him, otherwise he would have behaved differently to his wife; but the wordswere the first to occur to him. The unknown thing was still again, andafter another long stare, which brought him no information, Mr Bendenpicked up the spoon, and this time succeeded in conveying it to hislips. 

At that moment the apparition spoke. 

"Edward Benden!" it said, "do you call yourself a Christian?"

Mr Benden's first gasp of horror that the hobgoblin should address himby name, was succeeded by a second of relief as he recognised the voice. 

"Bless the saints!" he said to himself; "it's only Tabby. "

His next sensation was one of resentment. What business had Tabitha tosteal into his house in this way, startling him half out of his wits ashe began his supper? These mixed sentiments lent a sulky tone to hisvoice as he answered that he was under the impression he had some claimto that character. 

"Because, " said the apparition coolly, "I don't. "

"Never thought you were, " said Mr Benden grimly, turning the tables onthe enemy, who had left him a chance to do it. 

Tabitha rose and advanced to the table. 

"Where is Alice?" she demanded. 

"How should I know?" answered Mr Benden, hastily shovelling into hismouth another spoonful of eggs, without a notion what they tasted like. "In the gaol, I reckon. You are best to go and see, if you'd fain know. I'm not her keeper. "

"You're not? Did I not hear you swear an oath to God Almighty, to `keepher in sickness and in health?' That's how you keep your vows, is it?I've kept mine better than so. But being thus ignorant of what youshould know better than other folks, may be it shall serve you to hearthat she is not in the gaol, nor none wist where she is, saving, as Iguess, yon dotipole men call Dick o' Dover. He and Satan know, verylike, for I count they took counsel about it. "

Mr Benden laid down his spoon, and looked up at Tabitha. "Tabitha, Iwist nought of this, I ensure you, neither heard I of it aforetime. I--"

He took another mouthful to stop the words that were coming. It wouldhardly be wise to let Tabitha know what he had said to the Bishop. 

"Sit you down, and give me leave to help you to these eggs, " he said, hospitably in appearance, politically in fact. 

"I'll not eat nor drink in your house, " was the stern reply. "Must I, then, take it that Dick o' Dover hath acted of his own head, and withoutany incitement from you?"

Poor Mr Benden! He felt himself fairly caught. He did not quite wantto tell a point blank falsehood. 

"They be good eggs, Tabitha, and Mall wist well how to dress them, " heurged. "You were best--"

"You were best answer my question, Edward Benden: Did you in any wiseexcite yon mitred scoundrel to this act?"

"Your language, Tabitha, doth verily 'shame me. `Mitred scoundrel, ' ingood sooth! Fear you not to be brought afore the justices for--"

"I fear nought so much as I fear you are a slippery snake, as well as aroaring lion, " said Tabitha, in grim defiance of natural history. "Answer my question, or I'll make you!"

Until that moment Mr Benden had not noticed that Tabitha kept one handbehind her. It suddenly struck him now, in disagreeable combinationwith the threat she uttered. 

"What have you behind your back?" he said uneasily. 

"A succade to follow your eggs, which you shall have if you demerit it. "

"What mean you, Sister Tabitha?"

"Let be your slimy coaxing ways. Answer my question. "

Like all bullies, Mr Benden was a coward. With a woman of Tabitha'stype he had never before had to deal at such close quarters. Aliceeither yielded to his wishes, or stood quietly firm, and generallysilent. He began to feel considerable alarm. Tabitha was a powerfulwoman, and he was a man of only moderate strength. Briton's Mead wasnot within call of any other house, and its master had an unpleasantconviction that to summon Mary to his aid would not improve his case. It was desirable to compromise with Tabitha. The only way that he couldsee to do it was to deny his action. If he did commit a sin in speakingfalsely, he said to himself, it was Tabitha's fault for forcing him toit, and Father Bastian would absolve him easily, considering thecircumstances. 

"No, Tabitha; I did not say a word to the Bishop. "

"You expect me to believe you, after all that fencing and skulking underhedges? Then I don't. If you'd said it fair out at first, well--may beI might, may be I mightn't. But I don't now, never a whit. And I thinkyou'd best eat the succade I brought you. I believe you demerit it; andif you don't, you soon will, or I'm a mistaken woman, and I'm not apt tobe that, " concluded Mistress Tabitha, with serene consciousness ofvirtue. 

"Tabitha, my dear sister, I do ensure you--"

"You'd best ensure me of nothing, my right undear brother. Out on yoursnaky speeches and beguiling ways! You'll have your succade, and I'llleave you to digest it, and much good may it do you!"

And he had it. After which transaction Mistress Tabitha went home, andslept all the better for the pleasing remembrance that she hadhorsewhipped Mr Edward Benden. 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN. 

AT THE WHITE HART. 

There was a good deal of bustle going on in the kitchen of the WhiteHart, the little hostelry at Staplehurst. It was "fair day, " and fairswere much more important things in the olden time than now. A fairnow-a-days is an assemblage of some dozen booths, where the chiefcommodities are toys and sweetmeats, with an attempt at serious businessin the shape of a little crockery or a few tin goods. But fairs in 1557were busy places where many people laid in provisions for the season, orset themselves up with new clothes. The tiny inn had as many guests asit could hold, and the principal people in the town had come together inits kitchen--country inns had no parlours then--to debate all manner ofsubjects in which they were interested. The price of wool was anabsorbing topic with many; the dearness of meat and general badness oftrade were freely discussed by all. Amongst them bustled MistressFinal, the landlady of the inn, a widow, and a comely, rosy-faced, fat, kindly woman, assisted by her young son Ralph, her two daughters, Ursulaand Susan, and her maid Dorcas. Cakes and ale were served to most ofthe customers; more rarely meat, except in the form of pies, which werepopular, or of bacon, with or without accompanying eggs. 

The company in the kitchen were all more or less acquainted with eachother, two persons excepted. Those who were not Staplehurst people hadcome in from the surrounding villages, or from Cranbrook at thefarthest. But these two men were total strangers, and they did not mixwith the villagers, but sat, in travelling garb, at one corner of thekitchen, listening, yet rarely joining in the talk which went on aroundthem. One of them, indeed, seemed wrapped in his own thoughts, andscarcely spoke, even to his companion. He was a tall spare man, with agrave and reserved expression of countenance. The other was shorter andmuch more lively in his motions, was evidently amused by theconversation in his vicinity, and looked as if he would not object totalk if the opportunity were given him. 

Into this company came Emmet Wilson and Collet Pardue. Both had broughtfull baskets from the fair, which they set down in a corner, and turnedto amuse themselves with a little chat with their friends. 

"Any news abroad?" asked Collet. She dearly loved a bit of news, whichshe would retail to her quiet husband as they sat by the fireside afterthe day's work was done. 

"Well, not so much, " said John Banks, the mason, to whom Collet hadaddressed herself. He was the brother of Mr Benden's servant Mary. "Without you call it news to hear what happed at Briton's Mead lastnight. "

"Why, whatso? Not the mistress come home, trow?"

"Alack, no such good hap! Nay, only Tabby came down to see the master, and brought her claws with her. "

"Scrat him well, I hope?"

"Whipped him, and laid on pretty hard to boot. "

"Why, you never mean it, real true, be sure!"

"Be sure I do. He's a-bed this morrow. "

"I have my doubts if there'll be many tears shed in Staplehurst, " saidMistress Final, laughing, as she went past with a plate ofbiscuit-bread, which, to judge from the receipt for making it, must havebeen very like our sponge cake. 

"He's none so much loved of his neighbours, " remarked Nicholas White, who kept a small ironmonger's shop, to which he added the sale of sucharticles as wood, wicker-work, crockery, and musical instruments. 

The shorter and livelier of the travellers spoke for the first time. 

"Pray you, who is this greatly beloved master?"

John Fishcock, the butcher, replied. "His name is Benden, and the folksbe but ill-affected to him for his hard ways and sorry conditions. "

"Hard!--in what manner, trow?"

"Nay, you'd best ask my neighbour here, whose landlord he is. "

"And who'd love a sight better to deal with his mistress than himself, "said Collet, answering the appeal. "I say not he's unjust, look you, but he's main hard, be sure. A farthing under the money, or a day overthe time, and he's no mercy. "

"Ah, the mistress was good to poor folks, bless her!" said Banks. 

"She's dead, is she?" asked the stranger. 

"No, she's away, " replied Banks shortly. 

"Back soon?" suggested the stranger. 

John Banks had moved away. There was a peculiar gleam in hisquestioner's eye which he did not admire. But Collet, alwaysunsuspicious, and not always discreet, replied without any idea ofreserve. 

"You'd best ask Dick o' Dover that, for none else can tell you. "

"Ah, forsooth!" replied the stranger, apparently more interested thanever. "I heard as we came there were divers new doctrine folks atStaplehurst. She is one of them, belike?--and the master holds with theold? 'Tis sore pity folks should not agree to differ, and hold theirseveral opinions in peace. "

"Ah, it is so, " said unsuspicious Collet. 

"Pray you, who be the chief here of them of the new learning? We bestrangers in these parts, and should be well a-paid to know whither wemay seek our friends. Our hostess here, I am aware, is of them; but forothers I scarce know. The name of White was dropped in mine hearing, and likewise Fishcock; who be they, trow? And dwells there not acertain Mistress Brandridge, or some such?--and a Master Hall or Ball--some whither in this neighbourhood, that be friends unto such as lovenot the papistical ways?"

"Look you now, I'll do you to wit all thereanent, " said Colletconfidentially. "For Fishcock, that was he that first spake unto you;he is a butcher, and dwelleth nigh the church. Nicholas White, yon bigman yonder, that toppeth most of his neighbours, hath an ironmongeryshop a-down in the further end of the village. Brandridge have we not:but Mistress Bradbridge--"

"Mistress, here's your master a-wanting you!" came suddenly in JohnBanks' clear tones; and Collette, hastily lifting her basket, andapologising for the sudden termination of her usefulness, departedquickly. 

"She that hath hastened away is Mistress Wilson, methinks?" asked theinquisitive traveller of the person next him, who happened to be MaryBanks. 

Mary looked quietly up into the animated face, and glanced at hiscompanion also before replying. Then she said quietly--

"No, my master; Mistress Wilson is not now here. "

"Then what name hath she?"

"I cry you mercy, Master; I have no time to tarry. "

The grave man in the corner gave a grim smile as Mary turned away. 

"You took not much by that motion, Malledge, " he said in a low tone. 

"I took a good deal by the former, " replied Malledge, with a laugh. "Beside, I lacked it not; I wis well the name of my useful friend thatis now gone her way. I did but ask to draw on more talk. But onematter I have not yet. "

These words were spoken in an undertone, audible only to the person towhom they were addressed; and the speaker turned back to join in thegeneral conversation. But before they had obtained any furtherinformation, the well-known sounds of the hunt came through the opendoor, and the whole company turned forth to see the hunters and houndsgo by. Most of them did not return, but dispersed in the direction oftheir various homes, and from the few who did nothing was to be drawn. 

John Banks walked away with Nicholas White. "Saw you those twain?" heasked, when they had left the White Hart a little way behind them. "Thestrange men? Ay, I saw them. "

"I misdoubt if they come for any good purpose. "

"Ay so?" said Nicholas in apparent surprise. "What leads you to thatthought, trow?"

"I loved not neither of their faces; nor I liked not of their talk. That shorter man was for ever putting questions anent the folks in thisvicinage that loved the Gospel; and Collet Pardue told him more than sheshould, or I mistake. "

Nicholas White smiled. "I reckoned you were in some haste to let herwit that her master wanted her, " he said. 

"I was that. I was in a hurry to stop her tongue. "

"Well!" said the ironmonger after a short pause, "the Lord keep Hisown!"

"Amen!" returned the mason. "But methinks, friend, the Lord works notmany miracles to save even His own from traps whereinto they have runwith their eyes open. "

They walked on for a few minutes in silence. "What think you, " askedWhite, "is come of Mistress Benden?"

"Would I wist!" answered Banks. "Master Hall saith he'll never let betill he find her, without he be arrest himself. "

"That will he, if he have not a care. "

"I'm not so sure, " said Banks, "that those two in the White Hart couldnot have told us an' they would. "

"Good lack!--what count you then they be?"

"I reckon that they be of my Lord Cardinal's men. "

"Have you any ground for that fantasy?"

"Methought I saw the nether end of a mitre, broidered on the sleeve ofthe shorter man, where his cloak was caught aside upon the settle knob. Look you, I am not sure; but I'm 'feared lest it so be. "

"Jack, couldst thou stand the fire?"

"I wis not, Nichol. Could you?"

"I cast no doubt I could do all things through Christ, nor yet thatwithout Christ I could do nothing. "

"It may come close, ere long, " said Banks gravely. 

The two travellers, meanwhile, had mounted their horses, and were ridingin the direction of Goudhurst. A third man followed them, leading abaggage-horse. As they went slowly along, the taller man said--

"Have you all you need, now, Malledge?"

"All but one matter, Master Sumner--we know not yet where Hall dwelleth. Trust me, but I coveted your grave face, when we heard tell of Tabbyhorsewhipping yon Benden!"

"He hath his demerits, " said the sumner, --that is, the official whoserved the summonses to the ecclesiastical courts. 

"Of that I cast no doubt; nor care I if Tabby thrash him every day, formy part. When come we in our proper persons, to do our work?"

"That cannot I tell. We must first make report to my Lord of Dover. "

A young girl and a little child came tripping down the road. The shortman drew bridle and addressed them. 

"Pray you, my pretty maids, can you tell me where dwelleth MistressBradbridge? I owe her a trifle of money, and would fain pay the same. "

"Oh yes, sir!" said little Patience Bradbridge eagerly; "she's mymother. She dwells in yon white house over the field yonder. "

"And Master Roger Hall, where dwelleth he?"

Penuel Pardue hastily stopped her little friend's reply. 

"Master Hall is not now at home, my masters, so it should be to nopurpose you visit his house. I give you good-morrow. "

"Wise maid!" said Malledge with a laugh, when the girls were out ofhearing. "If all were as close as thou, we should thrive little. "

"They are all in a story!" said the sumner. 

"Nay, not all, " replied Malledge. "We have one to thank. But truly, they are a close-mouthed set, the most of them. "

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. 

THE JUSTICE IS INDISCREET. 

"Methinks we be like to have further troubles touching religion in theseparts. Marry, I do marvel what folks would be at, that they cannot becontent to do their duty, and pay their dues, and leave the cure oftheir souls to the priest. As good keep a dog and bark thyself, say I, as pay dues to the priest and take thought for thine own soul. "

The speaker was Mr Justice Roberts, and he sat at supper in hisbrother's house, one of a small family party, which consisted, besidethe brothers, of their sister, Mistress Collenwood, Mistress GrenaHolland, Gertrude, and Pandora. The speech was characteristic of thespeaker. The Justice was by no means a bad man, as men go--and all ofthem do not go very straight in the right direction--but he made onemistake which many are making in our own day; he valued peace morehighly than truth. His decalogue was a monologue, consisting but of onecommandment: Do your duty. What a man's duty was, the Justice did notpause to define. Had he been required to do so, his dissection of thatdifficult subject would probably have run in three grooves--go tochurch; give alms; keep out of quarrels. 

"It were verily good world, Master Justice, wherein every man should dohis duty, " was the answer of Mistress Grena, delivered in that slightlyprim and didactic fashion which was characteristic of her. 

"What is duty?" concisely asked Mistress Collenwood, who was by some tenyears the elder of her brothers, and therefore the eldest of thecompany. 

Gertrude's eyes were dancing with amusement; Pandora only lookedinterested. 

"Duty, " said Mr Roberts, the host, "is that which is due. "

"To whom?" inquired his sister. 

"To them unto whom he oweth it, " was the reply; "first, to God; afterHim, to all men. "

"Which of us doth that?" said Mistress Collenwood softly, looking roundthe table. 

Mistress Grena shook her head in a way which said, "Very few--not I. "

Had Gertrude lived three hundred years later, she would have said whatnow she only thought--"I am sure _I_ do my duty. " But in 1557 youngladies were required to "hear, see, and say nought, " and for one of themto join unasked in the conversation of her elders would have been heldto be shockingly indecorous. The rule for girls' behaviour was toostrict in that day; but if a little of it could be infused into the verylax code of the present time, when little misses offer their opinions onsubjects of which they know nothing, and unblushingly differ from, oreven contradict their mothers, too often without rebuke, it would be adecided improvement on social manners. 

"Which of the folks in these parts be not doing their duty?" asked MrRoberts of his brother. 

"You know Benden of Briton's Mead?" replied the Justice. 

"By sight; I am not well acquaint with him. "

"Is he not an hard man, scarce well liked?" said his sister. 

"True enough, as you shall say ere my tale come to an end. This Bendenhath a wife--a decent Woman enough, as all men do confess, save that sheis bitten somewhat by certain heretical notions that the priest cannotwin her to lay by; will not come to mass, and so forth; but in all otherfashions of good repute: and what doth this brute her husband but gohimself to the Bishop, and beg--I do ensure you, beg his Lordship thatthis his wife may be arrest and lodged in prison. And in prison she is, and hath so been now these three or four months, on the sworninformation of her own husband. 'Tis monstrous!"

"Truly, most shocking!" said Mistress Grena, cutting up the round ofbeef. The lady of the house always did the carving. 

"Ah! As saith the old proverb: `There is no worse pestilence than afamiliar enemy, '" quoted the host. 

"Well!" continued the Justice, with an amused look: "but now cometh agood jest, whereof I heard but yester-even. This Mistress Benden hathtwo brothers, named Hall--Roger and Thomas--one of whom dwelleth atFrittenden, and the other at yon corner house in Staplehurst, nigh tothe Second Acre Close. Why, to be sure, he is your manager--that had Iforgot. "

Mr Roberts nodded. Pandora had pricked up her ears at the name ofHall, and now began to listen intently. Mistress Benden, of whom sheheard for the first time, must be an aunt of her _protegee_, littleChristabel. 

"This Thomas Hall hath a wife, by name Tabitha, that the lads hereaboutcall Tabby, and by all accounts a right cat with claws is she. She, Ihear, went up to Briton's Mead a two-three days gone, or maybe somethingmore, and gave good Master Benden a taste of her horsewhip, that he hathsince kept his bed--rather, I take it, from sulkiness than soreness, yetI dare be bound she handled him neatly. Tabitha is a woman of strongbuild, and lithe belike, that I would as lief not be horsewhipped by. Howbeit, what shall come thereof know I not. Very like she thought itshould serve to move him to set Mistress Alice free: but she may find, and he belike, that 'tis easier to set a stone a-rolling down the hillthan to stay it. The matter is now in my Lord of Dover's hands; andwithout Mistress Tabitha try her whip on him--"

Both gentlemen laughed. Pandora was deeply interested, as she recalledlittle Christie's delicate words, that Aunt Alice was "away at present. "The child evidently would not say more. Pandora made up her mind thatshe would go and see Christie again as soon as possible, and meanwhileshe listened for any information that she might give her. 

"What is like to come of the woman, then?" said Mr Roberts, "apart fromMistress Tabitha and her whip?"

"Scarce release, I count, " said the Justice gravely. "She hath beenmoved from the gaol; and that doubtless meaneth, had into straiterkeeping. "

"Poor fools!" said his brother, rather pityingly than scornfully. 

"Ay, 'tis strange, in very deed, they cannot let be this foolishmeddling with matters too high for them. If the woman would but conformand go to church, I hear, her womanish fantasies should very like beoverlooked. Good lack I can a man not believe as he list, yet hold histongue and be quiet, and not bring down the laws on his head?" concludedthe Justice somewhat testily. 

There was a pause, during which all were silent--from very variousmotives. Mr Roberts was thinking rather sadly that the only choiceoffered to men in those days was a choice of evils. He had never wishedto conform--never would have done so, had he been let alone: but a manmust look out for his safety, and take care of his property--of coursehe must!--and if the authorities made it impossible for him to do sowith a good conscience, why, the fault was theirs, not his. Thus arguedMr Roberts, forgetting that the man makes a poor bargain who gains thewhole world and loses himself. The Justice and Gertrude were simplyenjoying their supper. No scruples of any kind disturbed theirslumbering consciences. Mistress Collenwood's face gave no indicationof her thoughts. Pandora was reflecting chiefly upon Christabel. 

But there was one present whose conscience had been asleep, and was justwaking to painful life. For nearly four years had Grena Holland soothedher many misgivings by some such reasoning as that of Mr JusticeRoberts. She had conformed outwardly: had not merely abstained fromcontradictory speeches, but had gone to mass, had attended theconfessional, had bowed down before images of wood and stone, and allthe time had comforted herself by imagining that God saw her heart, andknew that she did not really believe in any of these things, but onlyacted thus for safety's sake. Now, all at once, she knew not how, itcame on her as by a flash of lightning that she was on the road thatleadeth to destruction, and not content with that, was bearing her youngnieces along with her. She loved those girls as if she had been theirown mother. Grave, self-contained, and undemonstrative as she was, shewould almost have given her life for either, but especially for Pandora, who in face, and to some extent in character, resembled her dead mother, the sister who had been the darling of Grena Holland's heart. Sherecalled with keen pain the half-astonished, half-shrinking look onPandora's face, as she had followed her to mass on the first holy-dayafter her return from Lancashire. Grena knew well that at ShardefordHall, her mother's house in Lancashire, Pandora would never have beenrequired to attend mass, but would have been taught that it was "a fondfable and a dangerous deceit. " And now, she considered, that look hadpassed from the girl's face; she went silently, not eagerly on the onehand, yet unprotestingly, even by look, on the other. Forward into thepossible future went Grena's imagination--to the prison, and thetorture-chamber, and the public disgrace, and the awful death of fire. How could she bear those, either for herself or for Pandora?

These painful meditations were broken in upon by a remark from theJustice. 

"There is some strong ale brewing, I warrant you, for some of our greatdoctors and teachers of this vicinage. I heard t'other day, from onethat shall be nameless--indeed, I would not mention the matter, but webe all friends and good Catholics here--"

Mistress Collenwood's eyes were lifted a moment from her plate, but thenwent down again in silence. 

"Well, I heard say two men of my Lord Cardinal's had already beena-spying about these parts, for to win the names of such as weresuspect: and divers in and nigh Staplehurst shall hear more than theywot of, ere many days be over. Mine hostess at the White Hart had bestlook out, and--well, there be others; more in especial this Master Ro--Come, I'll let be the rest. "

"I trust you have not said too much already, " remarked Mr Robertsrather uneasily. 

That the Justice also feared he had been indiscreet was shown by hisslight testiness in reply. 

"Tush! how could I? There's never a serving-man in the chamber, and webe all safe enough. Not the tail of a word shall creep forth, be sure. "

"`Three may keep counsel, if twain be away, '" said Mr Roberts, shakinghis head with a good-humoured smile. 

"They do not alway then, " added Mistress Collenwood drily. 

"Well, well!" said the Justice, "you wot well enough, every one of you, the matter must go no further. Mind you, niece Gertrude, you slip itnot forth to some chattering maid of your acquaintance. "

"Oh, I am safe enough, good Uncle, " laughed Gertrude. 

"Indeed, I hope we be all discreet in such dangerous matters, " addedMistress Grena. 

Only Mrs Collenwood and Pandora were silent. 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. 

OUT OF HEART. 

"Aunt Grena, " said Pandora Roberts, "if it stand with your pleasure, mayI have leave to visit little Christabel Hall this fine morrow?"

"Thou shouldst, my dear heart, with my very good will, " was the kindlyanswer; "but misfortunately, at this time I am not in case to accompanythee. "

Pandora did not reply, but she looked greatly disappointed, when heraunt, Mistress Collenwood, suggested--

"Could not old Osmund go with her, Grena?"

"He might, if it were matter of grave concern, " replied Mistress Grena, in a tone which indicated that the concern would have to be very graveindeed. 

"Well, Dorrie, thou mayest clear those troubled eyes, " said MistressCollenwood with a smile: "for I myself will accompany thee to visit thyfriend. "

"You, Aunt Francis? Oh, I thank you!" said Pandora joyfully, passing ina moment from distress to delight. 

In half-an-hour the horses were at the door. Not much was said duringthe ride to Staplehurst, except that Pandora told her aunt thatChristabel was an invalid child, and that her father was the manager atthe cloth-works. Christie, who of course was always at home, wasrejoiced to see her friend; and Mistress Collenwood inquired closelyinto her ailments, ending with the suggestion, which she desired mightbe conveyed to her father, that Christie should rub her limbs with oilof swallows, and take a medicine compounded of plantain water and"powder of swine's claws. "

"Father's in the house, " said Christie. "He had to return back for somepapers the master desired. "

Roger Hall confirmed her words by coming into the room in a few minutes, with the papers in his hand which he had been sent to seek. He made areverence to his master's relatives. 

"Master Hall, " said Mrs Collenwood, "I would gladly have a word withyou touching your little maid's ailments. "

Roger detected her desire to say something to him out of Christie'shearing, and led her to the kitchen, which was just then empty, as Nellwas busy in the wash-house outside. 

"I pray you to bar the door, " said Mrs Collenwood. 

Roger obeyed, rather wondering at the request. Mrs Collenwood shortlytold him that she thought the oil of swallows might strengthenChristie's limbs, and the medicine improve her general health, but sheso quickly dismissed that subject that it was plain she had come forsomething else. Roger waited respectfully till she spoke. 

Speech seemed to be difficult to the lady. Twice she looked up andappeared to be on the point of speaking; and twice her eyes dropped, herface flushed, but her voice remained silent. At last she said--

"Master Hall, suffer me to ask if you have friends in any other county?"

Roger was considerably surprised at the question. 

"I have, my mistress, " said he, "a married sister that dwelleth inNorfolk, but I have not seen her these many years. "

He thought she must mean that Christie's health would be better in someother climate, which was a strange idea to him, at a time when change ofair was considered almost dangerous. 

"Norfolk--should scarce serve, " said the lady, in a timid, hesitatingmanner. "The air of the Green Yard at Norwich [where stood the Bishop'sprison for heretics] is not o'er good. I think not of your littlemaid's health, Master Hall, but of your own. "

Roger Hall was on the point of asserting with some perplexity and muchamazement, that his health was perfect, and he required neither changenor medicine, when the real object of these faltering words suddenlyflashed on him. His heart seemed to leap into his mouth, then toretreat to its place, beating fast. 

"My mistress, " he said earnestly, "I took not at the first your kindlymeaning rightly, but I count I so do now. If so be, I thank you morethan words may tell. But I must abide at my post. My sister Alice isnot yet found; and should I be taken from the child"--his voice trembledfor a moment--"God must have care of her. "

"I will have a care of her, in that case, " said Mrs Collenwood. "Master Hall, we may speak freely. What you are, I am. Now I have putmy life in your hands, and I trust you to be true. "

"I will guard it as mine own, " answered Roger warmly, "and I give youthe most heartiest thanks, my mistress, that a man wot how to utter. But if I may ask you, be any more in danger? My brother, and MasterWhite, and Mistress Final--"

"All be in danger, " was the startling answer, "that hold with us. Butthe one only name that I have heard beside yours, is mine hostess of theWhite Hart. "

"Mistress Final? I reckoned so much. I will have a word with her, ifit may be, on my way back to Cranbrook, and bid her send word to theothers. Alack the day! how long is Satan to reign, and wrong totriumph?"

"So long as God will, " replied Mrs Collenwood. "So long as His Churchhath need of the cleansing physic shall it be ministered to her. Whenshe is made clean, and white, and tried, then--no longer. God grant, friend, that you and I may not fail Him when the summons cometh forus--`The Master calleth for thee. '"

"Amen!" said Roger Hall. 

In the parlour Pandora said to Christabel--

"Dear child, thou mayest speak freely to me of thine Aunt Alice. I knowall touching her. "

"O Mistress Pandora! wot you where she is?"

Pandora was grieved to find from Christie's eager exclamation that shehad, however innocently, roused the child's hopes only to bedisappointed. 

"No, my dear heart, " she said tenderly, "not that, truly. I did butsignify that I knew the manner of her entreatment, and where she hathbeen lodged. "

"Father can't find her anywhere, " said Christie sorrowfully. "He wentabout two whole days, but he could hear nothing of her at all. "

"Our Father in Heaven knows where she is, my child. He shall not losesight of her, be well assured. "

"But she can't see Him!" urged Christie tearfully. 

"Truth, sweeting. Therefore rather `blessed are they that have notseen, and yet have believed. ' Consider how hard the blessed Paul wastried, and how hard he must have found faith, and yet how fully he didrely on our Saviour Christ. "

"I don't think Saint Paul was ever tried this way, " said Christie in hersimplicity. "And his sister's son knew where he was, and could get athim. They weren't as ill off as me and Father. "

"Poor old Jacob did not know where Joseph was, " suggested Pandora. 

"Well, ay, " admitted Christie. "But Jacob was an old man; he wasn't alittle maid. And Joseph came all right, after all. Beside, he was alad, and could stand things. Aunt Alice isn't strong. And she hasn'tbeen nobody's white child [favourite] as Joseph was; I am sure UncleEdward never made her a coat of many colours. Mistress Pandora, is itvery wicked of me to feel as if I could not bear to look at UncleEdward, and hope that he will never, never, never come to see us anymore?"

"'Tis not wicked to hate a man's sinful deeds, dear heart; but we haveneed to beware that we hate not the sinner himself. "

"I can't tell how to manage that, " said Christie. "I can't put UncleEdward into one end of my mind, and the ill way he hath used dear AuntAlice into the other. He's a bad, wicked man, or he never could havedone as he has. "

"Suppose he be the very worst man that ever lived, Christie--and Imisdoubt if he be so--but supposing it, wouldst thou not yet wish thatGod should forgive him?"

"Well; ay, I suppose I would, " said Christie, in a rather uncertaintone; "but if Uncle Edward's going to Heaven, I do hope the angels willkeep him a good way off Aunt Alice, and Father, and me. I don't thinkit would be so pleasant if he were there. "

Pandora smiled. 

"We will leave that, sweet heart, till thou be there, " she said. 

And just as she spoke Mrs Collenwood returned to the parlour. Shechatted pleasantly for a little while with Christie, and bade her notlose heart concerning her Aunt Alice. 

"The Lord will do His best for His own, my child, " she said, as theytook leave of Christabel; "but after all, mind thou, His best is notalways our best. Nay; at times it is that which seems to us the worst. Yet I cast no doubt we shall bless Him for it, and justify all His ways, when we stand on the mount of God, and look back along the road that wehave traversed. `All the paths of the Lord are mercy and truth untosuch as keep His covenant and his testimonies. '"

Some such comfort as those words of God can give was sorely needed byRoger Hall. To use a graphic expression of his day, he was "well-nighbeat out of heart. " He had visited all the villages within somedistance, and had tramped to and fro in Canterbury, and could hearnothing. He had not as yet hinted to any one his own terribleapprehension that Alice might have been removed to London for trial. Ifso, she would come into the brutal and relentless hands of BishopBonner, and little enough hope was there in that case. The only chance, humanly speaking, then lay in the occasional visits paid by CardinalPole to Smithfield, for the purpose of rescuing, from Bonner's noblearmy of martyrs, the doomed who belonged to his own diocese. And thatwas a poor hope indeed. 

There were two important holy-days left in February, and both theseRoger spent in Canterbury, despite the warning of his impending arrestif he ventured in that direction. On the latter of these two he paidspecial attention to the cathedral precincts. It was possible thatAlice might be imprisoned in the house of one of the canons orprebendaries; and if so, there was a faint possibility that she might bebetter treated than in the gaol. Everywhere he listened for her voice. At every window he gazed earnestly, in the hope of seeing her face. Hesaw and heard nothing. 

As he turned away to go home, on the evening of Saint Matthias', itstruck him that perhaps, if he were to come very early in the morning, the town would be more silent, and there might be a better likelihood ofdetecting the sound of one voice among many. But suppose she were keptin solitary confinement--how then could he hope to hear it?

Very, very down-hearted was Roger as he rode home. He met two or threefriends, who asked, sympathetically, "No news yet, Master Hall?" and hefelt unable to respond except by a mournful shake of the head. 

"Well, be sure! what can have come of the poor soul?" added EmmetWilson. And Roger could give no answer. 

What could have become of Alice Benden?

CHAPTER NINETEEN. 

EUREKA!

In the court where the prebendaries' chambers were situated, within theCathedral Close at Canterbury, was an underground vault, known asMonday's Hole. Here the stocks were kept, but the place was very rarelyused as a prison. A paling, four feet and a half in height, and threefeet from the window, cut off all glimpses of the outer world from anyperson within. A little short straw was strewn on the floor, betweenthe stocks and the wall, which formed the only bed of any one thereimprisoned. It was a place where a man of any humanity would scarcelyhave left his dog; cold, damp, dreary, depressing beyond measure. 

That litter of straw, on the damp stones, had been for five weary weeksthe bed of Alice Benden. She was allowed no change of clothes, and allthe pittance given her for food was a halfpenny worth of bread, and afarthing's worth of drink. At her own request she had been permitted toreceive her whole allowance in bread; and water, not over clean norfresh, was supplied for drinking. No living creature came near her saveher keeper, who was the bell-ringer at the cathedral--if we except thevermin which held high carnival in the vault, and were there inextensive numbers. It was a dreadful place for any human being to livein; how dreadful for an educated and delicate gentlewoman, accustomed tothe comforts of civilisation, it is not easy to imagine. 

But to the coarser tortures of physical deprivation and suffering hadbeen added the more refined torments of heart and soul. During four ofthose five weeks all God's waves and billows had gone over Alice Benden. She felt herself forsaken of God and man alike--out of mind, like theslain that lie in the grave--forgotten even by the Lord her Shepherd. 

One visitor she had during that time, who had by no means forgotten her. Satan has an excellent memory, and never lacks leisure to tempt God'schildren. He paid poor Alice a great deal of attention. How, he askedher, was it possible that a just God, not to say a merciful Saviour, could have allowed her to come into such misery? Had the Lord's handwaxed short? Here were the persecutors, many of them ungodly men, robedin soft silken raiment, and faring sumptuously every day; their bedswere made of the finest down, they had all that heart could wish; whileshe lay upon dirty straw in this damp hole, not a creature knowing whathad become of her. Was this all she had received as the reward ofserving God? Had she not tried to do His will, and to walk before Himwith a perfect heart? and this was what she got for it, from Him whocould have swept away her persecutors by a word, and lifted her byanother to the height of luxury and happiness. 

Poor Alice was overwhelmed. Her bodily weakness--of which Satan mayalways be trusted to take advantage--made her less fit to cope with him, and for a time she did not guess who it was that suggested all thesewrong and miserable thoughts. She "grievously bewailed" herself, and, as people often do, nursed her distress as if it were something verydear and precious. 

But God had not forgotten Alice Benden. She was not going to be lost--she, for whom Christ died. She was only to be purified, and made white, and tried. He led her to find comfort in His own Word, the richest ofearthly comforters. One night Alice began to repeat to herself theforty-second Psalm. It seemed just made for her. It was the cry of asore heart, shut in by enemies, and shut out from hope and pleasure. Was not that just her case?

"Why art thou so full of heaviness, O my soul? and why art thou sodisquieted within me? Put thy trust in God!"

A little relieved, she turned next to the seventy-seventh Psalm. Shehad no Bible; nothing but what her well-stored memory gave her. Ah!what would have become of Alice Benden in those dark hours, had hermemory been filled with all kinds of folly, and not with the pure, unerring Word of God? This Psalm exactly suited her. 

"Will the Lord absent Himself for ever?--and will He be no moreentreated? Is His mercy clean gone for ever?--and is His promise comeutterly to an end for evermore? Hath God forgotten to be gracious?--andwill He shut up His loving-kindness in displeasure? And I said, It ismine infirmity: but I will remember the years of the right hand of theMost Highest. "

A light suddenly flashed, clear and warm, into the weak, low, dark heartof poor lonely Alice. "It is mine infirmity!" Not God's infirmity--notGod's forgetfulness! "No, Alice, never that, " it seemed just as ifsomebody said to her: "it is only your poor blind heart here in thedark, that cannot see the joy and deliverance that are coming to you--that must come to all God's people: but He who dwells in the immortallight, and beholds the end from the beginning, knows how to come and setyou free--knows when to come and save you. "

The tune changed now. Satan was driven away. The enemy whom AliceBenden had seen that day, and from whom she had suffered so sorely, sheshould see again no more for ever. From that hour all was joy and hope. 

"I will magnify Thee, O God my King, and praise Thy name for ever andever!"

That was the song she sang through her prison bars in the early morningof the 25th of February. The voice of joy and thanksgiving reachedwhere the moan of pain had not been able to penetrate, to an intentlylistening ear a few yards from the prison. Then an answering voice ofdelight came to her from without. 

"Alice! Alice! I have found thee!"

Alice looked up, to see her brother Roger's head and shoulders above thepaling which hid all but a strip of sky from her gaze. 

"Hast thou been a-searching for me all these weeks, Roger?"

"That have I, my dear heart, ever since thou wast taken from the gaol. How may I win at thee?"

"That thou canst not, Hodge. But we may talk a moment, for my keeper, that is the bell-ringer of the minster, is now at his work there, andwill not return for an half-hour well reckoned. Thou wert best come atthose times only, or I fear thou shalt be taken. "

"I shall not be taken till God willeth, " said Roger. "I will come againto thee in a moment. "

He ran quickly out of the precincts, and into the first baker's shop hesaw, where he bought a small loaf of bread. Into it he pushed fivefourpenny pieces, then called groats, and very commonly current. Thenhe fixed the loaf on the end of his staff, and so passed it through thebars to Alice. This was all he could do. 

"My poor dear heart, hast thou had no company in all this time?"

"I have had Satan's company a weary while, " she answered, "but this lastnight he fled away, and the Lord alone is with me. "

"God be praised!" said Roger. "And how farest thou?"

"Very ill touching the body; very well touching the soul. "

"What matter can I bring thee to thy comfort?"

"What I lack most is warmth and cleanly covering. I have no chance evento wash me, and no clothes to shift me. But thou canst bring me nought, Hodge, I thank thee, and I beseech thee, essay it not. How fares littleChristie?--and be all friends well?"

"All be well, I thank the Lord, and Christie as her wont is. It shalldo her a power of good to hear thou art found. Dost know when thoushalt appear before the Bishop?"

"That do I not, Hodge. It will be when God willeth, and to the end Hewilleth; and all that He willeth is good. I have but to endure to theend: He shall see to all the rest. Farewell, dear brother; it were bestthat thou shouldst not tarry. "

As Roger came within sight of Staplehurst on his return, he saw a womanwalking rapidly along the road to meet him, and when he came a littlenearer, he perceived that it was Tabitha. Gently urging his horseforward, they met in a few minutes. The expression of Tabitha's facealarmed Roger greatly. She was not wont to look so moved and troubled. Grim and sarcastic, even angry, he had seen her many times; but grievedand sorrowful--this was not like Tabitha. Roger's first fear was thatshe had come to give him some terrible news of Christie. Yet heropening words were not those of pain or terror. 

"The Lord be thanked you were not here this day, Roger Hall!" wasTabitha's strange greeting. 

"What hath happed?" demanded Roger, stopping his horse. 

"What hath happed is that Staplehurst is swept nigh clean of decentfolks. Sheriffs been here--leastwise his man, Jeremy Green--and tookoff a good dozen of Gospellers. "

"Tom--Christie?" fell tremulously from Roger's lips. 

"Neither of them. I looked to _them_, and old Jeremy knows me. I heardtell of their coming, and I had matters in readiness to receive them. Ireckon Jerry had an inkling of that red-hot poker and the copper ofboiling water I'd prepared for his comfort; any way, he passed our houseby, and at yours he did but ask if you were at home, and backed out, aspleasant as you please, when Nell made answer `Nay. '"

"Then whom have they taken?"

"Mine hostess of the White Hart gat the first served. Then they wentafter Nichol White, and Nichol Pardue. "

"Pardue!" exclaimed Roger. 

"Ay, Nichol: did not touch Collet. But they took Emmet Wilson, andFishwick, butcher, and poor Sens Bradbridge, of all simple folks. "

"And what became of her poor little maids?" asked Roger pityingly. 

"Oh, Collet's got them. I'd have fetched 'em myself if she hadn't. They've not taken Jack Banks, nor Mall. Left 'em for next time, maybe. "

"Well, I am thankful they took not you, Tabitha. "

"Me? They'd have had to swallow my red-hot poker afore they took me. Icount they frighted Christie a bit, fearing they'd have you; but I wentto see after the child, and peaced her metely well ere I came thence. "

"I am right thankful to you, sister. Tabitha, I have found Alice. "

"You have so?--and where is she?"

Roger gave a detailed account of the circumstances. 

"Seems to me they want a taste of the poker there, " said Tabitha in herusual manner. "I'll buy a new one, so that I run not out of stock erecustomers come. But I scarce think old Jeremy'll dare come a-nigh me;it'll be Sheriff himself, I reckon, when that piece of work's to bedone. If they come to your house, just you bid Nell set the poker inthe fire, and run over for me, and you keep 'em in talk while I come. Or a good kettle of boiling water 'd do as well--I'm no wise nice whichit is--or if she'd a kettle of hot pitch handy, that's as good asanything. "

"I thank you for your counsel, Tabitha. I trust there may be no need. "

"And I the like: but you might as well have the pitch ready. "

CHAPTER TWENTY. 

UNSTABLE AS WATER. 

"And I hope, my dear son, " said the Rev. Mr Bastian, with a face andvoice as mellifluous as a honeycomb, "that all the members of yourhousehold are faithful, and well affected towards the Church ourmother?"

The Rev. Mr Bastian chose his words well. If he had said, "asfaithful as yourself, " Mr Roberts might have assented, with an interiorconviction that his own faithfulness was not without its limits. Heleft no such loophole of escape. Mr Roberts could only reply that heentertained a similar hope. But whatever his hopes might be, hisexpectations on that score were not extensive. Mr Roberts had thenature of the ostrich, and imagined that if he shut his eyes to thething he wished to avoid seeing, he thereby annihilated its existence. Deep down in his heart he held considerable doubts as concerned morethan one member of his family; but the doubts were uncomfortable: so heput them to bed, drew the curtains, and told them to be good doubts andgo to sleep. When children are treated in this manner, mothers andnurses know that sometimes they go to sleep. But sometimes they don't. And doubts are very much like children in that respect. Occasionallythey consent to be smothered up and shelved aside; at other times theybreak out and become provokingly noisy. A good deal depends on thevitality of both the doubts and the children. 

Mr Roberts's doubts and fears--for they went together--that all hishousehold were not in a conformable state of mind, had hitherto gone tosleep at his bidding; but lately they had been more difficult to manage. He was uneasy about his sister, Mrs Collenwood; and with no diminutionof his affection for her, was beginning to realise that his mind wouldbe relieved when she ended her visit and went home. He feared herinfluence over Pandora. For Gertrude he had no fears. He knew, and sodid the priest, that Gertrude was not the sort of girl to indulge inabstract speculations, religious or otherwise. So long as her new gownwas not made in last year's fashion, and her mantua-maker did not puther off with Venice ribbon when she wanted Tours, it mattered nothing atall to Gertrude whether she attended mass or went to the nearestconventicle. Nor had the fears spread yet towards Mistress Grena, whostill appeared at mass on Sunday and holy-days, though with many inwardmisgivings which she never spoke. 

Perhaps the priest had sharper eyes than the easy-tempered master ofPrimrose Croft. But his tongue had lost nothing of its softness when henext inquired--

"And how long, my son, does your sister, Mistress Collenwood, abide withyou?"

"Not much longer now, Father, " replied the unhappy Mr Roberts, with aprivate resolution that his answer should be true if he could make itso. 

Mr Bastian left that unpleasant topic, and proceeded to carry hisqueries into the servants' department, Mr Roberts growing more relievedas he proceeded. He had never observed any want of conformity among hisservants, he assured the priest; so far as he knew, all were loyal tothe Catholic Church. By that term both gentlemen meant, not theuniversal body of Christian believers (the real signification of theword), but that minority which blindly obeys the Pope, and being aminority, is of course not Catholic nor universal. When Mr Roberts'sapprehensions had thus been entirely lulled to rest, the wily priestsuddenly returned to the charge. 

"I need not, I am fully ensured, " he said in his suave manner, "ask anyquestions touching your daughters. "

"Of that, Father, " answered Mr Roberts quickly, "you must be a betterjudge than I. But I do most unfeignedly trust that neither of my maidshath given you any trouble by neglect of her religious duties?Gertrude, indeed, is so--"

"Mistress Gertrude hath not given me trouble, " replied the priest. "Herworst failing is one common to maidens--a certain lack of soberness. But I cannot conceal from you, my son, that I am under some uneasinessof mind as touching her sister. "

Mr Bastian's uneasiness was nothing to that of the man he was engagedin tormenting. The terrified mouse does not struggle more eagerly toescape the claws of the cat, than the suffering father of Pandora toavoid implicating her in the eyes of his insinuating confessor. 

"Forsooth, Father, you do indeed distress me, " said he. "If Pandorahave heard any foolish talk on matters of religion, I would gladly breakher from communication with any such of her acquaintance as can havebeen thus ill-beseen. Truly, I know not of any, and methought my sisterGrena kept the maids full diligently, that they should not fall intounseemly ways. I will speak, under your good leave, with both of them, and will warn Pandora that she company not with such as seem like tohave any power over her for evil. "

"Well said, my son!" responded the priest, with a slight twinkle in hiseye. "Therein shall you do well; and in especial if you report to methe names of any that you shall suspect to have ill-affected the maiden. And now, methinks, I must be on my way home. "

Mr Roberts devoutly thanked all the saints when he heard it. Thepriest took up his hat, brushed a stray thread from its edge, and said, as he laid his hand upon his silver-headed stick--said it as though theidea had just occurred to him--

"You spake of Mistress Holland. She, of course, is true to holy Churchbeyond all doubts?"

Mr Roberts went back to his previous condition of a frightened mouse. 

"In good sooth, Father, I make no question thereof, nor never so did. She conformeth in all respects, no doth she?"

The cat smiled to itself at the poor mouse's writhings under its playfulpats. 

"She conformeth--ay: but I scarce need warn you, my son, that there bemany who conform outwardly, where the heart is not accordant with theactions. I trust, in very deed, that it were an unjust matter so tospeak of Mistress Holland. "

Saying which, the cat withdrew its paw, and suffered the mouse to escapeto its hole until another little excitement should be agreeable to it. In other words, the priest said good-bye, and left Mr Roberts in astate of mingled relief for the moment and apprehension for the future. For a few minutes that unhappy gentleman sat lost in meditation. Thenrising with a muttered exclamation, wherein "meddlesome praters" werethe only words distinguishable, he went to the foot of the stairs, andcalled up them, "Pandora!"

"There, now! You'll hear of something!" said Gertrude to her sister, asshe stood trying on a new apron before the glass. "You'd best go down. When Father's charitably-minded he says either `Pan' or `Dorrie. '`Pandora' signifies he's in a taking. "

"I have done nought to vex him that I know of, " replied Pandora, risingfrom her knees before a drawer wherein she was putting some lace tidilyaway. 

"Well, get not me in hot water, " responded Gertrude. "Look you, Pan, were this lace not better to run athwart toward the left hand?"

"I cannot wait to look, True; I must see what Father would have. "

As Pandora hastened downstairs, her aunt, Mrs Collenwood, came out ofher room and joined her. 

"I hear my brother calling you, " she said. "I would fain have a wordwith him, so I will go withal. "

The ladies found Mr Roberts wandering to and fro in the dining-room, with the aspect of a very dissatisfied man. He turned at once to hisdaughter. 

"Pandora, when were you at confession?"

Pandora's heart beat fast. "Not this week, Father. "

"Nor this month, maybe?"

"I am somewhat unsure, Father. "

"Went you to mass on Saint Chad's Day?"

"Yes, Father. "

"And this Saint Perpetua?"

"No, Father; I had an aching of mine head, you mind. "

"Thomas, " interjected Mrs Collenwood, before the examination couldproceed further, "give me leave, pray you, to speak a word, which Idesire to say quickly, and you can resume your questioning of Pandora atafter. I think to return home Thursday shall be a se'nnight; and, yourleave granted, I would fain carry Pan with me. Methinks this air is notentirely wholesome for her at this time; and unless I err greatly, itshould maybe save her some troublement if she tarried with me a season. I pray you, consider of the same, and let me know your mind thereon asearly as may stand with your conveniency: and reckon me not tedious if Iurge you yet again not to debar the same without right good reason. Ifear somewhat for the child, without she can change the air, and thatright soon. "

Pandora listened in astonishment. She was quite unconscious of bodilyailment, either present or likely to come. What could Aunt Francesmean? But Mr Roberts saw, what Pandora did not, a very significantlook in his sister's eyes, which said, more plainly than her words, thatdanger of some kind lay in wait for her niece if she remained in Kent, and was to be expected soon. He fidgeted up and down the room for amoment, played nervously with an alms-dish on the side-board, took upCicero's Orations and laid it down again, and at last said, in a tonewhich indicated relief from vexation--

"Well, well! Be it so, if you will. Make thee ready, then, child, togo with thine aunt. Doth Grena know your desire, Frank?"

"Grena and I have taken counsel, " replied Mrs Collenwood, "and this isher avisement no less than mine. "

"Settle it so, then. I thank you, Frank, for your care for the maid. When shall she return?"

"It were better to leave that for time to come. But, Thomas, I go aboutto ask a favour of you more. "

"Go to! what is it?"

"That you will not name to any man Pandora's journey with me. Not toany man, " repeated Mrs Collenwood, with a stress on the last two words. 

Mr Roberts looked at her. Her eyes conveyed serious warning. He knewas well as if she had shouted the words in his ears that the realtranslation of her request was, "Do not tell the priest. " But it wasnot safe to say it. Wherever there are Romish priests, there must besilent looks and tacit hints and unspoken understandings. 

"Very good, Frances, " he said: "I will give no man to wit thereof. "

"I thank you right heartily, Tom. Should Dorrie abide here for yourfurther satisfying, or may she go with me?"

"Go with you, go with you, " answered Mr Roberts hastily, waving Pandoraaway. "No need any further--time presseth, and I have business to seeto. "

Mrs Collenwood smiled silently as she motioned to Pandora to pass out. Mr Roberts could scarcely have confessed more plainly that the priesthad set him to a catechising of which he was but too thankful to be rid. "Poor Tom!" she said to herself. 

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. 

CHECK!

Pandora would have spoken as soon as they left the dining-room, but shewas stopped by a motion of her aunt's hand. Mrs Collenwood took herinto her own bedroom, shut and barred the door, glanced inside a hangingcloset to see that no one was secreted there, and seating herself on thecushioned seat which ran round the inside of the bay window, signed toher niece to take a seat beside her. 

"Now, Dorrie, speak thy desire. "

"Aunt Frances, I am surprised with wonder! Pray you, what ail I, that Imust quit home thus suddenly? I feel right well, and knew not there wasaught ado with mine health. "

Pandora's voice betrayed a little alarm. It certainly was a startlingthing for a girl who felt and believed herself in excellent health, tohear suddenly that unless she had instant change of air, seriousconsequences might be expected to ensue. 

Mrs Collenwood smiled--an affectionate, almost compassionate smile--asshe patted Pandora's shoulder. 

"Take thine heart to thee, Dorrie. Thou art not sick, and if I can havethee away in sufficient time, God allowing, thou shalt not be. But Ifear, if thou tarry, thou mayest have an attack of a certain pestilencethat is rife in Kent at this season. "

"Pestilence, Aunt Frances! I never heard of no such going about. Butif so, why I alone? There be Father, and True, and Aunt Grena--shouldthey not go likewise?"

"No fear for Gertrude, " answered Mrs Collenwood, almost sadly. "Andnot much, methinks, for thy father. I am lesser sure of thine AuntGrena: but I have not yet been able to prevail with her to accompanyus. "

"But what name hath this pestilence, under your good leave, AuntFrances?"

"It is called, Dorrie--persecution. "

The colour rose slowly in Pandora's cheeks, until her whole face wassuffused. 

"Methinks I take you now, Aunt, " she said. "But, if I may have libertyto ask at you, wherefore think you Father and True to be safer than AuntGrena and I?"

"Because they would yield, Dorrie. I misdoubt any charge broughtagainst Gertrude; 'tis not such as she that come before religioustribunals. They will know they have her safe enough. "

"Aunt Frances, " said Pandora in a whisper, "think you I should notyield?"

"I hope thou wouldst not, Dorrie. "

"But how wist you--how could you know, " asked the girl passionately, "what I had kept so carefully concealed? How could you know that Ihated to go to mass, and availed myself of every whit of excuse thatshould serve my turn to stay away from confession?--that I besought Godevery night, yea, with tears, to do away this terrible state of matters, and to grant us rulers under whom we might worship Him without fear, according to His will and word? I counted I had hidden mine heart fromevery eye but His. Aunt Frances, how _could_ you know?"

Mrs Collenwood drew Pandora into her arms. 

"Because, my child, I had done the same. "

The girl's arms came round her aunt's neck, and their cheeks werepressed close. 

"O Aunt Frances, I am so glad! I have so lacked one to speak withalherein! I have thought at times, if I had but one human creature towhom I might say a word!--and then there was nobody but God--I seemeddriven to Him alone. "

"That is blessed suffering, my dear heart, which drives souls to God;and there he will come with nought lesser. Dorrie, methinks thou scarcemindest thy mother?"

"Oh, but I do, Aunt! She was the best and dearest mother that ever was. True loves not to talk of her, nor of any that is dead; so that herealso I had to shut up my thoughts within myself; but I mind her--ay, that I do!"

"Niece, when she lay of her last sickness, she called me to her, andquoth she--`Frances, I have been sore troubled for my little Dorrie: butmethinks now I have let all go, and have left her in the hands of God. Only if ever the evil days should come again, and persecution arisebecause of the witness of Jesus, and the Word of God, and the testimonywhich we hold--tell her, if you find occasion, as her mother's lastdying word to her, that she hold fast the word of the truth of theGospel, and be not moved away therefrom, neither by persuading northreatening. 'Tis he that overcometh, and he only, that shall have thecrown of life. ' Never till now, Pandora, my dear child, have I toldthee these words of thy dead and saintly mother. I pray God lay them onthine heart, that thou mayest stand in the evil day--yea, whether thouescape these things or no, thou mayest stand before the Son of Man atHis coming. "

Pandora had hidden her face on Mrs Collenwood's shoulder. 

"Oh, _do_ pray, Aunt Frances!" she said, with a sob. 

The days for a week after that were very busy ones. Every day some oneor two bags were packed, and quietly conveyed at nightfall by MrsCollenwood's own man to an inn about four miles distant. Pandora waskept indoors, except one day, when she went with Mrs Collenwood to takeleave of Christie. That morning the priest called and expressed a wishto speak to her: but being told that she was gone to see a friend, saidhe would call again the following day. Of this they were told on theirreturn. Mrs Collenwood's cheeks paled a little; then, with set lips, and a firm step, she sought her brother in his closet, or as we shouldsay, his study. 

"Tom, " she said, when the door was safely shut, "we must be gone thisnight. "

Mr Roberts looked up in considerable astonishment. 

"This night!--what mean you, Frances? The clouds be gathering for rain, and your departure was fixed for Thursday. "

"Ay, the clouds be gathering, " repeated Mrs Collenwood meaningly, "andI am 'feared Pandora, if not I, may be caught in the shower. Have younot heard that Father Bastian desired to speak with her whilst we werehence this morrow? We must be gone, Tom, ere he come again. "

Mr Roberts, who was busy with his accounts, set down a five as theaddition of eight and three, with a very faint notion of what he wasdoing. 

"Well!" he said, in an undecided manner. "Well! it is--it is not--itshall look--"

"How should it look, " replied Mrs Collenwood, with quiet incisiveness, "to see Pandora bound to the stake for burning?"

Mr Roberts threw out his hands as if to push away the terriblesuggestion. 

"It may come to that, Tom, if we tarry. For, without I mistake, thegirl is not made of such willowy stuff as--some folks be. "

She just checked herself from saying, "as you are. "

Mr Roberts passed his fingers through his hair, in a style which said, as plainly as words, that he was about at his wits' end. Perhaps he hadnot far to go to reach that locality. 

"Good lack!" he said. "Dear heart!--well-a-day!"

"She will be safe with me, " said her aunt, "for a time at least. And ifdanger draw near there also, I can send her thence to certain friends ofmine in a remote part amongst the mountains, where a priest scarcecometh once in three years. And ere that end, God may work changes inthis world. "

"Well, if it must be--"

"It must be, Tom; and it shall be for the best. "

"It had been better I had wist nought thereof. They shall be sure toquestion me. "

Mrs Collenwood looked with a smile of pitying contempt on the man whowas weaker than herself. The contempt predominated at first: then itpassed into pity. 

"Thou shalt know nought more than now, Tom, " she said quietly. "Go thouup, and get thee a-bed, but leave the key of the wicket-gate on thistable. "

"I would like to have heard you had gat safe away, " said poor MrRoberts, feeling in his pockets for the key. 

"You would speedily hear if we did not, " was the answer. 

Mr Roberts sighed heavily as he laid down the key. 

"Well, I did hope to keep me out of this mess. I had thought, byoutward conforming, and divers rich gifts to the priest, and so forth--'Tis hard a man cannot be at peace in his own house. "

"'Tis far harder when he is not at peace in his own soul. "

"Ah!" The tone of the exclamation said that was quite too good toexpect, at any rate for the speaker. 

Mrs Collenwood laid her hand on her brother's shoulder. 

"Tom, we are parting for a long season--it may be for all time. Sufferme speak one word with thee, for the sake of our loving mother, and forher saintly sake that sleepeth in All Saints' churchyard, whose head layon my bosom when her spirit passed to God. There will come a day, goodbrother, when thou shalt stand before an higher tribunal than that of myLord Cardinal, to hear a sentence whence there shall be none appeal. What wouldst thou in that day that thou hadst done in this? As thouwilt wish thou hadst done then, do now. "

"I--can't, " faltered the unhappy waverer. 

"I would as lief be scalded and have done with it, Tom, as live in suchendless terror of hot water coming nigh me. Depend on it, it should bethe lesser suffering in the end. "

"There's Gertrude, " he suggested in the same tone. 

"Leave Gertrude be. They'll not touch her. Gertrude shall be of thatreligion which is the fashion, to the end of her days--without the Lordturn her--and folks of that mettle need fear no persecution. Nay, Tom, 'tis not Gertrude that holdeth thee back from coming out on the Lord'sside. God's side is ever the safest in the end. It is thine own weakheart and weak faith, wherein thou restest, and wilt not seek thestrength that can do all things, which God is ready to grant thee butfor the asking. "

"You are a good woman, Frances, " answered her brother, with more feelingthan he usually showed, "and I would I were more like you. "

"Tarry not there, Tom: go on to `I would I were more like Christ. 'There be wishes that fulfil themselves; and aspirations after God be ofthat nature. And now, dear brother, I commend thee to God, and to theword of His grace. Be thou strong in the Lord, and in the power of Hismight!"

They kissed each other for the last time, and Mrs Collenwood stoodlistening to the slow, heavy step which passed up the stairs and intothe bedroom overhead. When Mr Roberts had shut and barred his door, she took up the key, and with a sigh which had reference rather to hisfuture than to her present, went to seek Pandora. Their little packagesof immediate necessaries were soon made up. When the clock struckmidnight--an hour at which in 1557 everybody was in bed--two wellcloaked and hooded women crept out of the low-silled window of thedinning-room, and made their silent and solitary way through the shrubsof the pleasure-ground to the little wicket-gate which opened on theGoudhurst road. 

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. 

POTS AND PANS. 

Mrs Collenwood unlocked the little wicket, and let herself and Pandoraout into the public road. Then she relocked the gate, and after amoment's thought, feeling in the darkness, she hung the key on a bushclose to the gate, where it could not be seen from the road. Bothladies carried lanterns, for the omission of this custom would haveraised more suspicion than its observance, had they been met by any one, and there were no public street lamps in those days. They were boundfirst for the little hostelry, called the Nun's Head, in the village ofLamberhurst, where Mrs Collenwood had desired her servant to await her;the landlady of which was known to those in the secret to be one of "thebrethren, " and was therefore sure to befriend and not betray them, ifshe guessed the truth. Slowly and painfully they made their way by acircuitous route, to avoid passing through Goudhurst, and Pandora, whowas not much accustomed to walking, began to be very tired before halfthe way was traversed. They had just reached the road again, and weremaking their way slowly through the ruts and puddles--for English roadsat that date were in a state which happily we can do little more thanimagine--when they heard the sound of hoofs a little way behind them. Mrs Collenwood laid her hand on Pandora's arm. 

"Hide the lantern under thy cloak, " she whispered; "and we will creepinto this field and 'bide quat under the hedge, till the party shallhave passed by. "

The advice was put into practice. The hoofs drew near, accompanied by ajingling sound which seemed to come from pottery. It was now near oneo'clock. The ladies kept as still as mice. They were not reassuredwhen the sound came to a stand-still, just before the gate of the fieldwhere they were hidden, and a man's voice, strange to them, said--

"It was just here I lost the sight of the lanterns. They cannot be faroff. "

Mrs Collenwood felt Pandora's hand clasp her wrist tight in thedarkness. 

"Bide a moment, Tom, and I will search in the field, " said anothervoice. 

Mrs Collenwood gave all up for lost. 

"Mistress Pandora, are you there?" said the voice which had last spoken. 

"Aunt Frances, 'tis Mr Hall!" cried Pandora joyfully. 

"Ah! I am right glad I have found you, " said Roger, as he came up tothem. "I have been searching you this hour, being confident, from whatI heard, that you would attempt to get away to-night. I pray you toallow of my company. "

"In good sooth, Mr Hall, we be right thankful of your good company, "answered Mrs Collenwood. "'Tis ill work for two weak women such as webe. "

"Truly, my mistress, methinks you must both have lion-like hearts, somuch as to think of essaying your escape after this fashion. You willbe the safer for my presence. I have here an ass laden with pots andpans, and driven by a good man and true, a Gospeller to boot--one ofyour own men from the cloth-works, that is ready to guard his master'sdaughter at the hazard of his life if need be. If you be willing, goodmy mistress, to sell tins and pitchers in this present need--"

"Use me as you judge best, Master Hall, " said Mrs Collenwood heartily. "I am willing to sell tins, or scour them, or anything, the better toelude suspicion. "

"Well said. Then my counsel is that we turn right about, and passstraight through Goudhurst, so soon as the dawn shall break. Theboldest way is at times the safest. "

"But is not that to lose time?"

"To lose time is likewise sometimes to gun it, " said Roger, with asmile. "There is one danger, my mistresses, whereof you have notthought. To all that see you as you are, your garb speaks yougentlewomen, and gentlewomen be not wont to be about, in especialunattended, at this hour of the night. If it please you to accept of mypoor provision, I have here, bound on the ass, two women's cloaks andhoods of the common sort, such as shall better comport with the sellingof pots than silken raiment; and if I may be suffered to roll up thecloaks you bear in like manner, you can shift you back to them when meetis so to do. "

"Verily, 'tis passing strange that had never come to my mind!" repliedMrs Collenwood. "Mr Hall, we owe you more thanks than we may lightlyspeak. "

They changed their cloaks, rolling up those they took off, and tyingthem securely on the donkey, covered by a piece of canvas, with whichRoger was provided. The hoods were changed in like manner. The donkeywas driven into the field in charge of Tom Hartley, who pulled hisforelock to his ladies; and the trio sat down to await daylight. 

"And if it like you, my mistresses, " added Roger, "if it should pleaseMistress Collenwood to speak to me by the name of Hodge, and MistressPandora by that of father or uncle, methinks we should do well. "

"Nay, Mr Hall; but I will call you brother, " said Pandora, smiling;"for that is what you truly are, both in the Gospel and in descent fromAdam. "

In perfect quiet they passed the five hours which elapsed ere the sunrose. As soon as ever the light began to break, Roger led forth thedonkey; Tom trudging behind with a stick, and the ladies walkedalongside. 

Rather to their surprise, Roger took his stand openly in the marketplace of Goudhurst, where he drove a brisk trade with his pots and pans;Mrs Collenwood taking up the business as if she had been to the mannerborn, and much to Pandora's admiration. 

"Brown pitchers, my mistress? The best have we, be sure. Twopence thedozen, these; but we have cheaper if your honour wish them. "

Another time it was, "What lack you, sweet sir? Chafing-dishes, shaving-basins, bowls, goblets, salts? All good and sound--none of yourtrumpery rubbish!"

And Roger and Tom both lifted up sonorous voices in the cry of--

"Pots and pans! Pots and pa-ans! Chargers, dishes, plates, cups, bowls, por-ring-ers! Come buy, come buy, come buy!"

The articles were good--Roger had seen to that--and they went offquickly. Ladies, country housewives, farmers, substantial yeomen, withtheir wives and daughters, came up to buy, until the donkey's load wasconsiderably diminished. At length a priest appeared as a customer. Pandora's heart leaped into her mouth; and Mrs Collenwood, as sheproduced yellow basins for his inspection, was not entirely without hermisgivings. But the reverend gentleman's attention seemed concentratedon the yellow basins, of which he bought half-a-dozen for a penny, anddesired them to be delivered at the Vicarage. Roger bowed extra low ashe assured the priest that the basins should be there, without fail, inan hour, and having now reduced his goods to a load of much smallerdimensions, he intimated that they "might as well be moving forward. "The goods having been duly delivered, Roger took the road toLamberhurst, and they arrived without further misadventure at the Nun'sHead, where Mrs Collenwood's servant, Zachary, was on the look-out forthem. 

To Mrs Collenwood's amusement, Zachary did not recognise her until sheaddressed him by name; a satisfactory proof that her disguise wassufficient for the purpose. They breakfasted at the Nun's Head, onCanterbury brawn (for which that city was famous) and a chicken pie, andresumed their own attire, but carrying the cloaks of Roger's providingwith them, as a resource if necessity should arise. 

"Aunt Frances, " said Pandora, as they sat at breakfast, "I never thoughtyou could have made so good a tradeswoman. Pray you, how knew you whatto say to the folks?"

"Why, child!" answered Mrs Collenwood, laughing, "dost reckon I havenever bought a brown pitcher nor a yellow basin, that I should not knowwhat price to ask?"

"Oh, I signified not that so much, Aunt; but--all the talk, and thefashion wherein you addressed you to the work. "

"My mother--your grandmother, Dorrie--was used to say to me, `Whateverthou hast ado with, Frank, put thine heart and thy wits therein. ' 'Tisa good rule, and will stand a woman in stead for better things thanselling pots. "

Zachary had made full provision for his mistress's journey. The horseswere ready, and the baggage-mules also. He rode himself before MrsCollenwood, and an old trustworthy man-servant was to sit in front ofPandora. All was ready for proceeding at half-an-hour's notice, andMrs Collenwood determined to go on at once. 

When it came to the leave-taking, she drew a gold ring from her finger, and gave it to Tom Hartley, with a promise that his master should hearthrough Roger Hall, so soon as the latter deemed it safe, of the veryessential service which he had rendered her. Then she turned to Rogerhimself. 

"But to you, Mr Hall, " she said, "how can I give thanks, or in whatwords clothe them? Verily, I am bankrupt therein, and can only thankyou to say I know not how. "

"Dear mistress, " answered Roger, "have you forgot that 'tis I owe thanksto you, that you seek to magnify my simple act into so great deserving?They that of their kindness cheer my little suffering Christie's lonelylife, deserve all the good that I can render them. My little maidprayed me to say unto you both that she sent you her right lovingcommendations, and that she would pray for your safe journey every daythe whilst it should last, and for your safety and good weal afterward. She should miss you both sorely, quoth she; but she would pray God tobless you, and would strive to her utmost to abide by all your good andkindly counsel given unto her. "

"Dear little Christie!" said Pandora affectionately. "I pray you, Master Hall, tell her I shall never forget her, and I trust God maygrant us to meet again in peace. "

"I cast no doubt of that, Mistress Pandora, " was the grave answer, "though 'twill be, very like, in a better land than this. "

"And I do hope, " added she, "that Mistress Benden may ere long be setfree. "

Roger shook his head. 

"I have given up that hope, " he said; "yea, well-nigh all hopes, forthis lower world. "

"There is alway hope where God is, " said Mrs Collenwood. 

"Truth, my mistress, " he replied; "but God is in Heaven, and hope issafest there. "

It was nearly eleven o'clock in the morning when the travellers set outfrom the Nun's Head. Roger Hall stood in the doorway, looking afterthem, until the last glimpse could no longer be perceived. Then, with asigh, he turned to Tom Hartley, who stood beside him. 

"Come, Tom!" he said, "let us, thou and I, go home and do God's will. "

"Ay, master, and let God do His will with us, " was the cheery answer. 

Then the two men and the donkey set out for Cranbrook. 

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. 

CAT AND MOUSE. 

It was Mr Roberts's custom to go down to the cloth-works everyTuesday--saints' days excepted--and in pursuance of this habit he madehis appearance in the counting-house on the morning after the departureof the two ladies. Roger Hall was at his post as usual, waited on hismaster, gave in his accounts, and received his orders. When the otherbusiness was over, Roger said, in the same tone and manner as before--

"Those two parcels of rare goods, master, sent forth yester-even, thatyou wot of, I saw myself so far as Lamberhurst, and they be in safehands for the further journey. "

Mr Roberts did not at once, as might now be done, ask Roger what he wastalking about. The days of Romish ascendency in England were days wheneverybody knew that if a man's meaning were not simple and apparent, there was probably some reason why he dared not speak too plainly, andit was perilous to ask for an explanation. Mr Roberts looked up intohis manager's face, and at once guessed his meaning. He was seriouslyalarmed to see it. How had Roger Hall become possessed of thatdangerous secret, which might bring him to prison if it were known? Forthe penalty for merely "aiding and abetting" a heretic was "perpetualprison. " Those who gave a cup of cold water to one of Christ's littleones did it at the peril of their own liberty. 

Let us pause for a moment and try to imagine what that would be toourselves. Could we run such risks for Christ's sake--knowing that onevery hand were spies and enemies who would be only too glad to bring usto ruin, not to speak of those idle gossiping people who do much of theworld's mischief, without intending harm? It would be hard work tofollow the Master when He took the road to Gethsemane. Only love coulddo it. Would our love stand that sharp test?

All this passed in a moment. What Mr Roberts said was only--"Good. Well done. " Then he bent his head over the accounts again; raising itto say shortly--"Hall, prithee shut yon door; the wind bloweth in coldthis morrow. " Roger Hall obeyed silently: but a change came over MrRoberts as soon as the door was shut on possible listening ears. Hebeckoned Roger to come close to him. 

"How wist you?" he whispered. 

"Guessed it, Master. " It was desirable to cut words as short aspossible. "Saw him go up to your house. Thought what should follow. "

"You followed them?"

"No; came too late. Searched, and found them in a field nearGoudhurst. "

A shudder came over Pandora's father at the thought of what might havebeen, if the priest had been the searcher. 

"Any one else know?"

"Tom Hartley--true as steel, Master. Two were needful for my plan. Mistress bade me commend him to you, as he that had done her right goodservice. "

"He shall fare the better for it. And you likewise. "

Roger smiled. "I did but my duty, Master. "

"How many folks do so much?" asked Mr Roberts, with a sigh. _He_ couldnot have said that. After a moment's thought he added--"Raise Hartleytwopence by the week; and take you twenty pounds by the year instead ofsixteen as now. "

"I thank you, Master, " said Roger warmly: "but it was not for that. "

"I know--I know!" answered the master, as he held out his hand to claspthat of his manager--a rare and high favour at that time. And then, suddenly, came one of those unexpected, overpowering heart-pourings, which have been said to be scarcely more under the control of the giverthan of the recipient. "Hall, I could not have done this thing. Howcome you to have such strength and courage? Would I had them!"

"Master, I have neither, save as I fetch them from Him that hath. `Ican do all things through Christ that strengtheneth me. '"

"He doth not strengthen me!" moaned the weak man. 

"Have you asked Him, Master?" quietly replied the strong one. 

Mr Roberts made no answer, and Roger knew that meant a negative. Inhis heart the master was conscious that he had not asked. He had saidmultitudinous "paters" and "aves, " had repeated "Hail Marys" by thescore--all the while half thinking of something else; but never once inhis inmost soul had he said to the Lord--"Saviour, I am weak; make mestrong. " A few minutes' silence, and Mr Roberts turned back to theaccounts, half-ashamed that he had allowed that glimpse of his true selfto be seen. And Roger Hall said no more, except to God. 

The master went home to supper at four o'clock. Ten was then the hourfor dinner, four for supper; people who kept late hours made it elevenand five. As Mr Roberts came in sight of his own door, his heart sankdown into his shoes. On the door-step stood a black-robed figure whichhe knew only too well, and which he would gladly have given a handful ofgold to know he might have no chance of seeing for a month to come. Afaint idea of hiding himself in the shrubs crossed his mind for amoment; but he could not stay there for an indefinite time, and thepriest would in all probability wait for him, if it were he whom hemeant to see. No, it would be better to go forward and get it over; butit was with a fervid wish that it were over that Mr Roberts went on anddeferentially saluted his Rector. 

That reverend gentleman thoroughly understood his man. Had it beenpossible to gauge the human soul with a thermometer, he could haveguessed with accuracy how it would read. He met him, not with severity, but with a deep gravity which conveyed the idea that something seriousrequired discussion, and that he earnestly hoped the culprit would beable to clear himself of the charge. 

In the hall they were met by Mistress Grena and Gertrude, who had seenthem coming, and who came forward, as in duty bound, to show extrarespect to their spiritual pastor. The genuine spirituality was morethan dubious: but that did not matter. He was a "spiritual person"--though the person was exceedingly unspiritual!

The priest gave a blessing to the ladies with two fingers extended in astyle which must require some practice, and at Mistress Grena's requestsat down with them to supper. During the meal the conversation wasgeneral, though the priest retained his serious aspect of somethingunpleasant to come. The heavy part of the supper was over, and cheese, with late apples, Malaga raisins, and Jordan almonds, had made theirappearance; the ladies prepared to withdraw. 

"Mistress Holland, " said the Rector, "I beseech you to tarry yet alittle season"--adding to Gertrude, "I need not detain you, mydaughter. "

Gertrude escaped with great satisfaction. "Those two are going to catchit!" she said to herself; "I am glad I am out of it!" Mr Roberts knewsorrowfully that the surmise was woefully true, but he was ratherrelieved to find that his sister-in-law was "going to catch it" withhim. Her presence was a sort of stick for him to lean on. 

"My son, " said the Rector to Mr Roberts, with an air of sorrowfulreluctance to begin a distasteful piece of work, "it troubleth me sorelyto do that I must needs do, but necessity hath no law. Remember, I prayyou, that as yesterday I called here, desiring to have speech of youryoungest daughter, and was told by Osmund your butler that she wasvisiting a friend. "

"That was fully truth, Father, " said Mistress Grena, as if she supposedthat the Rector was about to complain of some duplicity on the part ofOsmund. 

Mr Bastian waved aside the assurance. 

"I left word, " he continued, repeating the words with emphasis, "_I leftword_ that I would call to see her this morrow. Here am I; and whathave I now learned? That she left this house yester-even, without somuch as a word of excuse, not to say a beseechment of pardon, when sheknew that I purposed having speech of her. " His voice became morestern. "Is this the manner wherein ye deal with the ministers of holyChurch? Truly, had I just cause to suspect your fidelity to her, thiswere enough to proceed on. But trusting ye may yet have ability toplead your excuse"--a slightly more suave tone was allowed to soften thevoice--"I wait to hear it, ere I take steps that were molestous to you, and truly unwelcome unto me. What say ye in extenuation thereof?"

"We are verily sorry, Father, " came quietly from Mistress Grena, "thatno meet apology hath been offered unto you for this discourtesy, and wepray you of your grace and goodness right gentilly to accept the sameeven now. Truly the matter stands thus: Our sister, MistressCollenwood, had in purpose to tarry with us divers days longer; butyester-even tidings came unto her the which caused her to hasten herdeparture, not tarrying so much as one night more; and as she haddesired to take Pandora withal, it was needful that her departure shouldbe hastened likewise. You wot well, good Father, I am assured, thebustle and business caused by such sudden resolve, and the little timeleft for thought therein: but for any consequent lack of respect untoyourself and your holy office, we are full sorry, and do right humblyentreat you of pardon. "

Mr Roberts breathed more freely. He thought the woman's wit was aboutto prevail, and to salve over the offence. 

The priest, on his part, perceived with regret that he had made amistake in retaining Mistress Grena. Her representations were veryplausible, and she was not so easily cowed as her brother-in-law. Heconsidered a moment how to proceed. 

"In truth, my daughter, " he said, addressing her, "you have fully madeyour excuse, and I allow it right gladly. I may well conceive that inthe haste and labour of making ready on so sudden summons, both you andyour niece may easily have forgat the matter. I need not keep youlonger from your household duties. God grant you a good even!"

Mistress Grena had no resource but to withdraw in answer to thisdismissal, her heart filled with sore forebodings. She had hoped theexcuse might be held to cover the whole family; but it was evident thepriest had no intention of accepting it as including the male portionthereof. As she passed Mr Roberts, with her back to the priest, shegave him a warning look; but her hope that he would take the warning wasas small as it could well be. 

"And now, my son, " said the Rector softly, turning to his remainingvictim, "how say you? Were you likewise busied in preparing thegentlewomen for their journey?"

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. 

COUNTERPLOT. 

A man to be very much pitied was poor Mr Roberts. Not only had he topacify the priest, but Mistress Grena's line of defence, plausible as itsounded, had unhappily crossed and invalidated the excuse he hadintended to make for himself. His faint, hazy purpose up to that timehad been to deny any knowledge of the escape; but after it had been thusrepresented as a natural, every-day occurrence, how was he to keep upthe story? Yet he had no other ready. 

"No, Father--ay, it--I was a-bed, " was his blundering reply. 

The priest's voice was sweet as a newly-tuned piano. 

"Was it not strange, my son, that you heard no sounds from beneath? Orwent you up, knowing what was passing?"

What was the poor man to do? If he acknowledged that he knew of theescape of the fugitives, he laid himself open to the charge of "aidingand abetting"; if he denied it, he practically denied also the truth ofGrena's defence. At that moment he would have given every acre andshilling in his possession to be free from this horriblecross-questioning. 

The cat watched the poor mouse wriggle with grim satisfaction. Eitherway, it would come to its claws at last. 

Suddenly the scene of the morning was reproduced to the mind's eye ofthe tortured man. Roger Hall's voice seemed to say again--"Have youasked Him, Master?" Faintly, tremblingly in the unwontedness of theact, the request was made, and even that slight contact with theunchanging Rock steadied the wavering feet. He must speak truth, anduphold Grena. 

"Father, " he said in a changed tone, "my sister told you true. Thejourney was hastened, and that suddenly. "

The change in his tone puzzled the priest. What had come to the man, inthat momentary interval, to nerve him thus anew?

"How came the news, my son?"

Mr Roberts was thankfully able to answer that he knew not. 

"But surely, with so much baggage as Mistress Collenwood must have bornewithal, the number of horses that left your house could not but be notedof them in the vicinage. Yet I am told no sound was heard. "

"My sister sent the most part of her baggage away before her, " was theanswer. 

"Remember, " said the Rector sternly, "the sin you incur if you deceive apriest!"

"I have not spoken one untrue word, Father. "

At that moment the door-bell was rung, and answered by Osmund, who, coming into the room, deferentially informed the priest that my LordCardinal had sent his sumner to the Rectory, with a command that he, MrBastian, should attend his court at eight o'clock on the followingmorning. The interruption was welcome to both parties. The priest wasperplexed, and wanted time to think, no less than Mr Roberts. He hadanticipated an easy victory, and found himself unaccountably baffled. 

In the present day, no English gentleman would bear such questioning bya priest. The latter would very soon be told, in however civillanguage, that an Englishman's house was his castle, and that he heldhimself responsible for his actions to God alone. But the iron terrorof Rome was then over every heart. No priest could be defied, nor hisquestions evaded, with impunity. If those days ever come back, it willbe the fault and the misery of Englishmen who would not take warning bythe past, but who suffered the enemy to creep in again "while menslept. " The liberties of England, let us never forget, were bought withthe blood of the Marian martyrs. 

No sooner had the priest departed than Mistress Grena silently slid intothe room. She had evidently been on the watch. 

"Brother, " she said, in a voice which trembled with doubt and fear, "what have you told him?"

"What you told him, Grena. "

"Oh!" The exclamation spoke of intense relief. 

"But you may thank Roger Hall for it. "

"Roger Hall!--what ado had he therewith?"

"If you ask at him, " answered Mr Roberts with a smile, "methinks hewill scarce know. "

"Will he come again?" she asked fearfully--not alluding to Roger Hall. 

"I wis not. Very like he will--maybe till he have consumed us. Grena, I know not how it hath been with you, but for me, I have been an arrantcoward. God aiding me, I will be thus no longer, but will go forth inthe strength of the Lord God. Believe you these lying wonders anddeceitful doctrines? for I do not, and have never so done, though I havemade believe to do it. I will make believe no longer. I will be a man, and no more a puppet, to be moved at the priest's pleasure. Thank God, Pan is safe, and Gertrude is not like to fall in trouble. How say you?Go you with me, or keep you Gertrude's company?"

Then Grena Holland broke down. All her little prim precisenessvanished, and the real woman she was came out of her shell and showedherself. 

"O Tom!" she said, sobbing till she could hardly speak: for whenrestrained, self-contained natures like hers break down, they often doit utterly. "O Tom! God bless thee, and help me to keep by thee, andboth of us to be faithful to the end! I too have sinned and donefoolishly, and set evil ensample. Forgive me, my brother, and Godforgive us both!"

Mr Roberts passed his arm round her, and gave her the kiss of peace. 

"Methinks we had best forgive each the other, Grena; and I say Amen tothy `God forgive us both!'"

When Mr Bastian arrived at Canterbury a little after daybreak the nextmorning, he found, as he had expected, that while the message had beensent in the name of Cardinal Pole, it was really the Bishop of Dover whorequired his attendance. The Bishop wanted to talk with the parishpriest concerning the accused persons from his parish. He read theirnames from a paper whereon he had them noted down--"John Fishcock, butcher; Nicholas White, ironmonger; Nicholas Pardue, cloth-worker;Alice Benden, gentlewoman; Barbara Final, widow, innkeeper; SensBradbridge, widow; Emmet Wilson, cloth-worker's wife. "

"Touching Alice Benden, " said the Bishop, "I require no note at yourhands; I have divers times spoken with her, and know her to be a rightobstinate heretic, glorying in her errors. 'Tis the other concerningwhom I would have some discourse with you. First, this John Fishcock, the butcher: is he like to be persuaded or no?"

"Methinks, nay, my Lord: yet am I not so full sure of him as of someother. The two Nicholases, trow, are surer of the twain. You should assoon shake an ancient oak as White; and Pardue, though he be a man offew words, is of stubborn conditions. "

"Those men of few words oft-times are thus. And how for the women, Brother? Barbara Final--what is she?"

"A pleasant, well-humoured, kindly fashion of woman; yet methinks notone to be readily moved. "

"Sens Bradbridge?"

"A poor creature--weakly, with few wits. I should say she were mostlike of any to recant, save that she hath so little wit, it were scarceto our credit if she so did. "

The Bishop laughed. "Emmet Wilson?"

"A plain woman, past middle age, of small learning, yet good wit bynature. You shall not move her, holy Father, or I mistake. "

"These heretics, what labour they give us!" said Dick of Dover, rathertestily. "'Tis passing strange they cannot conform and have done withit, and be content to enjoy their lives and liberties in peace. "

Having no principle himself, the Bishop was unable to comprehend itsexistence in other people. Mr Bastian was a shade wiser--not that hepossessed much principle, but that he could realise the fact of itsexistence. 

"There is one other point, holy Father, " said he, seeing that the Bishopwas about to dismiss him, "whereon, if it stand with your Lordship'spleasure, I would humbly seek your counsel. "

The Bishop rubbed his hands, and desired Mr Bastian to proceed. Thelabour which the heretics gave him was very well to complain of, but tohim the excitement of discovering a new heretic was as pleasurable asthe unearthing of a fox to a keen sportsman. Dick of Dover, having nodistinct religious convictions, was not more actuated by personal enmityto the persecuted heretic than the sportsman to the persecuted fox. They both liked the run, the excitement, the risks, and the glory of thesport. 

"To tell truth, my Lord, " continued Mr Bastian, dropping his voice, "Iam concerned touching a certain parishioner of mine, a gentleman, I amsorry to say, of name and ancient family, cousin unto Mr Roberts ofGlassenbury, whose name you well know as one of the oldest houses inKent. "

The Bishop nodded assent. 

"'Tis true, during King Edward's time, he went for one of the newlearning; but he conformed when the Queen came in, and ever sithencehave I regarded him as a good Catholic enough, till of late, when I amfallen to doubt it, to my great concern. " And Mr Bastian proceeded torelate to the Bishop all that he knew respecting the flight of theladies, and his subsequent unsatisfactory interview with the heads ofthe family. The Bishop listened intently. 

"This young maid, " said he, when the narrative was finished, "what saidyou was her name--Gertrude?--this Gertrude, then, you account of asfaithful to holy Church?"

"She hath ever been regular at mass and confession, my Lord, andperformeth all her duties well enough. For other matter, methinks, sheis somewhat light-minded, and one that should cast more thought to thecolour of her sleeves than to the length of her prayers. "

"None the worse for that, " said Dick of Dover--adding hastily, as theunclerical character of his remark struck him--"for this purpose, ofcourse, I signify; for this purpose. Make you a decoy of her, Brother, to catch the other. "

"I cry your Lordship mercy, but I scarce take you. Her father and auntdo come to confession--somewhat irregularly, 'tis true; but they docome; and though the woman be cautious and wily, and can baffle myquestions if she will, yet is the man transparent as glass, and timid asan hare. At least, he hath been so until this time; what turned him Iwis not, but I am in hopes it shall not last. "

"Move this girl Gertrude to listen behind the arras, when as they talktogether, " suggested the Bishop. "Make her promises--of anything shevalueth, a fine horse, a velvet gown, a rich husband--whatever shall bemost like to catch her. "

Mr Bastian smiled grimly, as he began to see the plot develop. 

"'Tis an easy matter to beguile a woman, " said the Bishop, who, beingvery ignorant of women, believed what he said: "bait but your trap withsomething fine enough, and they shall walk in by shoals like herrings. Saving these few obstinate simpletons such as Alice Benden, that you cando nought with, they be light enough fish to catch. Catch Gertrude, Brother. "

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. 

BEFORE DICK OF DOVER. 

"Perkins!" said a rather pompous voice. 

Perkins was the Cathedral bell-ringer, and the gaoler of Alice Benden. He obeyed the summons of the pompous voice with obsequious celerity, forit belonged to no less a person than the Lord Bishop of Dover. HisLordship, having caught sight of the bell-ringer as he crossed theprecincts, had called him, and Perkins came up, his hat in one hand, andpulling his forelock with the other. 

"I desire to know, Perkins, " said the Bishop, "if that man that is yourprisoner's brother hath yet been arrested, as I bade?"

"Well, nay, my Lord, he haven't, " said Perkins, his heart fluttering andhis grammar questionable. 

"And wherefore no?" asked the Bishop sternly. 

"Well, my Lord, truth is, I haven't chanced on him since. "

"He hath not visited his sister, then?"

"Well, " answered Perkins, who seemed to find that word a comfort, "ay, he have; but him and me, we hasn't been at same time, not yet. "

"Call you that diligence in the keeping of your prisoner?"

"Please your Lordship, she's there, all safe. "

"I bade you arrest _him_, " insisted the Bishop. 

Perkins chewed a sprig of dried lavender, and kept silence. 

"I am sore displeased with you, Perkins!"

Perkins looked provokingly obtuse. If the Bishop had only known it, hewas afraid of vexing him further by saying anything, and accordingly hesaid nothing. 

"Keep diligent watch for the man, and seize him when he cometh again. As for the woman, bring her before me to-morrow at nine o' the clock. Be careful what you do, as you value my favour. "

Perkins pulled his forelock again, and departed. 

"The man is hard as a stone, " said the Bishop to one of the Canons, withwhom he was walking: "no impression can be made upon him. "

"He is scantly the worse gaoler for that, under your Lordship'scorrection, " said the Canon carelessly. 

"He makes an hard keeper, I cast no doubt, " answered the Bishop. 

Perkins's demeanour changed as soon as his Lordship had passed out ofsight and hearing. 

"Dick o' Dover's in a jolly fume!" he said to one of the vergers whom hemet. 

"Why, what's angered him?"

"I have, belike, that I catched not yon man, Mistress Benden's brother, a-coming to see her. Why, the loon's full o' wiles--never comes atafter sunrise. It'd take an eel to catch him. And I'm not histhief-catcher, neither. I works hard enough without that. Old Dick maycatch his eels his self if he lacks 'em. "

"Work 'll never kill thee, Jack Perkins, " replied the verger, with alaugh. "Thou'dst best not get across with Dick o' Dover; he's an uglycustomer when he's in the mind. "

The right reverend prelate to whom allusion was thus unceremoniouslymade, was already seated on his judgment bench when, at nine o'clock thenext morning, Perkins threw open the door of Monday's Hole. 

"Come forth, Mistress; you're to come afore the Bishop. "

"You must needs help me up, then, for I cannot walk, " said Alice Bendenfaintly. 

Perkins seized her by the arm, and dragged her up from the straw onwhich she was lying. Alice was unable to repress a slight moan. 

"Let be, " she panted; "I will essay to go by myself; only it putteth meto so great pain. "

With one hand resting on the wall, she crept to the door, and out intothe passage beyond. Again Perkins seized her--this time by theshoulder. 

"You must make better speed than this, Mistress, " he said roughly. "Will you keep the Lord Bishop a-waiting?"

Partly limping by herself, partly pulled along by Perkins, and at thecost of exquisite suffering, for she was crippled by rheumatism, Alicereached the hall wherein the Bishop sat. He received her in the suavestmanner. 

"Now, my good daughter, I trust your lesson, which it was needful tomake sharp, hath been well learned during these weeks ye have had timefor meditation. Will you now go home, and go to church, and conform youto the Catholic religion as it now is in England? If you will do this, we will gladly show you all manner of favour; ye shall be our whitechild, I promise you, and any requests ye may prefer unto us shall havegood heed. Consider, I pray you, into what evil case your obstinacyhath hitherto brought you, and how blissful life ye might lead if yewould but renounce your womanish opinions, and be of the number of theCatholics. Now, my daughter, what say you?"

Then Alice Benden lifted her head and answered. 

"I am thoroughly persuaded, by the great extremity that you have alreadyshowed me, that you are not of God, neither can your doings be godly;and I see that you seek mine utter destruction. Behold, I pray you, howlame I am of cold taken, and lack of food, in that painful prisonwherein I have lain now these nine weary weeks, that I am not able tomove without great pain. "

"You shall find us right different unto you, if you will but conform, "replied the Bishop, who, as John Bunyan has it, had "now all besugaredhis lips. "

"Find you as it list you, I will have none ado with you!" answered theprisoner sturdily. 

But at that moment, trying to turn round, the pain was so acute that itbrought the tears to her eyes, and a groan of anguish to her lips. TheBishop's brows were compressed. 

"Take her to West Gate, " he said hastily. "Let her be clean kept, andsee a physician if she have need. "

The gaoler of West Gate was no brutal, selfish Perkins, but a man whoused his prisoners humanely. Here Alice once again slept on a bed, wasfurnished with decent clean clothing and sufficient food. But such wasthe effect of her previous suffering, that after a short time, we aretold, her skin peeled off as if she had been poisoned. 

One trouble Alice had in her new prison--that she must now be deprivedof Roger's visits. She was not even able to let him know of the change. But Roger speedily discovered it, and it was only thanks to theindolence of Mr Perkins, who was warm in bed, and greatly indisposed toturn out of it, that he was not found out and seized on that occasion. Once more he had to search for his sister. No secret was made of thematter this time; and by a few cautious inquiries Roger discovered thatshe had been removed to West Gate. His hopes sprang up on hearing it, not only because, as he knew, she would suffer much less in the present, but also because he fondly trusted that it hinted at a possibility ofrelease in the future. It was with a joyful heart that he carried thenews home to Christabel, and found her Aunt Tabitha sitting with her. 

"O Father, how delightsome!" cried Christie, clapping her hands. "Nowif those ill men will only let dear Aunt Alice come home--"

"When the sky falleth, we may catch many larks, " said Tabitha, in herusual grim fashion. "Have you told him?"

"Whom?--Edward Benden? No, I'm in no haste to go near him. "

"I would, if I knew it should vex him. "

"Tabitha!" said Roger, with gentle reproval. 

"Roger Hall, if you'd had to stand up to King Ahab, you'd have made adownright poor Elijah!"

"Very like, Tabitha. I dare say you'd have done better. "

"Father, " said Christie, "did you hear what should come of Master White, and Mistress Final, and all the rest. "

"No, my dear heart: I could hear nought, save only that they were had upafore my Lord of Dover, and that he was very round with them, but allthey stood firm. "

"What, Sens Bradbridge and all?" said Tabitha. "I'd have gone bail thatpoor sely hare should have cried off at the first shot of Dick o'Dover's arrow. Stood _she_ firm, trow?"

"All of them, I heard. Why, Tabitha, the Lord's grace could hold upSens Bradbridge as well as Tabitha Hall. "

"There'd be a vast sight more wanted, I promise you!" said Tabithaself-righteously. "There isn't a poorer creature in all this 'varsalworld, nor one with fewer wits in her head than Sens Bradbridge. Imarvel how Benedick stood her; but, dear heart! men are that stupid!Christie, don't you never go to marry a man. I'll cut you off with ashilling an' you do. "

"Cut me off what, Aunt Tabitha?" inquired Christie, with some alarm inher tone. 

"Off my good-will and favour, child. "

"Thank you, Aunt Tabitha, for telling me I didn't know I was on, " saidChristie simply. 

"Good lack!" exclaimed Tabitha, in a tone which was a mixture ofamusement and annoyance. "Did the child think I cared nought about her, forsooth?"

"O Aunt Tabitha, do you?" demanded Christie, in a voice of innocentastonishment. "I am so glad. Look you, whenever you come, you alwaysfind fault with me for something, so I thought you didn't. "

"Bless the babe! Dost think I should take all that trouble to amendthee, if I loved thee not?"

"Well, perhaps--" said Christie hesitatingly. 

"But Aunt Alice always tried to mend me, and so does Father: but somehowthey don't do it like you, Aunt Tabitha. "

"They're both a deal too soft and sleek with thee, " growled AuntTabitha. "There's nought 'll mend a child like a good rattlingscolding, without 'tis a thrashing, and thou never hast neither. "

"Art avised [are you sure] o' that, Tabitha?" asked Roger. "God sendsnot all His rain in thunderstorms. "

"Mayhap not; but He does send thunderstorms, and earthquakes too, "returned Tabitha triumphantly. 

"I grant you; but the thunderstorms are rare, and the earthquakes yetrarer; and the soft dew cometh every night. And 'tis the dew and thestill small rain, not the earthquakes, that maketh the trees and flowersto grow. "

"Ah, well, you're mighty wise, I cast no doubt, " answered Tabitha, getting up to go home. "But I tell you I was well thrashed, and scoldedto boot, and it made a woman of me. "

"I suppose, Father, " said Christie, when Tabitha had taken herdeparture, "that the scolding and beating did make a woman of AuntTabitha; but please don't be angry if I say that it wasn't as pleasant awoman as Aunt Alice. "

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. 

"A RUCK OF TROUBLE. "

"Well, be sure! if there ever was a woman in such a ruck of trouble!"said poor Collet Pardue, wiping her eyes. "Here's my man took toprison, saints knows what for--my man 'at was as quiet as ever a mouse, and as good to me as if he'd ha' been a cherubim, and me left with allthem childre--six lads and four lasses--eight o' my own, and two of poorSens's--and the lads that mischievous as I scarce knows whether I'm onmy head or my heels one half o' the day! Here's that Silas a-been andtook and dropped the bucket down the well, and never a drop o' water canwe get. And Aphabell he's left the gate open, and nine out o' myfourteen chicken strayed away. And I sent Toby for a loaf o'biscuit-bread, a-thinking it'd be a treat for the little uns, and me nothaving a mite o' time to make it--and if the rogue hasn't been and ateit all up a-coming home--there's the crumbs on his jacket this minute!"

"I didn't!" shouted Tobias resentfully, in answer to this unjustaccusation. "I didn't eat it all up! I gave half on it to Esdras--agood half. " The last words were uttered in a tone of conscious virtue, the young gentleman evidently feeling that his self-denial was notmeeting its due reward. 

"Ha' done then, thou runagate!" returned his mother, aiming a slap athim, which Tobias dodged by a dip of his head. "Eh, deary me, but theyare a weary lot, these childre!"

"Why stand you not up to them better, Collet Pardue?" asked theneighbour who was the listener to poor Collet's list of grievances. "Can't you rouse yourself and see to them?"

"Seems to me, Mistress Hall, I've got no rouse left in me, wi' all thesetroubles a-coming so thick, " said poor Collet, shaking her head. "Ifyou'd six lads and four maids, and your man in prison for nought, andthe bucket down the well, and the chicken strayed, and your poor oldmother sick a-bed, and them pies in the oven a-burning this minute--Ohme!"

Collet made a rush at the oven, having to push Charity Bradbridge out ofher way, who was staring open-mouthed at the brilliant parrot wrought infloss silks on the exterior of Mrs Tabitha's large work-bag. 

"I've told you twenty times, Collet Pardue, you lack method, " pursuedMrs Hall, with a magisterial air. "Why set you not Esdras to hunt thechicken, and Noah to fish up the bucket, and Beatrice to wait on yourmother, and Penuel to see to the pies, and leave yourself freer? I makemy childre useful, I can tell you. The more children, the more to waiton you. "

"Well, Mistress Hall, I've always found it t'other way about--the morechildre, the more for you to wait on. Pen, she's ironing, and Beatie isup wi' mother. But as to Esdras hunting up the chicks, why, he'd comehome wi' more holes than he's got, and that's five, as I know to mycost; and set Noah to get up the bucket, he'd never do nought but sendhis self a-flying after it down the well, and then I should have to fishhim up. 'Tis mighty good talking, when you've only three, and them allmaids; maids can be ruled by times; but them lads, they're thatcantankerous as-- There now, I might ha' known Noah was after somemischief; he's never quiet but he is! Do 'ee look, how he's tangled myblue yarn 'at I'd wound only last night--twisted it round every chairand table in the place, and-- You wicked, sinful boy, to go and tanglethe poor cat along with 'em! I'll be after you, see if I'm not! You'llcatch some'at!"

"Got to catch me first!" said Noah, with a grin, darting out of the dooras his over-worried mother made a grab at him. 

Poor Collet sat down and succumbed under her sufferings, throwing herapron over her face for a good cry. Beatrice, who came down the ladderwhich led to the upper chambers, took in the scene at a glance. She wasa bright little girl of ten years old. Setting down the tray in herhand, she first speedily delivered the captive pussy, and then proceededdeftly to disentangle the wool, rolling it up again in a ball. 

"Prithee, weep not, Mother, dear heart!" she said cheerily. "Grannysleeps, and needs no tending at this present. I've set pussy free, Ishall soon have the yarn right again. You're over-wrought, poorMother!"

Her child's sympathetic words seemed to have the effect of making Colletcry the harder; but Tabitha's voice responded for her. 

"Well said, Beatrice, and well done! I love to see a maid whose fingersare not all thumbs. But, dear me, Collet, what a shiftless woman areyou! Can't you pack those lads out o' door, and have a quiet house foryour work? I should, for sure!"

"You'd find you'd got your work cut out, Mistress Hall, I can tell you. `Pack 'em out o' door' means just send 'em to prey on your neighbours, and have half-a-dozen angry folks at you afore night, and a sight o'damage for to pay. "

"Set them to weed your garden, can't you? and tie up that trailinghoneysuckle o'er the porch, that's a shame to be seen. Make 'emuseful--that's what I say. "

"And 'tis what I'd be main thankful to do if I could--that I'll warrantyou, Mistress Hall; but without I stood o'er 'em every minute of thetime, the flowers 'd get plucked up and the weeds left, every one on'em. That'd be useful, wouldn't it?"

"You've brought them up ill, Collet, or they'd be better lads than that. I'd have had 'em as quat as mice, the whole six, afore I'd been theirmother a week. "

"I cast no doubt, Mistress Hall, " said Collet, driven to retort as sherarely did, "if you'd had the world to make, it'd ha' been mortal grand, and all turned out spic-span: look you, the old saw saith, `Bachelors'wives be always well-learned, ' and your lads be angels, that's sure, seein' you haven't ne'er a one on 'em; but mine isn't so easy to manageas yourn, looking as I've six to see to. "

"You've lost your temper, Collet Pardue, " said Mrs Tabitha, with calmcomplacency; "and that's a thing a woman shouldn't do who calls herselfa Christian. "

Before Collet could reply, a third person stood in the doorway. Shelooked up, and saw her landlord, Mr Benden. 

As it happened, that gentleman was not aware of the presence of hissister-in-law, who was concealed from him by the open door behind whichshe was sitting, as well as by a sheet which was hanging up to air inthe warm atmosphere of the kitchen. He had not, therefore, the leastidea that Tabitha heard his words addressed to Collet. 

"So your husband has been sent to prison, Mistress, for an heretic and acontemner of the blessed Sacrament?"

"My husband contemns not the blessed Sacrament that our Lord JesusChrist instituted, " answered Collet, turning to face her new assailant;"but he is one of them that will not be made to commit idolatry unto apiece of bread. "

"Well said, indeed!" sneered Mr Benden. "This must needs be good worldwhen cloth-workers' wives turn doctors of religion! How look you tomake my rent, Mistress, with nought coming in, I pray you?"

"Your rent's not due, Master, for five weeks to come. "

"And when they be come, I do you to wit, I will have it--or else forthyou go. Do you hear, Mistress Glib-tongue?"

"Dear heart, Master Benden!" cried Collet, in consternation. "Sure youcan never have the heart to turn us adrift--us as has always paid youevery farthing up to the hour it was due!"

"Ay, and I'll have this, every farthing up to the hour 'tis due! I'llhave no canting hypocrites in my houses, nor no such as be notorioustraitors to God and the Queen's Majesty! I'll--"

"O Master, we're no such, nor never was--" began the sobbing Collet. 

But both speeches were cut across by a third voice, which made thelandlord turn a shade paler and stop his diatribe suddenly; for it wasthe voice of the only mortal creature whom Edward Benden feared. 

"Then you'd best turn yourself out, Edward Benden, and that prettysharp, before I come and make you!" said the unexpected voice of theinvisible Tabitha. "I haven't forgot, if you have, what a loyal subjectyou were in King Edward's days, nor how you essayed to make your courtto my Lord of Northumberland that was, by proclaiming my Lady Jane atCranbrook, and then, as soon as ever you saw how the game was going, youturned coat and threw up your cap for Queen Mary. If all the cantinghypocrites be bundled forth of Staplehurst, you'll be amongst the firsthalf-dozen, I'll be bound! Get you gone, if you've any shame left, andforbear to torture an honest woman that hath troubles enow. "

"He's gone, Mistress Hall, " said little Beatrice. "I count he scarceheard what you last spake. "

"O Mistress Hall, you are a good friend, and I'm for ever bounden toyou!" said poor Collet, when she was able to speak for tears. "And ifit please you, I'm main sorry I lost my temper, and if I said any wordto you as I shouldn't, I'll take 'em back every one, and may God blessyou!"

"Well said, old friend!" answered Tabitha, in high good-humour. 

"And, O Mistress, do you think, an' it like you, that Master Benden willturn us forth on Saint Austin's morrow?--that's when our rent's due. "

"What is your rent, neighbour?"

"'Tis thirteen-and-fourpence, the house, Mistress--but then we've thebit o' pasture land behind, for our horse and cow--that's eightshillings more by the year. And I've only"--Collet went to a chest, andlifted out an old black stocking--"I haven't but sixteen shillings laidby towards it, and look you, there'll be no wages coming in save Toby'sand Esdras' and Aphabell's, and we've to live. With 'leven of us to eatand be clad, we can't save many pence for rent, and I did hope MasterBenden 'd be pleased to wait a while. Of course he must have his own, like any other; but if he would ha' waited--"

"He'll wait, " said Tabitha, and shut her mouth with a snap. "But lesthe should not, Collet, come by Seven Roads as you go to pay your rent, and whatso you may be short for the full amount, I'll find you. "

"Eh dear, Mistress Hall, I could cut my tongue in leches [slices] thatit ever spake a word as didn't please you!" cried the grateful Collet, though Tabitha had spoken a multitude of words which were by no meanspleasing to her. "And we'll all pray God bless you when we're on ourknees to-night, and all your folks belike. And I _will_ essay to keepthe lads better-way, though in very deed I don't know how, " concludedshe, as Tabitha rose, well pleased, patted Charity on the head, toldBeatrice to be a good maid and help her mother, and in a mood dividedbetween gratification and grim plans for giving Mr Benden the duereward of his deeds, set out on her walk home. 

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. 

COMPANY IN DISTRESS. 

"Now then, stir up, Mistress Benden! You are to be shifted to theCastle. "

Alice Benden looked up as the keeper approached her with that news. Thewords sounded rough, but the tone was not unkind. There was even aslight tinge of pity in it. 

What that transfer meant, both the keeper and the prisoner knew. It wasthe preparatory step to a sentence of death. 

All hope for this world died out of the heart of Alice Benden. No morepossibility of reconciliation and forgiveness for Edward!--no moreloving counsels to Christabel--no more comforting visits from Roger. Instead of them, one awful hour of scarcely imaginable anguish, andthen, from His seat on the right hand of God, Christ would rise toreceive His faithful witness--the Tree of Life would shade her, and theWater of Life would refresh her, and no more would the sun light uponher, nor any heat: she should be comforted for evermore. The betterhope was to be made way for by the extinction of the lower. She liftedup her heart unto the Lord, and said silently within herself the ancientChristian formula of the early Church--

"Amen, Lord Christ!--so let it be. "

In a chair, for she was too crippled to walk, Alice was carried by twoof the gaoler's men outside the Cathedral precincts. She had not beenin the open air for a month. They carried her out eastwards, acrossBurgate Street (which dates from the days of King Ethelred), down by thecity wall, past Saint George's Gate and the Grey Friars, up Sheepshank'sLane, and so to the old Norman Castle, the keep of which is the thirdlargest of Norman keeps in England, and is now, to the glory of all theHuns and Vandals, converted into a gasometer! In the barbican satseveral prisoners in chains, begging their bread. But Alice was bornepast this, and up the north-east staircase, from the walls of whichlooked out at her verses of the Psalms in Hebrew--silent, yet eloquentwitnesses of the dispersion and suffering of Judah--and into a smallchamber, where she was laid down on a rude bed, merely a frame withsacking and a couple of blankets upon it. 

"Nights be cold yet, " said the more humane of her two bearers. "Thepoor soul 'll suffer here, I'm feared. "

"She'll be warm enough anon, " said the other and more brutal of thepair. "I reckon the faggots be chopped by now that shall warm her. "

Alice knew what he meant. He passed out of the door without anotherword, but the first man lingered to say in a friendly tone--"Good evento you, Mistress!" It was his little cup of cold water to Christ'sservant. 

"Good even, friend, " replied Alice; "and may our Saviour Christ one daysay to thee, `Inasmuch'!"

Yes, she would be warm enough by-and-by. There should be no more painnor toil, no more tears nor terrors, whither she was going. The King's"Well done, good and faithful servant!" would mark the entrance on a newlife from which the former things had passed away. 

She lay there alone till the evening, when the gaoler's man brought hersupper. It consisted of a flat cake of bread, a bundle of small onions, and a pint of weak ale. As he set it down, he said--"There'll becompany for you to-morrow. "

"I thank you for showing it to me, " said Alice courteously; "pray you, who is it?"

"'Tis a woman from somewhere down your way, " he answered, as he wentout; "but her name I know not. "

Alice's hopes sprang up. She felt cheered by the prospect of thecompany of any human creature, after her long lonely imprisonment; andit would be a comfort to have somebody who would help her to turn on herbed, which, unaided, it gave her acute pain to do. Beside, there wasgreat reason to expect that her new companion would be a fellow-witnessfor the truth. Alice earnestly hoped that they would not--whether outof intended torture or mere carelessness--place a criminal with her. Deep down in her heart, almost unacknowledged to herself, lay a furtherhope. If it should be Rachel Potkin!

Of the apprehension of the batch of prisoners from Staplehurst Alice hadheard nothing. She had therefore no reason to imagine that the woman"from somewhere down her way" was likely to be a personal friend. Thesouth-western quarter of Kent was rather too large an area to rouseexpectations of that kind. 

It was growing dusk on the following evening before the "company"arrived. Alice had sung her evening Psalms--a cheering custom which shehad kept up through all the changes and sufferings of her imprisonment--and was beginning to feel rather drowsy when the sound of footstepsroused her, stopping at her door. 

"Now, Mistress! here you be!" said the not unpleasant voice of theCastle gaoler. 

"Eh, deary me!" answered another voice, which struck Alice's ear as notaltogether strange. 

"Good even, friend!" she hastened to say. 

"Nay, you'd best say `ill even, ' I'm sure, " returned the newcomer. "I've ne'er had a good even these many weeks past. "

Alice felt certain now that she recognised the voice of an oldacquaintance, whom she little expected to behold in those circumstances. 

"Why, Sens Bradbridge, is that you?"

"Nay, sure, 'tis never Mistress Benden? Well, I'm as glad to see youagain as I can be of aught wi' all these troubles on me. Is't me?Well, I don't justly know whether it be or no; I keep reckoning I shallwake up one o' these days, and find me in the blue bed in my own littlechamber at home. Eh deary, Mistress Benden, but this is an illlook-out! So many of us took off all of a blow belike--"

"Have there been more arrests, then, at Staplehurst? Be my brethrentaken?"

"Not as I knows of: but a lot of us was catched up all to oncet--NicholWhite, ironmonger, and mine hostess of the White Hart, and Emmet Wilson, and Collet Pardue's man, and Fishwick, the flesher, and me. Eh, but youmay give thanks you've left no childre behind you! There's my two poorlittle maids, that I don't so much as know what's come of 'em, or ifthey've got a bite to eat these hard times! Lack-a-daisy-me! but whythey wanted to take a poor widow from her bits of childre, it do beatme, it do!"

"I am sorry for Collet Pardue, " said Alice gravely. "But for yourmaids, Sens, I am sure you may take your heart to you. The neighboursshould be safe to see they lack not, be sure. "

"I haven't got no heart to take, Mistress Benden--never a whit, believeme. Look you, Mistress Final she had 'em when poor Benedick departed:and now she's took herself. Eh, deary me! but I cannot stay me fromweeping when I think on my poor Benedick. He was that staunch, he'dsure ha' been took if he'd ha' lived! It makes my heart fair sore tothink on't!"

"Nay, Sens, that is rather a cause for thanksgiving. "

"You always was one for thanksgiving, Mistress Benden. "

"Surely; I were an ingrate else. "

"Well, I may be a nigrate too, though I wis not what it be without 'tisa blackamoor, and I'm not that any way, as I knows: but look you, goodMistress, that's what I alway wasn't. 'Tis all well and good for themas can to sing psalms in dens o' lions; but I'm alway looking for to beate up. I can't do it, and that's flat. "

"The Lord can shut the lions' mouths, Sens. "

"Very good, Mistress; but how am I to know as they be shut?"

"`They that trust in the Lord shall not want any good thing. '" A suddenmoan escaped Alice's lips just after she had said this, the result of anattempt to move slightly. Sens Bradbridge was on her knees beside herin a moment. 

"Why, my dear heart, how's this, now? Be you sick, or what's took you?"

"I was kept nine weeks, Sens, on foul straw, with never a shift ofclothes, and no meat save bread and water, the which has brought me tothis pass, being so lame of rheumatic pains that I cannot scarce movewithout moaning. "

"Did ever man hear the like! Didn't you trust in the Lord, then, Mistress, an't like you?--or be soft beds and well-dressed meat andclean raiment not good things?"

Alice Benden's bright little laugh struck poor desponding Sens as a verystrange thing. 

"Maybe a little of both, old friend. Surely there were four sore weekswhen I was shut up in Satan's prison, no less than in man's, and Itrusted not the Lord as I should have done--"

"Well, forsooth, and no marvel!"

"And as to beds and meat and raiment--well, I suppose they were not goodthings for me at that time, else should my Father have provided them forme. "

Poor Sens shook her head slowly and sorrowfully. 

"Nay, now, Mistress Benden, I can't climb up there, nohow. --'Tis a braveplace where you be, I cast no doubt, but I shall never get up yonder. "

"But you have stood to the truth, Sens?--else should you not have beenhere. "

"Well, Mistress! I can't believe black's white, can I, to get forth o'trouble?--nor I can't deny the Lord, by reason 'tisn't right comfortableto confess Him? But as for comfort--and my poor little maids all alone, wi' never a penny--and my poor dear heart of a man as they'd ha' took, sure as eggs is eggs, if so be he'd been there--why, 'tis enough tocrush the heart out of any woman. But I can't speak lies by reason I'mout o' heart. "

"Well said, true heart! The Lord is God of the valleys, no less than ofthe hills; and if thou be sooner overwhelmed by the waters than other, He shall either carry thee through the stream, or make the waters lowerwhen thou comest to cross. "

"I would I'd as brave a spirit as yourn, Mistress Benden. "

"Thou hast as good a God, Sens, and as strong a Saviour. And mind thou, 'tis the weak and the lambs that He carries; the strong sheep may walkalongside. `He knoweth our frame, ' both of body and soul. Rest thousure, that if thine heart be true to Him, so long as He sees thou hastneed to be borne of Him, He shall not put thee down to stumble bythyself. "

"Well!" said Sens, with a long sigh, "I reckon, if I'm left to myself, Isha'n't do nought but stumble. I always was a poor creature; Benedickhad to do no end o' matters for me: and I'm poorer than ever now he'sgone, so I think the Lord'll scarce forget me; but seems somehow as Ican't take no comfort in it. "

"`Blessed are the poor in spirit!'" said Alice softly. "The `God ofall comfort, ' Sens, is better than all His comforts. "

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. 

BEHIND THE ARRAS. 

"You had best make up your mind, Grena, whilst you yet may. This may bethe last chance to get away hence that you shall have afore--" MrRoberts hesitated; but his meaning was clear enough. "It doth seem me, now we have this opportunity through Master Laxton's journey, it werewell-nigh a sin to miss it. He is a sober, worthy man, and kindlybelike; he should take good care of you; and going so nigh toShardeford, he could drop you well-nigh at your mother's gates. Now Ipray you, Grena, be ruled by me, and settle it that you shall go withoutdelay. He cannot wait beyond to-morrow to set forth. "

"I grant it all, Tom, and I thank you truly for your brotherly care. But it alway comes to the same end, whensoever I meditate thereon: Icannot leave you and Gertrude. "

"But wherefore no, Grena? Surely we should miss your good company, right truly: but to know that you were safe were compensation enough forthat. True should be old enough to keep the house--there be manyhousewives younger--or if no; surely the old servants can go on as theyare used, without your oversight. Margery and Osmund, at least--"

"They lack not my oversight, and assuredly not Gertrude's. But youwould miss me, Tom: and I could not be happy touching True. "

"Wherefore? Why, Grena, you said yourself they should lay no hand onher. "

"Nor will they. But Gertrude is one that lacks a woman about her thatloveth her, and will yet be firm with her. I cannot leave the child--Paulina's child--to go maybe to an ill end, for the lack of my care andlove. She sees not the snares about her heedless feet, and would mostlikely be tangled in them ere you saw them. Maids lack mothers morethan even fathers; and True hath none save me. "

"Granted. But for all that, Grena, I would not sacrifice you. "

"Tom, if the Lord would have me here, be sure He shall not shut me up inCanterbury Castle. And if He lacks me there, I am ready to go. He willsee to you and True in that case. "

"But if He lack you at Shardeford, Grena? How if this journey of MrLaxton be His provision for you, so being?"

There was silence for a moment. 

"Ay, " said Grena Holland then, "if you and Gertrude go with me. If not, I shall know it is not the Lord's bidding. "

"I! I never dreamed thereof. "

"Suppose, then, you dream thereof now. "

"Were it not running away from duty?"

"Methinks not. `When they persecute you in one city, flee ye intoanother, ' said our Lord. I see no duty that you have to leave. Wereyou a Justice of Peace, like your brother, it might be so: but what suchhave you? But one thing do I see--and you must count the cost, Tom. Itmay be your estate shall be sequestered, and all your goods taken to theQueen's use. 'Tis perchance a choice betwixt life and liberty on theone hand, and land and movables on the other. "

Mr Roberts walked up and down the room, lost in deep thought. It was ahard choice to make: yet "all that a man hath will he give for hislife. "

"Oh for the days of King Edward the First, " he sighed. "Verily, wevalued not our blessings whilst we had them. "

Grena's look was sympathising; but she left him to think out thequestion. 

"If I lose Primrose Croft, " he said meditatively, "the maids will havenought. "

"They will have Shardeford when my mother dieth. "

"You, " he corrected. "You were the elder sister, Grena. "

"What is mine is theirs and yours, " she said quietly. 

"You may wed, Grena. "

She gave a little amused laugh. "Methinks, Tom, you may leave thatdanger out of the question. Shardeford Hall will some day be Gertrude'sand Pandora's. "

"We had alway thought of it as Pandora's, if it came to the maids, andthat Gertrude should have Primrose Croft. But if that go--and 'tis notunlike; in especial if we leave Kent-- Grena, I know not what to do forthe best. "

"Were it not best to ask the Lord, Tom?"

"But how shall I read the answer? Here be no Urim and Thummim to workby. "

"I cannot say how. But of one thing am I sure; the Lord neverdisappointeth nor confoundeth the soul that trusts in Him. "

"Well, Grena, let us pray over it, and sleep on it. Perchance we maysee what to do for the best by morning light. But one thing I pray you, be ready to go, that there may be no time lost if we decide ay and notnay. "

"That will I see to for us all. "

Mr Roberts and Grena left the dining-room, where this conversation hadbeen held, shutting the door behind them. She could be heard goingupstairs, he into the garden by the back way. For a few seconds therewas dead silence in the room; then the arras parted, and a concealedlistener came out. In those days rooms were neither papered norpainted. They were either wainscoted high up the wall with panelledwood, or simply white-washed, and large pieces of tapestry hung round onheavy iron hooks. This tapestry was commonly known as arras, from thename of the French town where it was chiefly woven; and behind it, sinceit stood forward from the wall, was a most convenient place for a spy. The concealed listener came into the middle of the room. Her faceworked with conflicting emotions. She stood for a minute, as it were, fighting out a battle with herself. At length she clenched her hand asif the decision were reached, and said aloud and passionately, "I willnot!" That conclusion arrived at, she went hastily but softly out ofthe room, and closed the door noiselessly. 

Mistress Grena was very busy in her own room, secretly packing up sucharticles as she had resolved to take in the event of her journey beingmade. She had told Margery, the old housekeeper, that she was going tobe engaged, and did not wish to be disturbed. If any visitors cameMistress Gertrude could entertain them; and she desired Margery totransmit her commands to that effect to the young lady. That Gertrudeherself would interrupt her she had very little fear. They had fewtastes and ideas in common. Gertrude would spend the afternoon in theparlour with her embroidery or her virginals--the piano of that time--and was not likely to come near her. This being the case, MistressGrena was startled and disturbed to hear a rap at her door. Trustingthat it was Mr Roberts who wanted her, and who was the only likelyperson, she went to open it. 

"May I come in, Aunt Grena?" said Gertrude. 

For a moment Grena hesitated. Then she stepped back and let her nieceenter. Her quick, quiet eyes discerned that something was the matter. This was a new Gertrude at her door, a grave, troubled Gertrude, broughtthere by something of more importance than usual. 

"Well, niece, what is it?"

"Aunt Grena, give me leave for once to speak freely. "

"So do, my dear maid. "

"You and my father are talking of escape to Shardeford, but you scarceknow whether to go or no. Let me tell you, and trust me, for myknowledge is costly matter. Let us go. "

Grena stood in amazed consternation. She had said and believed that Godwould show them what to do, but the very last person in her worldthrough whose lips she expected Him to speak was Gertrude Roberts. 

"How--what--who told you? an angel?" she gasped incoherently. 

A laugh, short and unmirthful, was the answer. 

"Truly, no, " said Gertrude. "It was a fallen angel if it were. "

"What mean you, niece? This is passing strange!" said Grena, in atroubled tone. 

"Aunt, I have a confession to make. Despise me if you will; you cannotso do more than I despise myself. 'Tis ill work despising one's self;but I must, and as penalty for mine evil deeds I am forcing myself toown them to you. You refuse to leave me, for my mother's sake, to go toan ill end; neither will I so leave you. "

"When heard you me so to speak, Gertrude?"

"Not an hour since, Aunt Grena. "

"You were not present!"

"I was, little as you guessed it. I was behind the arras. "

"Wicked, mean, dishonourable girl!" cried Mistress Grena, in a mixtureof horror, confusion, and alarm. 

"I own it, Aunt Grena, " said Gertrude, with a quiet humility which wasnot natural to her, and which touched Grena against her will. "But hearme out, I pray you, for 'tis of moment to us all that you should so do. "

A silent inclination of her aunt's head granted her permission toproceed. 

"The last time that I went to shrift, Father Bastian bade me tell him ifI knew of a surety that you or my father had any thought to leave Kent. That could not I say, of course, and so much I told him. Then he bademe be diligent and discover the same. `But after what fashion?' said I;for I do ensure you that his meaning came not into mine head afore hespake it in plain language. When at last I did conceive that he wouldhave me to spy upon you, at the first I was struck with horror. You hadso learned me, Aunt Grena, that the bare thought of such a thing washateful unto me. This methinks he perceived, and he set him to reasonwith me, that the command of holy Church sanctified the act done for herservice, which otherwise had been perchance unmeet to be done. Still Iyielded not, and then he told me flat, that without I did this thing hewould not grant me absolution of my sins. Then, but not till then, Igave way. I hid me behind the arras this morning, looking that youshould come to hold discourse in that chamber where, saving for meat, you knew I was not wont to be. I hated the work no whit less than atthe first; but the fear of holy Church bound me. I heard you say, AuntGrena"--Gertrude's voice softened as Grena had rarely heard it--"thatyou would not leave Father and me--that you could not be happy touchingme--that I had no mother save you, and you would not cast me aside to goto an ill end. I saw that Father reckoned it should be to your own hurtif you tarried. And it struck me to the heart that you should bethinking to serve me the while I was planning how to betray you. Yet ifFather Bastian refused to shrive me, what should come of me? And all atonce, as I stood there hearkening, a word from the Psalter bolted inupon me, a verse that I mind Mother caused me to learn long time agone:`I said, I will confess my transgressions unto the Lord; and so Thouforgavest the wickedness of my sin. ' Then said I to myself, What need Itrouble if the priest will not shrive me, when I can go straight untothe Lord and confess to Him? Then came another verse, as if to answerme, that I wist Father Bastian should have brought forth in like case, `Whatsoever sins ye retain, they are retained, ' and `Whatsoever ye shallbind on earth shall be bound in heaven. ' I could not, I own, all atonce see my way through these. They did look to say, `Unto whom thepriest, that is the Church, denieth shrift, the same hath no forgivenessof God. ' For a minute I was staggered, till a blind man came to help meup. Aunt Grena, you mind that blind man in the ninth chapter of SaintJohn's Gospel? He was cast forth of the Church, as the Church was inthat day; and it was when our Lord heard that they had cast him forth, that He sought him and bade him believe only on Him, the Son of God. You marvel, Aunt, I may well see, that such meditations as these shouldcome to your foolish maid Gertrude. But I was at a point, and an hardpoint belike. I had to consider my ways, whether I would or no, when Icame to this trackless moor, and wist not which way to go, with aprecipice nigh at hand. So now, Aunt Grena, I come to speak truth untoyou, and to confess that I have been a wicked maid and a fool; and ifyou count me no more worth the serving or the saving I have demeritedthat you should thus account me. Only if so be, I beseech you, saveyourself!"

Gertrude's eyes were wet as she turned away. 

Grena followed her and drew the girl into her arms. 

"My child, " she said, "I never held thee so well worth love and care asnow. So be it; we will go to Shardeford. "

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. 

WHEREOF THE HERO IS JACK. 

"Ay, we must go, then, " said Mr Roberts, with a long-drawn sigh. "Thisdiscovery leaves us no choice. For howso God and we may pardon thechild, Father Bastian will not so. We must go ere he find it out, andleave Primrose Croft to his fate. "

"Father!" exclaimed Gertrude suddenly, "I beseech you, hear me. UncleAnthony conforms, and he is kindly-hearted as man could wish. If hewould come hither, and have a care of Primrose Croft, as though he heldit by gift or under lease from you, they should never think to disturbhim. "

"The maid's wit hath hit the nail on the head!" returned her father, inhigh satisfaction. "But how shall I give him to know, without lettingforth our secret?--and once get it on paper, and it might as well begiven to the town crier. `Walls have ears, ' saith the old saw, butpaper hath a tongue. And I cannot tell him by word of mouth, sith he isnow at Sandwich, and turneth not home afore Thursday. Elsewise thatwere good counsel. "

"Ask True, " suggested Mistress Grena with a smile. "The young wit isthe readiest amongst us, as methinks. "

"Under your correction, Father, could you not write a letter, andentrust it to Margery, to be sent to Uncle as Thursday even--giving itinto her hand the last minute afore we depart? Is she not trustworthy, think you?"

"She is trustworthy enough, if she be let be. But I misdoubt if herwits should carry her safe through a discourse with Father Bastian, ifhe were bent on winning the truth from her. I could trust Osmund betterfor that; but I looked to take him withal. "

"Give me leave then, Father, to walk down to Uncle's, as if I wist notof his absence, and slip the letter into one of his pockets. He alwayleaveth one of his gowns a-hanging in the hall. "

"And if his Martha were seized with a cleaning fever whilst he isthence, and turned out the pocket, where should we then be? Nay, True, that shall not serve. I can think of no means but that you twain setforth alone--to wit, without me--under guidance of Osmund, and that Ifollow, going round by Sandwich, having there seen and advertised mybrother. "

"Were there no danger that way, Tom?"

"There is danger every way, " replied Mr Roberts, with a groan. "Butmaybe there is as little that way as any: and I would fain saveGertrude's inheritance if it may be. "

"At the cost of your liberty, Father? Nay, not so, I entreat you!"cried Gertrude, with a flash of that noble nature which seemed to havebeen awakened in her. "Let mine inheritance go as it will. "

"As God wills, " gently put in Mistress Grena. 

"As God wills, " repeated Gertrude: "and keep you safe. "

Mistress Grena laid her hand on her brother's shoulder. 

"Tom, " she said, "let us trust the Lord in this matter. Draw you up, ifyou will, a lease of Primrose Croft to the Justice, and leave it in thehouse in some safe place. God can guide his hand to it, if He will. Otherwise, let us leave it be. "

That was the course resolved on in the end. It was also decided thatthey should not attempt to repeat the night escape which had alreadytaken place. They were to set forth openly in daylight, but separately, and on three several pretexts. Mistress Grena was to go on a professedvisit to Christabel, old Osmund escorting her; but instead of returninghome afterwards, she was to go forward to Seven Roods, and there awaitthe arrival of Mr Roberts. He was to proceed to his cloth-works atCranbrook, as he usually did on a Tuesday; and when the time came toreturn home to supper, was to go to Seven Roods and rejoin Grena. ToGertrude, at her own request, was allotted the hardest and most perilouspost of all--to remain quietly at home after her father and aunt haddeparted, engaged in her usual occupations, until afternoon, when shewas to go out as if for a walk, accompanied by the great house-dog, Jack, and meet her party a little beyond Seven Roods. Thence they wereto journey to Maidstone and Rochester, whence they could take ship tothe North. Jack, in his life-long character of an attached andincorruptible protector, was to go with them. He would be quite asready, in the interests of his friends, to bite a priest as a layman, and would show his teeth at the Sheriff with as little compunction as ata street-sweeper. Moreover, like all of his race, Jack was a forgivingperson. Many a time had Gertrude teased and tormented him for her ownamusement, but nobody expected Jack to remember it against her, when hewas summoned to protect her from possible enemies. But perhaps thegreatest advantage in Jack's guardianship of Gertrude was the fact thatthere had always been from time immemorial to men--and dogs--anunconquerable aversion, not always tacit, especially on Jack's part, between him and the Rev. Mr Bastian. If there was an individual inthe world who might surely be relied on to object to the reverendgentleman's appearance, that individual was Jack: and if any personexisted in whose presence Mr Bastian was likely to hesitate aboutattaching himself to Gertrude's company, that person was Jack also. Jack never had been able to see why the priest should visit his master, and had on several occasions expressed his opinion on that point withmuch decision and lucidity. If, therefore, Mr Bastian would keep awayfrom the house until Gertrude started on her eventful walk, he was notvery likely to trouble her afterwards. 

The priest had fully intended to call at Primrose Croft that veryafternoon, to see Mr Roberts, or if he were absent, Mistress Grena; buthe preferred the gentleman, as being usually more manageable than thelady. He meant to terrify the person whom he might see, by vague hintsof something which he had heard--and which was not to be mentioned--thatit might be mournfully necessary for him to report to the authorities ifmore humility and subordination to his orders were not shown. But hewas detained, first by a brother priest who wished to consult him in adifficulty, then by the Cardinal's sumner, who brought documents fromhis Eminence, and lastly by a beggar requesting alms. Having at lengthfreed himself from these interruptions, he set out for Primrose Croft. He had passed through the gates, and was approaching the door, when hesaw an unwelcome sight which brought him to a sudden stop. That sightwas a long feathery tail, waving above a clump of ferns to the left. Was it possible that the monster was loose? The gate was between MrBastian and that tail, in an infinitesimal space of time. Ignorant ofthe presence of the enemy, the wind being in the wrong direction, Jackfinished at leisure his inspection of the ferns, and bounded afterGertrude. 

"How exceedingly annoying!" said Mr Bastian to himself. "If that blackdemon had been out of the way, and safely chained up, as he ought tohave been, I could have learned from the girl whether she had overheardanything. I am sure it was her hood that I saw disappearing behind thelaurels. How very provoking! It must be Satan that sent the creaturethis way at this moment. However, she will come to shrift, of course, on Sunday, and then I shall get to know. "

So saying, Mr Bastian turned round and went home, Gertrude saunteredleisurely through the garden, went out by the wicket-gate, which Jackpreferred to clear at a bound, and walked rather slowly up the road, followed by her sable escort. She was afraid of seeming in haste untilshe was well out of the immediate neighbourhood. The clouds were so farthreatening that she felt it safe to carry her cloak--a very necessarytravelling companion in days when there were no umbrellas. She hadstitched sundry gold coins and some jewellery into her underclothing, but she could bring away nothing else. John Banks passed her on theroad, with a mutual recognition; two disreputable-looking trampssurveyed her covetously, but ventured on no nearer approach when Jackremarked, "If you do--!" The old priest of Cranbrook, riding past--aquiet, kindly old man for whom Jack entertained no aversion--blessed herin response to her reverence. Two nuns, with inscrutable white marblefaces, took no apparent notice of her. A woman with a basket on her armstopped her to ask the way to Frittenden. Passing them all, she turnedaway from the road just before reaching Staplehurst, and took the fieldpathway which led past Seven Roods. Here Jack showed much uneasiness, evidently being aware that some friend of his had taken that way beforethem, and he decidedly disapproved of Gertrude's turning aside withoutgoing up to the house. The path now led through several fields, andacross a brook spanned by a little rustic bridge, to the stile where itdiverged into the high road from Cranbrook to Maidstone. 

As they reached the last field, they saw Tabitha Hall coming to meetthem. 

"Glad to see you, Mistress Gertrude! All goes well. The Master andMistress Grena's somewhat beyond, going at foot's pace, and looking outfor you. So you won away easy, did you? I reckoned you would. "

"Oh, ay, easy enough!" said Gertrude. 

But she never knew how near she had been to that which would have madeit almost if not wholly impossible. 

"But how shall I ride, I marvel?" she asked, half-laughing. "I canscarce sit on my father's saddle behind him. "

"Oh, look you, we have a pillion old Mistress Hall was wont to ride on, so Tom took and strapped it on at back of Master's saddle, " saidTabitha, with that elaborate carelessness that people assume when theyknow they have done a kindness, but want to make it appear as small aspossible. 

"I am truly beholden to you, Mistress Hall; but I must not linger, so Ican only pray God be wi' you, " said Gertrude, using the phrase which hasnow become stereotyped into "good-bye. "

"But, Mistress Gertrude! won't you step up to the house, and take asnack ere you go further? The fresh butter's but now churned, and eggsnew-laid, and--"

"I thank you much, Mistress Hall, but I must not tarry now. May God ofHis mercy keep you and all yours safe!"

And Gertrude, calling Jack, who was deeply interested in a rabbit-hole, hastened on to the Maidstone Road. 

"There's somewhat come over Mistress Gertrude, " said Tabitha, as shere-entered her own house. "Never saw her so meek-spoken in all my life. She's not one to be cowed by peril, neither. Friswith, where on earthhast set that big poker? Hast forgot that I keep it handy for FatherBastian and the catchpoll, whichever of 'em lacks it first? Good lack, but I cannot away with that going astray! Fetch it hither this minute. Up in the chamber! Bless me, what could the maid be thinking on?There, set it down in the chimney-corner to keep warm; it'll not take solong to heat then. Well! I trust they'll win away all safe; but I'd aslief not be in their shoon. "

A faint sound came from the outside. Jack had spied his friends, andwas expressing his supreme delight at having succeeded in once morepiecing together the scattered fragments of his treasure. 

CHAPTER THIRTY. 

PUZZLED. 

Old Margery Danby, the housekeeper at Primrose Croft, was morethoroughly trustworthy than Mr Roberts had supposed, not only in will--for which he gave her full credit--but in capacity, which he haddoubted. Born in the first year of Henry the Seventh, Margery had heardstirring tales in her childhood from parents who had lived through theWars of the Roses, and she too well remembered Kett's rebellion and theenclosure riots in King Edward's days, not to know that "speech issilvern, but silence is golden. " The quiet, observant old woman knewperfectly well that something was "in the wind. " It was not hermaster's wont to look back, and say, "Farewell, Margery!" before hemounted his horse on a Tuesday morning for his weekly visit to thecloth-works; and it was still less usual for Gertrude to remark, "Good-morrow, good Margery!" before she went out for a walk with Jack. Mistress Grena, too, had called her into her own room the night before, and told her she had thought for some time of making her a littlepresent, as a recognition of her long care and fidelity, and had givenher two royals--the older name for half-sovereigns. Margery silently"put two and two together, " and the result was to convince her thatsomething was about to happen. Nor did she suffer from any seriousdoubts as to what it was. She superintended the preparation of supperon that eventful day with a settled conviction that nobody would be athome to eat it; and when the hours passed away, and nobody returned, theexcitement of Cicely the chamber-maid, and Dick the scullion-boy, wasnot in the least shared by her. Moreover, she had seen with someamusement Mr Bastian's approach and subsequent retreat, and sheexpected to see him again ere long. When the bell rang the next morningabout eight o'clock, Margery went to answer it herself, and foundherself confronting the gentleman she had anticipated. 

"Christ save all here!" said the priest, in reply to Margery'sreverential curtsey. "Is your master within, good woman?"

"No, Father, an't like you. "

"No? He is not wont to go forth thus early. Mistress Grena?"

"No, Sir, nor Mistress Gertrude neither. "

The priest lifted his eyebrows. "All hence! whither be they gone?"

"An' it please you, Sir, I know not. "

"That is strange. Went they together?"

"No, Sir, separate. "

"Said they nought touching their absence?"

"Not to me, Father. "

"Have you no fantasy at all whither they went?"

"I took it, Sir, that my master went to the works, as he is wont of aTuesday; and I thought Mistress Grena was a-visiting some friend. Touching Mistress Gertrude I can say nought. "

"She went not forth alone, surely?"

"She took Jack withal, Sir--none else. "

The conviction was slowly growing in Mr Bastian's mind that the wave ofthat feathery tail had deprived him of the only means of communicationwhich he was ever likely to have with Gertrude Roberts. "The sly minx!"he said to himself. Then aloud to Margery, "Do I take you rightly thatall they departed yesterday, and have not yet returned?"

"That is sooth, Father. "

Margery stood holding the door, with a calm, stolid face, which lookedas if an earthquake would neither astonish nor excite her. Mr Bastiantook another arrow from his quiver, one which he generally found to doconsiderable execution. 

"Woman, " he said sternly, "you know more than you have told me!"

"Father, with all reverence, I know no more than you. "

Her eyes met his with no appearance of insincerity. 

"Send Osmund to me, " he said, walking into the house, and laying downhis hat and stick on the settle in the hall. 

"Sir, under your good pleasure, Osmund went with Mistress. "

"And turned not again?"

"He hath not come back here, Sir. "

"Then they have taken flight!" cried the priest in a passion. "MargeryDanby, as you fear the judgment of the Church, and value her favour, Ibid you tell me whither they are gone. "

"Sir, even for holy Church's favour, I cannot say that which I knownot. "

"On your soul's salvation, do you not know it?" he said solemnly. 

"On my soul's salvation, Sir, I know it not. "

The priest strode up and down the hall more than once. Then he came andfaced Margery, who was now standing beside the wide fireplace in thehall. 

"Have you any guess whither your master may be gone, or thegentlewomen?"

"I've guessed a many things since yester-even, Sir, " answered Margeryquietly, "but which is right and which is wrong I can't tell. "

"When Mistress Collenwood and Mistress Pandora went hence secretly inthe night-time, knew you thereof, beforehand?"

"Surely no, Father. "

"Had you any ado with their departing?"

"The first thing I knew or guessed thereof, Father, was the next morrow, when I came into the hall and saw them not. "

Mr Bastian felt baffled on every side. That his prey had eluded himjust in time to escape the trap he meant to lay for them, was manifest. What his next step was to be, was not equally clear. 

"Well!" he said at last with a disappointed air, "if you know nought, 'tis plain you can tell nought. I must essay to find some that can. "

"I have told you all I know, Father, " was the calm answer. But Margerydid not say that she had told all she thought, nor that if she had knownmore she would have revealed it. 

Mr Bastian took up his hat and stick, pausing for a moment at the doorto ask, "Is that black beast come back?"

"Jack is not returned, Sir, " answered the housekeeper. 

It was with a mingled sense of relief and uneasiness on that point thatthe priest took the road through the village. That Jack was out of theway was a delicious relief. But suppose Jack should spring suddenly onhim out of some hedge, or on turning a corner? Out of the way mightturn out to be all the more surely in it. 

Undisturbed, however, by any vision of a black face and a feathery tail, Mr Bastian reached Roger Hall's door. Nell opened it, and unwillinglyadmitted that her master was at home, Mr Bastian being so early thatRoger had not yet left his house for the works. Roger received him inhis little parlour, to which Christie had not yet been carried. 

"Hall, are you aware of your master's flight?"

Roger Hall opened his eyes in genuine amazement. 

"No, Sir! Is he gone, then?"

"He never returned home after leaving the works yesterday. "

Roger's face expressed nothing but honest concern for his master'swelfare. "He left the works scarce past three of the clock, " said he, "and took the road toward Primrose Croft. God grant none ill hathbefallen him!"

"Nought o' the sort, " said the priest bluntly. "The gentlewomen be gonebelike, and Osmund with them. 'Tis a concerted plan, not a doubtthereof: and smelleth of the fire [implies heretical opinions], or Imistake greatly. Knew you nought thereof? Have a care how you makeanswer!"

"Father, you have right well amazed me but to hear it. Most surely Iknew nought, saving only that when I returned home yestre'en, my littlemaid told me Mistress Grena had been so good as to visit her, and hadbrought her a cake and a posy of flowers from the garden. But if Osmundwere with her or no, that did I not hear. "

"Was Mistress Grena wont to visit your daughter?"

"By times, Father: not very often. "

As all his neighbours must be aware of Mistress Grena's visit, Rogerthought it the wisest plan to be perfectly frank on that point. 

"Ask at Christabel if she wist whether Osmund came withal. "

Roger made the inquiry, and returned with the information thatChristabel did not know. From her couch she could only see the horse'sears, and had not noticed who was with it. 

"'Tis strange matter, " said the priest severely, "that a gentleman ofmeans and station, with his sister, and daughter, and servant, coulddisappear thus utterly, and none know thereof!"

"It is, Father, in very deed, " replied Roger sympathisingly. 

"I pray you, Hall, make full inquiry at the works, and give me to wit ifaught be known thereof. Remember, you are somewhat under a cloud fromyour near kinship to Alice Benden, and diligence in this matter may doyou a good turn with holy Church. "

"Sir, I will make inquiry at the works, " was the answer, which did notconvey Roger's intention to make no use of the inquiries that coulddamage his master, nor his settled conviction that no information was tobe had. 

The only person at all likely to know more than himself was the cashierat the works, since he lived between Cranbrook and Primrose Croft, andRoger carefully timed his inquiries so as not to include him. Theresult was what he expected--no one could tell him anything. He quicklyand diligently communicated this interesting fact to the priest'sservant, his master not being at home; and Mr Bastian was more puzzledthan ever. The nine days' wonder gradually died down. On the Thursdayevening Mr Justice Roberts came home, and was met by the news of hisbrother's disappearance, with his family. He was so astonished that hesat open-mouthed, knife and spoon in hand, while his favourite dish ofbroiled fowl grew cold, until he had heard all that Martha had to tellhim. Supper was no sooner over, than off he set to Primrose Croft. 

"Well, Madge, old woman!" said he to the old housekeeper, who had oncebeen his nurse, "this is strange matter, surely! Is all true thatMartha tells me? Be all they gone, and none wist how nor whither?"

"Come in, and sit you down by the fire, Master Anthony, " said Margery, in whose heart was a very soft spot for her sometime nursling, "and I'lltell you all I know. Here's the master's keys, they'll maybe be saferin your hands than mine; he didn't leave 'em wi' me, but I went roundthe house and picked 'em all up, and locked everything away from themprying maids and that young jackanapes of a Dickon. Some he must ha'took with him; but he's left the key of the old press, look you, andthat label hanging from it. "

The Justice looked at the label, and saw his own name written in hisbrother's writing. 

"Ha! maybe he would have me open the press and search for somewhat. Letus go to his closet, Madge. Thou canst tell me the rest there, while Isee what this meaneth. "

"There's scarce any rest to tell, Mr Anthony; only they are all gone--Master, and Mistress Grena, and Mistress Gertrude, and Osmund, and bayPhilbert, and the black mare, and old Jack. "

"What, Jack gone belike! Dear heart alive! Why, Madge, that hathlittle look of coming again. "

"It hasn't, Mr Anthony; and one of Mistress Gertrude's boxes, that shekeeps her gems in, lieth open and empty in her chamber. "

The Justice whistled softly as he fitted the key in the lock. 

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. 

HOW HE HEARD IT. 

"Why, what's this?"

Mr Justice Roberts had opened the old press, tried all the drawers, andcome at last to the secret drawer, of whose existence only he and hisbrother knew. No sooner had he applied his hand to a secret spring, than out darted the drawer, showing that it held a long legal-lookingdocument, and a letter addressed to himself. He opened and read thelatter, Margery standing quietly at a little distance. Slowly andthoughtfully, when he had finished the letter, he folded it up, pocketedit, and turned to Margery. 

"Ay, Madge, " he said, "they are gone. "

"And not coming back, Master Anthony?"

"Not while--well, not at this present. Madge, my brother would have mecome hither, and take up mine abode here--for a while, look you; andmethinks I shall so do. "

"Well, Mr Anthony, and I shall be full fain. I've been right tremblingin my shoes this three days, lest them noisome pests should think tocome and take possession--turn out all. Master's papers, and countMistress Grena's partlets, and reckon up every crack in the kitchentrenchers; but there's nought 'll keep 'em out, even to you coming, 'cause they'll be a bit 'feared of you, as being a Justice of Peace. Ay, I am glad o' that. "

"`Noisome pests'! Why, whom signify you, Madge?"

"Oh, catchpolls, and thirdboroughs [minor constables], and sheriffs, andhangmen, and 'turneys, and the like o' they, " replied Margery, not verylucidly: "they be pests, the lot of 'em, as ever I see. They're as illas plumbers and painters and rats and fleas--once get 'em in, andthere's no turning of 'em out. I cannot abide 'em. "

Mr Justice Roberts laughed. "Come, Madge, you may as well add`Justices of Peace'; you've got pretty nigh all else. Prithee look tothy tongue, old woman, or thou shalt find thee indicted for an illsubject unto the Queen. Why, they be her Gracious' servants [`Grace's'was then frequently spelt `Gracious''], and do her bidding. Thouwouldst not rebel against the Queen's Majesty?"

"I am as true a woman to the Queen's Grace as liveth, Mr Anthony; butthem folks isn't the Queen nor the King neither. And they be ascantankerous toads, every one of 'em, as ever jumped in a brook. Do youhaste and come, there's a good lad, as you alway was, when you used totoddle about the house, holding by my gown. It'll seem like old timesto have you back. "

"Well, I can come at once, " said the Justice, with a smile at Margery'sreminiscences; "for my brother hath left me a power of attorney to dealwith his lands and goods; and as he is my landlord, I have but to agreewith myself over the leaving of mine house. But I shall bring Martha: Itrust you'll not quarrel. "

"No fear o' that, Mr Anthony. Martha, she's one of the quiet uns, asneither makes nor meddles; and I've had strife enough to last me therest o' my life. 'Tis them flaunting young hussies as reckonsquarrelling a comfort o' their lives. And now Osmund's hence, Marthacan wait on you as she's used, and she and me 'll shake down like acouple o' pigeons. "

"Good. Then I'll be hither in a day or twain: and if any of your pestscome meantime, you shake my stick at them, Madge, and tell them I'm athand. "

"No fear! I'll see to that!" was the hearty answer. 

So the Justice took up his abode at Primrose Croft, and the cantankeroustoads did not venture near. Mr Roberts had requested his brother tohold the estate for him, or in the event of his death for Gertrude, until they should return; which, of course, meant, and was quiteunderstood to mean, until the death of the Queen should make way for theaccession of the Protestant Princess Elizabeth. Plain speech was oftendangerous in those days, and people generally had recourse to some vagueform of words which might mean either one thing or another. The Justicewent down to the cloth-works on the following Tuesday, and called RogerHall into the private room. 

"Read those, Hall, an' it like you, " he said, laying before him MrRoberts' letter and the power of attorney. 

Roger only glanced at them, and then looked up with a smile. 

"I looked for something of this kind, Mr Justice, " he said. "WhenMaster left the works on Tuesday evening, he said to me, `If my brothercome, Hall, you will see his orders looked to--' and I reckoned it meantsomewhat more than an order for grey cloth. We will hold ourselves atyour commands, Mr Justice, and I trust you shall find us to yoursatisfaction. "

"No doubt, Hall, no doubt!" replied the easy-tempered Justice. "Shutthat further door an instant. Have you heard aught of late touchingyour sister?"

"Nought different, Mr Justice. She is yet in the Castle, but I cannothear of any further examination, nor sentence. "

"Well, well! 'Tis sore pity folks cannot believe as they should, andkeep out of trouble. "

Roger Hall was unable to help thinking that if Mr Justice Roberts hadspoken his real thoughts, and had dared to do it, what he might havesaid would rather have been--"'Tis sore pity folks cannot let othersalone to believe as they like, and not trouble them. "

That afternoon, the Lord Bishop of Dover held his Court in CanterburyCastle, and a string of prisoners were brought up for judgment. Amongthem came our friends from Staplehurst--Alice Benden, who was helpedinto Court by her fellow-prisoners, White and Pardue, for she couldscarcely walk; Fishcock, Mrs Final, Emmet Wilson, and Sens Bradbridge. For the last time they were asked if they would recant. The same answercame from all--

"By the grace of God, we will not. "

Then the awful sentence was passed--to be handed over to the seculararm--the State, which the Church prayed to punish these malefactorsaccording to their merits. By a peculiarly base and hypocriticalfiction, it was made to appear that the Church never put any heretic todeath--she only handed them over to the State, with a touching requestthat they might be gently handled! What that gentle handling meant, every man knew. If the State had treated a convicted heretic to anypenalty less than death, it would soon have been found out what theChurch understood by gentle handling!

Then the second sentence, that of the State, was read by the Sheriff. On Saturday, the nineteenth of June, the condemned criminals were to betaken to the field beyond the Dane John, and in the hollow at the endthereof to be burned at the stake till they were dead, for the safety ofthe Queen and her realm, and to the glory of God Almighty. God save theQueen!

None of the accused spoke, saving two. Most bowed their heads as if inacceptance of the sentence. Alice Benden, turning to Nicholas Pardue, said with a light in her eyes--

"Then shall we keep our Trinity octave in Heaven!"

Poor Sens Bradbridge, stretching out her arms, cried aloud to theBishop--"Good my Lord, will you not take and keep Patience and Charity?"

"Nay, by the faith of my body!" was Dick of Dover's reply. "I willmeddle with neither of them both. "

"His Lordship spake sooth then at the least!" observed one of the amusedcrowd. 

There was one man from Staplehurst among the spectators, and that wasJohn Banks. He debated long with himself on his way home, whether toreport the terrible news to the relatives of the condemned prisoners, and at last he decided not to do so. There could be no farewells, heknew, save at the stake itself; and it would spare them terrible painnot to be present. One person, however, he rather wished would bepresent. It might possibly be for his good, and Banks had no particulardesire to spare him. He turned a little out of his way to go up toBriton's Mead. 

Banks found his sister hanging out clothes in the drying-ground behindthe house. 

"Well, Jack!" she said, as she caught sight of him. 

"Is thy master within, Mall? If so be, I would have a word with him an'I may. "

"Ay, he mostly is, these days. He's took to be terrible glum andgrumpy. I'll go see if he'll speak with you. "

"Tell him I bring news that it concerns him to hear. "

Mary stopped and looked at him. 

"Go thy ways, Mall. I said not, news it concerned thee to hear. "

"Ay, but it doth! Jack, it is touching Mistress?"

"It is not ill news for her, " replied Banks quietly. 

"Then I know what you mean, " said Mary, with a sob. "Oh, Jack, Jack!that we should have lived to see this day!"

She threw her apron over her face, and disappeared into the house. Banks waited a few minutes, till Mary returned with a disgusted face. 

"You may go in, Jack; but 'tis a stone you'll find there. "

Banks made his way to the dining-room, where Mr Benden was seated witha dish of cherries before him. 

"'Day!" was all the greeting he vouchsafed. 

"Good-day, Master. I am but now returned from Canterbury, where I havebeen in the Bishop's Court. "

"Humph!" was the only expression of Mr Benden's interest. He had grownharder, colder, and stonier, since those days when he missed Alice'spresence. He did not miss her now. 

"The prisoners from this place were sentenced to-day. "

"Humph!"

"They shall die there, the nineteenth of June next. " Banks did not feelit at all necessary to soften his words, as he seemed to be addressing astone wall. 

"Humph!" The third growl sounded gruffer than the rest. 

"And Mistress Benden said to Nichol Pardue--`Then shall we keep ourTrinity octave in Heaven!'"

Mr Benden rose from his chair. Was he moved at last? What was heabout to say? Thrusting forth a finger towards the door, he compressedhis thanks and lamentations into a word--

"Go!"

John Banks turned away. Why should he stay longer?

"Poor soul!" was what he said, when he found himself again in thekitchen with Mary. 

"What, _him_?" answered Mary rather scornfully. 

"No--her, that she had to dwell with him. She'll have fairer companyafter Saturday. "

"Is it Saturday, Jack?"

"Ay, Mall. Would you be there? I shall. "

"No, " said Mary, in a low tone. "I couldn't keep back my tears, andmaybe they'd hurt her. She'll lack all her brave heart, and I'll nottrouble her in that hour. "

"You'd best not let Master Hall know--neither Mr Roger, nor Mr Thomas. It'd nigh kill poor little Mistress Christie to know of it aforehand. She loved her Aunt Alice so dearly. "

"I can hold my tongue, Jack. Easier, maybe, than I can keep my handsoff that wretch in yonder!"

When Mary went in to lay the cloth for the last meal, she found thewretch in question still seated at the table, his head buried in hishands. A gruffer voice than ever bade her "Let be! Keep away!" Marywithdrew quietly, and found it a shade easier to keep her hands off MrBenden after that incident. 

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO. 

ONE SUMMER DAY. 

The nineteenth of June was the loveliest of summer days, even in theMartyrs' Field at Canterbury, in the hollow at the end of which theseven stakes were set up. The field is nearly covered now by thestation of the London, Chatham, and Dover Railway, but the hollow canstill be traced whence the souls of His faithful witnesses went up toGod. 

John Banks was early on the ground, and so secured a front place. Thecrowd grew apace, until half the field was covered. Not only residentsof the city, but casual sight-seers, made up the bulk of it, the rathersince it was somewhat dangerous to be absent, especially for a suspectedperson. From the neighbouring villages, too, many came in--the villagesquire and his dame in rustling silks, the parish priest in his cassock, the labourers and their wives in holiday garb. 

Then the Castle gates opened, and the Wincheap Gate; and forth from themcame a slow, solemn procession, preceded by a crucifer bearing a silvercross, a long array of black-robed priests, and then the Lord Bishop ofDover, in his episcopal robes, followed by two scarlet-cassockedacolytes swinging thuribles, from which ascended a cloud of incensebetween his Lordship's sacred person and the wicked heretics who were tofollow. Two and two they came, John Fishcock the butcher, led like oneof his own sheep to the slaughter, and Nicholas White the ironmonger;Nicholas Pardue and Sens Bradbridge; Mrs Final and Emmet Wilson. Afterall the rest came Alice Benden, on the last painful journey that sheshould ever take. She would mount next upon wings as an eagle, andthere should for her be no more pain. 

The martyrs recognised their friend John Banks, and each greeted him bya smile. Then they took off their outer garments--which were theperquisites of the executioners--and stood arrayed every one in thatwhite robe of martyrdom, of which so many were worn in Mary's reign; along plain garment, falling from the throat to the feet, with long loosesleeves buttoned at the wrists. Thus prepared, they knelt down to pray, while the executioners heaped the faggots in the manner best suited forquick burning. Rising from their prayers, each was chained to a stake. Now was the moment for the last farewells. 

John Banks went up to Alice Benden. 

"Courage, my mistress, for a little time! and the Lord be with you!"

"Amen!" she answered. "I thank thee, Jack. Do any of my kin know of myburning?"

"Mistress, I told not your brethren, and methinks they wot not of theday. Methought it should be sore to them, and could do you but a littlegood. I pray you, take me as 'presenting all your friends, that do bidyou right heartily farewell, and desire for you an abundant entranceinto the happy kingdom of our Lord God. "

"I thank thee with all mine heart, Jack; thou hast well done. Give, Ipray thee, to my brother Roger this new shilling, the which my fathersent me at my first imprisonment, desiring him that he will give thesame unto mine old good father, in token that I never lacked money, withmine obedient salutations. "

The gaoler now approached her to place the faggots closer, and Banks wasreluctantly compelled to retire. From her waist Alice took a white lacewhich she had tied round it, and handed it to the gaoler, saying, "Keepthis, I beseech you, for my brother Roger Hall. It is the last bond Iwas bound with, except this chain. "

Then the torch was put to the faggots. 

"Keep this in memory of me!" reached John Banks, in the clear tones ofAlice Benden; and a white cambric handkerchief fluttered above thecrowd, and fell into his outstretched hands. [These farewells of AliceBenden are historical. ]

And so He led them to the haven where they would be. 

 "No, not one looked back, who had set his hand to this ploughing!"

There was a hard task yet before John Banks. He had to visit eighthouses, and at each to tell his awful tale, to father and mother, brother and sister, son and daughter--in three instances to husband orwife--of the martyrs who had gone home. His first visit was to SevenRoods. 

"Well, Jack Banks! I thought you'd been dead and buried!" was Tabitha'ssarcastic intimation that it was some time since she had seen him. 

"Ah, Mistress Hall, I could well-nigh wish I had been, before I came tobring you such tidings as I bring to-day. "

Tabitha looked up in his face, instantly dropped the mop in her hand, and came over to where he stood. 

"'Tis more than `may be, '" she said significantly, "and I reckon 'tismore than `must be. ' John Banks, is it _done_?"

"It is done, " he replied. "`The Lord God hath wiped away all tears fromher eyes. '"

"The Lord look upon it, and avenge her!" was the answer, in Tabitha'ssternest and most solemn voice. "The Lord requite it on the head ofEdward Benden, and on the head of Richard Thornton! Wherefore doth Henot rend the heavens and come down? Wherefore--" and as suddenly asbefore, Tabitha broke down, and cried her heart out as Banks had neverimagined Tabitha Hall could do. 

Banks did not attempt to reprove her. It was useless. He only saidquietly, "Forgive me to leave you thus, but I must be on my way, for mytidings must yet be told six times, and there be some hearts will breakto hear them. "

"I'll spare you one, " said Tabitha, as well as she could speak. "Youmay let be Roger Hall. I'll tell him. "

Banks drew a long breath. Could he trust this strange, satirical, yetwarm-hearted woman to tell those tidings in that house of all others?And the white lace, which the gaoler, knowing him to be a Staplehurstman, had entrusted to him to give, could he leave it with her?

"Nay, not so, I pray you, and thank you, Mistress. I have an especialmessage and token for Master Hall. But if you would of your goodnesslet Mistress Final's childre know thereof, that should do me aneasement, for the White Hart is most out of my way. "

"So be it, Jack, and God speed thee!"

Turning away from Seven Roods, Banks did his terrible errand to the sixhouses. It was easiest at Fishcock's, where the relatives were somewhatmore distant than at the rest; but hard to tell Nicholas White'sgrey-haired wife that she was a widow, hard to tell Emmet Wilson'shusband that he had no more a wife; specially hard at Collet Pardue'scottage, where the news meant not only sorrow but worldly ruin, so faras mortal eye might see. Then he turned off to Briton's Mead, and toldMary, whose tears flowed fast. 

"Will you speak to _him_?" she said, in an awed tone. 

"No!" said Banks, almost sternly. "At the least--what doth he?"

"Scarce eats a morsel, and his bed's all awry in the morning, as if he'ddone nought but toss about all the night; I think he sleeps none, orvery nigh. I never speak to him without he first doth, and that'smighty seldom. "

Banks hesitated a moment. Then he went forward, and opened the door ofthe dining-room. 

"Mr Benden!" he said. 

The room was in semi-darkness, having no light but that of the moon, andBanks could see only just enough to assure him that something human satin the large chair at the further end. But no sound answered hisappeal. 

"I am but now arrived from Canterbury. "

Still no answer came. John Banks went on, in a soft, hushed voice--notin his own words. If the heart of stone could be touched, God's wordsmight do it; if not, still they were the best. 

"`She shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neither shall thesun light upon her, neither any heat. For the Lamb that is in the midstof the Seat hath fed her, and hath led her unto fountains of livingwater; and God hath wiped away all tears from her eyes. '"

He paused a moment, but the dead silence was unbroken. 

One word more. "The Lord have mercy on thy soul, thou miserablesinner!" Then Banks shut the door softly and went away. 

There we leave Edward Benden, with the black silence of oblivion overhis future life. Whether the Holy Spirit of God ever took the stonyheart out of him, and gave him a heart of flesh, God alone knows. Forthis, in its main features, is a true story, and there is no word totell us what became of the husband and betrayer of Alice Benden. 

John Banks went on to the last house he had to visit--the little houseby the Second Acre Close. Roger Hall opened the door himself. Banksstepped in, and as the light of the hall lantern fell upon his face, Roger uttered an exclamation of pain and fear. 

"Jack! Thy face--"

"Hath my face spoken to you, Master Hall, afore my tongue could frame soto do? Perchance it is best so. Hold your hand. "

Roger obeyed mechanically, and Banks laid on the hand held forth thelong white lace. 

"For you, " he said, his voice broken by emotion. John Banks' nerveswere pretty well worn out by that day's work, as well they might be. "She gave it me for you--at the last. She bade me say it was the lastbond she was bound with--except _that_ chain. "

"Thank God!" were the first words that broke from the brother who lovedAlice so dearly. The Christian spoke them; but the next moment the mancame uppermost, and an exceeding bitter cry of "O Alice, Alice!"followed the thanksgiving of faith. 

"It is over, " said Banks, in a husky voice. "She `shall never see evilany more. '"

But he knew well that he could give no comfort to that stricken heart. Quietly, and quickly, he laid down the new shilling, with its messagefor the poor old father; and then without another word--not even saying"good-night, " he went out and closed the door behind him. Only Godcould speak comfort to Roger and Christabel in that dark hour. Only Godcould help poor Roger to tell Christie that she would never see her dearAunt Alice any more until she should clasp hands with her on the streetof the Golden City, and under the shade of the Tree of Life. And Godwould help him: John Banks was quite sure of that. But as he steppedout into the summer night, it seemed almost as if he could see avision--as if the outward circumstances in which he had beheld the triowere prophetic--Alice in the glory of the great light, Roger with hisway shown clearly by the little lamp of God's Word, and Edward in thatblack shadow, made lurid and more awful by the faint unearthly light. The moon came out brightly from behind a cloud, just as Banks lifted hiseyes upwards. 

"Good God, forgive us all!" he said earnestly, "and help all that needThee!"

Alice was above all help, and Roger was sure of help. But who or whatcould help Edward Benden save the sovereign mercy of God?

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE. 

WHAT THEY COULD. 

A month had passed since the burning of the Canterbury martyrs. TheBishop of Dover had gone on a visit to London, and the land had rest inhis absence. It may be noted here, since we shall see no more of him, that he did not long survive the event. He was stricken suddenly withpalsy, as he stood watching a game at bowls on a Sunday afternoon, andwas borne to his bed to die. The occupation wherein the "inevitableangel" found him, clearly shows what manner of man he was. 

In Roger Hall's parlour a little conclave was gathered for discussion ofvarious subjects, consisting of the handful of Gospellers yet left inStaplehurst. Various questions had been considered, and dismissed assettled, and the conversation flagged for a few seconds, when Tabithasuddenly flung a new topic into the arena. 

"Now, what's to be done for that shiftless creature, Collet Pardue? Sixlads and two lasses, and two babes of Sens Bradbridge's, and fewer witsthan lads, and not so many pence as lasses. Won't serve to find 'em alldead in the gutter. So what's to be done? Speak up, will you, andlet's hear. "

"I can't speak on those lines, Tabitha, " replied her brother-in-law. "Collet is no wise shiftless, for she hath brought up her children in agood and godly fashion, the which a woman with fewer brains than ladsshould ne'er have done. But I verily assent with you that we should dosomething to help her. And first--who will take to Sens Bradbridge'smaids?"

"I will, if none else wants 'em. But they'll not be pampered andstuffed with cates, and lie on down beds, and do nought, if they dwellwith me. I shall learn 'em to fare hard and be useful, I can tell you. "

"Whether of the twain call you them syllabubs and custard pies as youset afore us when we supped last with you, Mistress Hall?" quietly askedUrsula Final. "Seemed to me I could put up with hard fare o' that sortmetely well. "

"Don't be a goose, Ursula. They've got to keep their hands in, a-cooking, haven't they? and when things be made, you can't waste 'emnor give 'em the pigs. They've got to be ate, haven't they?" demandedMrs Tabitha, in tones of battle; and Ursula subsided without attemptinga defence. 

"What say you, Tom?" asked Roger, looking at his brother. 

Mr Thomas Hall, apparently, did not dare to say anything. He glanceddeprecatingly at his domestic tyrant, and murmured a few words, halfswallowed in the utterance, of which "all agree" were the onlydistinguishable syllables. 

"Oh, he'll say as I say, " responded Tabitha unblushingly. "There's noman in the Weald knows his duty better than Thomas Hall; it'd be a mercyif he'd sometimes do it. "

Mr Thomas Hall's look of meek appeal said "Don't I?" in a manner whichwas quite pathetic. 

"Seems to me, " said Ralph Final, the young landlord of the White Hart, "that if we were all to put of a hat or a bowl such moneys as we couldone and another of us afford by the year, for Mistress Pardue and thechildre--such as could give money, look you--and them that couldn'tshould say what they would give, it'd be as plain a way as any. "

"Well said, Ralph!" pronounced Mrs Tabitha, who took the lead as usual. "I'll give my maids' cast-off clothes for the childre, the elder, Imean, such as 'll fit 'em; the younger must go for Patience and Charity. And I'll let 'em have a quart of skim milk by the day, as oft as I haveit to spare; and eggs if I have 'em. And Thomas 'll give 'em tenshillings by the year. And I shouldn't marvel if I can make up a kirtleor a hood for Collet by nows and thens, out of some gear of my own. "

Mr Thomas Hall being looked at by the Synod to see if he assented, confirmed the statement of his arbitrary Tabitha by a submissive nod. 

"I'll give two nobles by the year, " said Ralph, "and a peck of barley bythe quarter, and a cask of beer at Christmas. "

"I will give them a sovereign by the year, " said Roger Hall, "and half abale of cloth from the works, that Master suffers me to buy at costprice. "

"I can't do so much as you, " said Eleanor White, the ironmonger's widow;"but I'll give Collet the worth of an angel in goods by the year, andthe produce of one of the pear-trees in my garden. "

"I can't do much neither, " added Emmet Wilson's husband, the baker; "butI'll give them a penn'orth of bread by the week, and a peck of meal atEaster. "

"And I'll chop all the wood they burn, " said his quiet, studious sonTitus, "and learn the lads to read. "

"Why, Titus, you are offering the most of us all in time and labour!"exclaimed Roger Hall. 

"You've got your work cut and measured, Titus Wilson, " snapped Tabitha. "If one of them lads'll bide quiet while you can drum ABC into his headthat it'll tarry there a week, 'tis more than I dare look for, I cantell you. "

"There's no telling what you can do without you try, " was the pithyanswer of Titus. 

"I've been marvelling what I could do, " said John Banks modestly, "and Iwas a bit beat out of heart by your sovereigns and nobles; for Icouldn't scarce make up a crown by the year. But Titus has showed methe way. I'll learn one of the lads my trade, if Collet 'll agree. "

"Well, then, that is all we can do, it seems--" began Roger, but he wasstopped by a plaintive voice from the couch. 

"Mightn't I do something, Father? I haven't only a sixpence in money;but couldn't I learn Beatrice to embroider, if her mother would spareher?"

"My dear heart, it were to try thy strength too much, I fear, " saidRoger tenderly. 

"But you're all doing something, " said Christie earnestly, "and wasn'tour blessed Lord weary when He sat on the well? I might give Him alittle weariness, mightn't I--when I've got nothing better?"

To the surprise of everybody, Thomas had replied. 

"We're not doing much, measured by that ell-wand, " said the silent man;"but Titus and Banks and Christie, they're doing the most. "

Poor Collet Pardue broke down in a confused mixture of thanks and tears, when she heard the propositions of her friends. She was gratefullywilling to accept all the offers. Three of her boys were alreadyemployed at the cloth-works; one of the younger trio should go to Banksto be brought up a mason. Which would he choose?

Banks looked at the three lads offered him--the noisy Noah, theungovernable Silas, and the lazy Valentine. 

"I'll have Silas, " he said quietly. 

"The worst pickle of the lot!" commented Mrs Tabitha, who made one ofthe deputation. 

"Maybe, " said Banks calmly; "but I see wits there, and I'll hope for aheart, and with them and the grace of God, which Collet and I shall prayfor, we'll make a man of Silas Pardue yet. "

And if John Banks ever regretted his decision, it was not on a certainwinter evening, well into the reign of Elizabeth, when a fine, manly-looking fellow, with a grand forehead wherein "his soul lodgedwell, " and bright intellectual eyes, came to tell him, the humble mason, that he had been chosen from a dozen candidates for the high post ofarchitect of a new church. 

"'Tis your doing, " said the architect, as he wrung the hard hand of themason. "You made a man of me by your teaching and praying, and neverdespairing that I should one day be worth the cost. "

But we must return for a few minutes to Roger Hall's parlour, where heand his little invalid girl were alone on that night when the conferencehad been held. 

"Father, " said Christie, "please tell me what is a cross? and say itlittle, so as I can conceive the same. "

"What manner of cross, sweet heart?"

"You know what our Lord saith, Father--`He that taketh not his cross, and followeth Me, is not worthy of Me. ' I've been thinking a deal on itof late. I wouldn't like not to be worthy of Him. But I can't take mycross till I know what it is. I asked Cousin Friswith, and she said itmeant doing all manner of hard disagreeable things, like the monks andnuns do--eating dry bread and sleeping of a board, and such like. Butwhen I talked with Pen Pardue, she said she reckoned it signified notthat at all. That was making crosses, and our Lord did not mentionthat. So please, Father, what is it?"

"Methinks, my child, Pen hath the right. `Take' is not `make. ' We beto take the cross God layeth on our backs. He makes the crosses; wehave but to take them and bear them. Folks make terrible messes bytimes when they essay to make their own crosses. But thou wouldest knowwhat is a cross? Well, for thee, methinks, anything that cometh acrossthee and makes thee cross. None wist so well as thyself what so doth. "

"But, Father!" said Christie in a tone of alarm. 

"Well, sweet heart?"

"There must be such a lot of them!"

"For some folks, Christie, methinks the Lord carveth out one great heavycross; but for others He hath, as it were, an handful of little lightones, that do but weigh a little, and prick a little, each one. And heknoweth which to give. "

"I think, " said Christie, with an air of profound meditation, "I musthave the little handful. But then, must I carry them all at once?"

"One at once, little Christie--the one which thy Father giveth thee; letHim choose which, and how, and when. By times he may give thee morethan one, but methinks mostly 'tis one at once, though they may changeoft and swiftly. Take _thy_ cross, and follow the Lord Jesus. "

"There's banging doors, " pursued Christie with the same thoughtful air;"that's one. And when my back aches, that's another, and when my headis so, _so_ tired; and when I feel all strings that somebody's pulling, as if I couldn't keep still a minute. That last's one of the biggest, Ireckon. And when--"

The little voice stopped suddenly for a moment. 

"Father, can folks be crosses?"

"I fear they can, dear heart, " replied her father, smiling; "and verysharp ones too. "

Christie kept her next thoughts to herself. Aunt Tabitha and CousinFriswith certainly must be crosses, she mentally decided, and UncleEdward must have been dear Aunt Alice's cross, and a dreadful one. Thenshe came back to the point in hand. 

"How must I `take up' my cross, Father? Doth it mean I must not grumbleat it, and feel as if I wanted to get rid of it as fast as ever Icould?"

Roger smiled and sighed. "That is hard work, Christie, is it not? Butit would be no cross if it were not hard and heavy. Thou canst not butfeel that it will be a glad thing to lay it down; but now, while Godlayeth it on thee, be willing to bear it for His sake. He giveth it forthy sake, that thou mayest be made partaker of His holiness; be thouready to carry it for His. `The cup which My Father hath given Me, shall I not drink it?'"

"There'll be no crosses and cups in heaven, will there, Father?"

"Not one, Christabel. "

"Only crowns and harps?" the child went on thoughtfully. "Aunt Alicehas both, Father. I think she must make right sweet music. I hope Isha'n't be far from her. Perhaps it won't be very long before I hearher. Think you it will, Father?"

Little Christabel had no idea what a sharp cross she had laid on herfather's heart by asking him that question. Roger Hall had to fightwith himself before he answered it, and it was scarcely to her that hisreply was addressed. 

"`Not as I will, but as Thou wilt. ' `He knoweth the way that I take. '`I will not fail thee, neither forsake thee. '"

"Oh, Father, what pretty verses! Were you thinking perhaps you'd missme if I went soon, poor Father? But maybe, I sha'n't, look you. 'Tisonly when I ache so, and feel all over strings, sometimes I think-- Butwe don't know, Father, do we? And we shall both be there, you know. Itwon't signify much, will it, which of us goes first?"

"It will only signify, " said Roger huskily, "to the one that tarrieth. "

"Well, " answered Christie brightly, "and it won't do that long. Ireckon we scarce need mind. "

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR. 

ONCE MORE AT HOME. 

Up and down his garden--or, to speak more accurately, his brother'sgarden--strolled Mr Justice Roberts, his hands behind his back, on amild afternoon at the beginning of December 1558. His thoughts, whichof course we have the privilege of reading, ran somewhat in thisfashion--

"Well, 'tis a mercy all is pretty well settled now. Nothing but joy andwelcome for the Queen's accession. Every man about, pretty nigh, looksas if he had been released from prison, and was so thankful he scarceknew how to express it. To be sure there be a few contradictious folksthat would fain have had the old fashions tarry; but, well-a-day! theybe but an handful. I'll not say I'm not glad myself. I never did lovecommitting those poor wretches that couldn't believe to order. _I_believe in doing your duty and letting peaceable folks be. If they doreckon a piece of bread to be a piece of bread, I'd never burn them forit. "

By this reflection it will be seen that Mr Justice Roberts, in hisheart, was neither a Papist nor a Protestant, but a good-natured Gallio, whose convictions were pliable when wanted so to be. 

"I marvel how soon I shall hear of Tom, " the Justice's meditations wenton. "I cannot let him know anything, for I don't know where he is; Irather guess at Shardeford, with his wife's folks, but I had a care notto find out. He'll hear, fast enough, that it is safe to come home. Ishouldn't wonder--"

The Justice wheeled round suddenly, and spoke aloud this time. "Saintsalive! what's that?"

Nothing either audible or visible appeared for a moment. 

"What was that black thing?" said the Justice to himself. He wasanswered suddenly in loud tones of great gratification. 

"Bow-wow! Bow-wow-wow! Bow-ow-ow-ow-ow!"

"Whatever!" said the Justice to the "black thing" which was careeringabout him, apparently on every side of him at once, leaping into the airas high as his head, trying to lick his face, wagging not only afeathery tail, but a whole body, laughing all over a delighted face, andgenerally behaving itself in a rapturously ecstatic manner. "Art thourejoicing for Queen Elizabeth too? and whose dog art thou? Didst come--tarry, I do think--nay--ay, it is--I verily believe 'tis old Jackhimself!"

"Of course it is!" said Jack's eyes and tail, and every bit of Jack, executing a fresh caper of intense satisfaction. 

"Why, then they must be come!" exclaimed the Justice, and set off forthe front door, pursued by Jack. It is needless to say that Jack wonthe race by considerable lengths. 

"Oh, here's Uncle Anthony!" cried Pandora's voice, as he came in sight. "Jack, you've been and told him--good Jack!"

There is no need to describe the confused, heart-warm greetings on allsides--how kisses were exchanged, and hands were clasped, and sentenceswere begun that were never finished, and Jack assisted at all in turn. But when the first welcomes were over, and the travellers had changedtheir dress, and they sat down to supper, hastily got up by Margery'swilling hands, there was opportunity to exchange real information onboth sides. 

"And where have you been, now, all this while?" asked the Justice. "Inever knew, and rather wished not to guess. "

"At Shardeford, for the first part; then some months with Frances, andlately in a farm-house under Ingleborough--folks that Frances knew, goodGospellers, but far from any priest. And how have matters gone here?"

"There's nought, methinks, you'll be sorry to hear of, save only theburnings at Canterbury. Seven from this part--Mistress Benden, andMistress Final, Fishcock, White, Pardue, Emmet Wilson, and SensBradbridge. They all suffered a few weeks after your departing. "

All held their breath till the list was over. Pandora was the first tospeak. 

"Oh, my poor little Christie!"

"Your poor little Christie, Mistress Dorrie, is like to be less poorthan she was. There is a doctor of medicine come to dwell in Cranbrook, that seems to have somewhat more skill, in her case at least, than ourold apothecary; and you shall find the child going about the house now. He doth not despair, quoth he, that she may yet walk forth after a quietfashion, though she is not like to be a strong woman at the best. "

"Oh, I am so glad, Uncle!" said Pandora, though the tears _were_ stillin her eyes. 

"That Roger Hall is a grand fellow, Tom. He hath kept the works a-goingas if you had been there every day. He saith not much, but he can dowith the best. "

"Ay, he was ever a trustworthy servant, " answered Mr Roberts. "'Tis amarvel to me, though, that he was never arrest. "

"That cannot I conceive!" said the Justice warmly. "The man hath puthis head into more lions' mouths than should have stocked Daniel's den;and I know Dick o' Dover set forth warrants for his taking. It did seemas though he bare a charmed life, that no man could touch him. "

"He is not the first that hath so done, " said Mistress Grena. "Methinks, Master Justice, there was another warrant sent out first--`Iam with thee, and no man shall set on thee to hurt thee. ' There havebeen divers such, I count, during Queen Mary's reign. "

"Maybe, Mistress Grena, maybe; I am not o'er good in such matters. ButI do think, Brother Tom, you should do well to show your sense of Hall'sdiligence and probity. "

"That will I do, if God permit. But there is another to whom I owethanks, Anthony, and that is yourself, to have saved my lands and goodsfor me. "

"Well, Tom, " answered the Justice comically, "you do verily owe methanks, to have eaten your game, and worn out your furniture, and spentyour money, during an whole year and an half. Forsooth, I scarce knowhow you may fitly show your gratefulness toward me for conferring sogreat benefits upon you. "

Mr Roberts laughed. 

"Ah, it pleaseth you to jest, Anthony, " he replied, "but I know fullwell that had you refused my request, 'tis a mighty likelihood I had hadneither house nor furniture to come to. "

"Nay, I was not such a dolt! I marvel who would, when asked to spendanother man's money, and pluck his fruit, and lie of his best bed! ButI tell thee one thing, Tom--I'll pay thee never a stiver of rent formine house that I hold of thee--the rather since I let it to this newdoctor for two pound more, by the year, than I have paid to thee. I'mnone so sure that he'll be ready to turn forth; and if no, happy man bemy dole, for I must go and sing in the gutter, without Jack will give mea corner of his kennel. "

"Jack's owner will be heartily glad to give you a corner of his kennel, Brother Anthony, for so long time as it shall please you to occupy it. Never think on turning forth, I pray you, until you desire to go, at theleast while I live. "

"I thank you right truly, Brother Tom, and will take my advantage ofyour kindliness at least for this present. But, my young mistresses, Ipray you remember that you must needs be of good conditions an' youdwell in the same house with a Justice of Peace, else shall I be forcedto commit you unto gaol. "

"Oh, we'll keep on the windy side of you and the law, Uncle Anthony, "said Gertrude, laughing. "I suppose teasing the life out of one's uncleis not a criminal offence?"

"I shall do my best to make it so, my lady, " was the reply, in tones ofmock severity. 

The rest of the day was devoted to unpacking and settling down, and muchof the next morning was spent in a similar manner. But when theafternoon came Pandora rode down, escorted by old Osmund, to RogerHall's cottage. She was too familiar there now for the ceremony ofwaiting to ring; and she went forward and opened the door of the littleparlour. 

Christabel was standing at the table arranging some flosssilk--"slea-silk" she would have called it--in graduated shades forworking. It was the first time Pandora had ever seen her stand. Downwent the delicate pale green skein in Christie's hand, and where itmight go was evidently of no moment. 

"Mistress Pandora! O dear Mistress Pandora! You've come back! Ihadn't heard a word about it. And look you, I can stand! and I canwalk!" cried Christie, in tones of happy excitement. 

"My dear little Christabel!" said Pandora, clasping the child in herarms. "I am surely glad for thy betterment--very, very glad. Ay, sweetheart, we have come home, all of us, thank God!"

"And you'll never go away again, will you, Mistress Pandora?"

"`Never' is a big word, Christie. But I hope we shall not go again fora great while. "

"Oh, and did anybody tell you, Mistress--about--poor Aunt Alice?" saidChristie, with a sudden and total change of tone. 

"No, Christie, " answered Pandora significantly. "But somebody told metouching thy rich Aunt Alice, that she was richer now and higher thaneven the Queen Elizabeth, and that she should never again lose herriches, nor come down from her throne any more. "

"We didn't know, Mistress--Father and me, we never knew when it shouldbe--we only heard when all was over!"

"Thou mightest well bless God for that, my dear heart. That hour wouldhave been sore hard for thee to live through, hadst thou known itafore. "

The parlour door opened, and they saw Roger Hall standing in thedoorway. 

"Mistress Pandora!" he said. "Thanks be unto God for all His mercies!"

"Amen!" answered both the girls. 

"Methinks, Mr Hall, under God, some thanks be due to you also, "remarked Pandora, with a smile. "Mine aunt and I had fared ill withoutyour pots and pans that time you wot of, and mine uncle hath beenringing your praises in my Father's ears touching your good managementat the cloth-works. "

"I did but my duty, Mistress, " said Roger, modestly. 

"I would we all did the same, Mr Hall, so well as you have done, " addedPandora. "Christie, my sister Gertrude saith she will come and seethee. "

"Oh!" answered Christie, with an intonation of pleasure. "Please, Mistress Pandora, is she as good as you?"

Both Roger and Pandora laughed. 

"How must I answer, Christie?" said the latter. "For, if I say `ay, 'that shall be to own myself to be good; and if `no, ' then were it tospeak evil of my sister. She is brighter and cheerier than I, andloveth laughter and mirth. Most folks judge her to be the fairer andsweeter of the twain. "

"I shall not, " said Christie, with a shake of her head; "of that am Ivery certain. "

Roger privately thought he should not either. 

"Well, " said Christie, "I do hope any way, _now_, all our troubles beover! Please, Mistress Pandora, think you not they shall be?"

"My dear little maid!" answered Pandora, laughing. 

"Not without we be in Heaven, Christie, " replied her Father, "andmethinks we have scarce won thither yet. "

Christabel looked extremely disappointed. 

"Oh, dear!" she said, "I made sure we should have no more, now QueenElizabeth was come in. Must we wait, then, till we get to Heaven, Father?"

"Wait till we reach Heaven, sweet heart, for the land where we shall nomore say, `I am sick, ' either in health or heart. It were not good forus to walk ever in the plains of ease; we should be yet more apt than webe to build our nests here, and forget to stretch our wings upwardtoward Him who is the first cause and the last end of all hope andgoodness. 'Tis only when we wake up after His likeness, to be with Himfor ever, that we shall be satisfied with it. "

THE END.