Mistress Margery, A Tale of the Lollards, by Emily Sarah Holt. ________________________________________________________________________

This is a short book, but it was quite hard to transcribe on account ofso much of it being in mediaeval English, with its inconsistent anduncouth spelling. 

Margery is a young woman of high birth, who goes one day to hear asermon preached by one of the new Lollards, who advise people to readthe Bible as recently translated by Wycliffe, and to believe only whatthey find therein. This was directly contrary to the view of theofficial church, which had made up all sorts of doctrines that could beseen to be not at all supported by the words of the Gospel. Margery canonly get hold of a copy of the Gospel according to Saint John. 

Margery is very much struck with the words of the Gospel, despite thehostility of all around her. Everyone was far too afraid of the extremepunishment meted out by "Holy Church" to those who questioned itsteachings. And Margery ends up by being burnt at the stake for herbelief in the Gospel, as opposed to what was taught by the Church. 

But you will learn a lot about upper-class life in the early years ofthe fifteenth century, and if you can put up with the forms of speech, you will gain thereby. Not recommended for audiobook, since a greatdeal of editing, such as removal of footnotes, conversion of mediaevalspeech to modern, and so forth. 

________________________________________________________________________MISTRESS MARGERY, A TALE OF THE LOLLARDS, BY EMILY SARAH HOLT. 

CHAPTER ONE. 

A REGULAR OF OXENFORDE. 

 "Give me the book, and let me read; My soul is strangely stirred-- They are such words of love and truth As ne'er before I heard!"

 Mary Howitt. 

The sun was shining brightly on the battlements and casements of LovellTower. The season was spring, and the year 1395. Within the house, though it was barely seven o'clock in the morning, all was bustle andconfusion, for Dame Lovell was superintending her handmaidens in thepreparation of dinner. A buxom woman was Dame Lovell, neither tall norshort, but decidedly stout, with a round, good-natured face, which justthen glowed and burned under the influence of the fire roaring on thelarge grateless hearth. She wore a black dress, heavily trimmed at thebottom with fur, and she carried on her head one of those remarkableelevations generally known as the Syrian or conical head-dress, made ofblack stiffened gauze, and spangled with golden stars. Her assistants, mostly girls of from sixteen to twenty-five years of age, were occupiedin various parts of the kitchen; while Mistress Katherine, astaid-looking woman of middle age, who filled a post somewhat similar tothe modern one of housekeeper, was employed at a side table in mixingsome particularly elaborate compound. Among this busy throng moved DameLovell, now giving a stir to a pot, and now peeping into a pan, boxingthe ears of any maiden who appeared remiss in her duty, and generallykeeping up a strict and active supervision. 

"Nan, thy leeks be not hewn small enough. Cicely, look to the pottage, that it boil not over. Al'ce, thou idle jade!"--with a sound box on theear, --"thou hast left out the onions in thy blanch-porre! Margery!Madge! Why, Madge, I say! Where is Mistress Margery, maidens? Joan, lass, hie thee up, and see whether Mistress Margery be not in thechamber. "

Joan, a diminutive girl of sixteen, quitted the parsley she waschopping, and ran lithely out of the room, to which she soon returned, and, dropping a courtesy, announced that "Mistress Margery was in herchamber, and was coming presently, "--which latter word, in the year1395, meant not "by and by, " as it now does, but "at present. " MistressMargery verified the assertion of Joan by following her into the kitchenalmost immediately. And since Mistress Margery is to play the importantpart of heroine, it may be well to devote a few words to her person andcostume. She is the only child of Sir Geoffrey Lovell, Knight, and DameAgnes Lovell, and is now seventeen years of age; rather under the middleheight, slenderly formed, with an appearance of great fragility anddelicacy; her complexion is very fair, of that extreme fairness whichoften betokens disease, and her face almost colourless. Her featuresare regular, and classical in their contour; her eyes are a clear grey--honest, truthful eyes, that look straight at you; and her hair, which isalmost long enough, when let down, to touch her feet, is of that palegolden colour so much celebrated in the Middle Ages, and so very rarelyto be seen now. Mistress Margery's attire comprises a black dress, sostiff, partly from its own richness of material, and partly withwhalebone, that it is quite capable of standing upright without anyassistance from Mistress Margery's person. Its trimming consists of aborder of gris, or marten's fur; and over this black petticoat the younglady wears a cote-hardie, or close-fitting jacket, also edged with gris. Her head is not encumbered by the steeplecap which disfigures hermother; instead of it she wears the beautiful "dove-cote, " a net ofgolden tissue, ornamented with pearls, within which her hair isconfined. 

It may also be as well to notice here, that Mistress Margery is highlyaccomplished. Of course she can play the lute, and sing, and workelaborate and delicate embroidery, and compound savoury dishes; andequally of course does she know any nobleman or gentleman by a glance athis shield, and can tell you in a moment to whom belong the three lionsrampant sable, and who owns the bend engrailed argent on a field gules. These are but the ordinary acquirements of a gentlewoman; but ourheroine knows more than this. Mistress Margery can read; and thehandmaidens furthermore whisper to each other, with profound admirationof their young mistress's extraordinary knowledge, that Mistress Margerycan _write_. Dame Lovell cannot do either; but Sir Geoffrey, who is aliterary man, and possesses a library, has determined that his daughtershall receive a first-rate education. Sir Geoffrey's library is a verylarge one, for it consists of no less than forty-two volumes, five ofwhich are costly illuminated manuscripts, and consist of the Quest ofthe Sangraal [see Note 1], the Travels of Sir John Maundeville, theChronicle of Matthew Paris, Saint Augustine's City of God, and aBreviary. Dame Lovell has no Breviary, and as she could not read it ifshe had, does not require one; but Margery, having obtained her father'spermission to do so, has employed her powers of writing and illuminatingin making an elaborate copy of his Breviary for her own use; and from anillumination in this book, not quite finished, representing JudasIscariot in parti-coloured stockings, and Saint Peter shooting atMalchus with a cross-bow, is Margery now summoned away to the kitchen. 

Margery entered the kitchen with a noiseless step, and making a lowcourtesy to her mother, said, in a remarkably clear, silvery voice, "Itpleased you to send for me, good mother. "

"Yea, lass; give a hand to the blanch-porre, for Al'ce knows no morethan my shoe; and then see to the grewall, whilst I scrape these almondsfor the almond butter. "

Margery quietly performed her task, and spoke to the mortified Al'ce ina much gentler tone than Dame Lovell had done. She was occupied in thepreparation of "eels in grewall, " a kind of eel-stew, when a slenderyouth, a little older than herself, and attired in the usual costume ofa page, entered the kitchen. 

"Why, Richard Pynson, " cried Dame Lovell, "thou art a speedy messenger, in good sooth. I looked not for thee until evensong. "

"I finished mine errand, good mistress, " replied the youth, "earlier bymuch than I looked for to do. "

"Hast heard any news, Richard?"

"None, mistress mine, unless it be news that a homily will be preachedin Bostock Church on Sunday next ensuing, by a regular of Oxenforde, oneMaster Sastre. "

The grewall was standing still, and Margery was listening intently tothe words of Richard Pynson, as he carelessly leaned against the wall. 

"Will you go, Mistress Margery?"

Margery looked timidly at her mother. "I would like well to go, " saidshe, "an' it might stand with your good pleasure. "

"Ay, lass, go, " replied Dame Lovell, good-naturedly. "It is seldom wehave a homily in Bostock Church. Parson Leggatt is not much given topreaching, meseemeth. "

"I will go with you, Master Pynson, " said Margery, resuming theconcoction of the dainty dish before her, "with a very good will, for Ishould like greatly to hear the Reverend Father. I never yet heardpreach a scholar of Oxenforde. "

Dame Lovell moved away to take the pottage off the fire, and Pynson, approaching Margery, whispered to her, "They say that this Master Sastrepreacheth strange things, like as did Master John Wycliffe a whileagone; howbeit, since Holy Church interfereth not, I trow we may well goto hear him. "

Margery's colour rose, and she said in a low voice, "It will do us noharm, trow?"

"I trust not so, " answered Richard; and, taking up his hunting-bag, hequitted the room. 

"Why, Cicely!" exclaimed Dame Lovell, turning round from the pottage, "had I wist thou hadst put no saffron herein, thou shouldst have hadmine hand about thine ears, lass! Bring the saffron presently! Nosaffron, quotha!"

Before we accompany Margery and Richard to hear the homily of MasterSastre, it might perhaps be as well to prevent any misunderstanding onthe part of the reader with respect to Richard Pynson. He is the pageof Sir Geoffrey Lovell, and the son of Sir John Pynson of Pynsonlee; forin the year 1395, wherein our story opens, it is the custom for younggentlemen, even the sons of peers, to be educated as page or squire tosome neighbouring knight of wealth and respectability. Richard Pynson, therefore, though he may seem to occupy a subordinate position, is inevery respect the equal of Margery. 

The morning on which Master Sastre was to deliver his homily was one ofthose delicious spring days which seem the immediate harbingers ofsummer. Margery, in her black dress, and with a warm hood over hercote-hardie, was assisted by her father to mount her pillion, RichardPynson being already seated before her on the grey palfrey; for in thedays of pillions, if the gentleman assisted the lady on her pillion_before_ he mounted himself, he ran imminent risk of knocking her offwhen he should attempt to mount. They rode leisurely to church, thedistance being about two miles, and a little foot-page ran beside themcharged with the care of the palfrey, while they attended the service. Mass was performed by the parish priest, but the scholar from Oxford, who sat in the sedilia, where Margery could scarcely see him, took nopart in the service beyond reading the Gospel. 

The sermons of that day, as a rule, may be spoken of in two classes. Either the preacher would read a passage of Scripture in Latin, andthrow in here and there a few remarks by way of commentary, or else thesermon was a long and dry disquisition upon some of the (frequently veryabsurd) dogmas of the schoolmen; such as, whether angels were synonymouswith spirits, which of the seven principal angels was the chief, howlong it took Gabriel to fly from heaven to earth at the Annunciation, atwhat time of day he appeared, how he was dressed, etcetera, Sastre'sdiscourse could not be comprised in either of these classes. He readhis text first, as usual, in Latin, but then he said:

"And now, brethren and sistren, to declare in the vulgar tongue unto youthat have not the tongues, this passage of God's Word as sueth. " [Suethmeans follows]. 

"_The Lombe that was slayn is worthi to take vertue and Godhed andwisdom and strengthe and onour and glorie and blessyng_!"

Note: it will readily be seen that all the quotations from Scripture inthis story are necessarily taken from Wycliffe's translation. 

What followed was no scholastic disquisition, no common-place remarks onthe passage chosen. "The Lamb that was slain" was the beginning and theend of Sastre's discourse. He divided his sermon into the followingsubjects. "Who is the Lamb?--how and why was He slain?--why is Heworthy?--and, who are the speakers in the text who thus proclaim Hisworthiness?" He showed them, by a reference to the Mosaic sacrifices, why Christ was called a Lamb; he told them most fully that He died, theJust for the unjust, that He might bring us to God; he placed completelybefore his audience the full and free and finished nature of His perfectwork: he told them that God's love to sinners was such that He gave outof His bosom His own dear Son, the Son of His love, that their sinsmight be counted His, and that His righteousness might be accountedtheirs. And under his last head, he spoke of that holy, happy citywhereinto no sin, nor harm, nor death could ever enter; whosefoundations were gems, and whose gates pearls; the dwelling-place of theblessed ones, who having washed their robes, and made them white in theblood of the Lamb, would never rest day nor night in singing the praisesof His worthiness. 

Sastre also drew the attention of his hearers to the fact that theascription of praise in the text was made by the angels. "In all thisBook, " remarked he, "I find nowhere such like laud as this given untoany but God only. The blessed angels do worship unto the Lamb, but Isee not any offer for to do worship unto the angels, save only SaintJohn himself, who doth twice fall down to worship afore the feet of theangel which did show these things unto him. But I find not the angel inany wise gladded with the same. Nay, the blessed John doth receive asharp rebuking of his folly: `See thou that thou do not, ' saith theangel; `worschipe thou God. ' Wherefore, good friends, ye may see hencehow foolish are they who do worship unto the blessed angels: and howgrievous would be the same unto those good spirits of God if they didknowledge it. Whether or no they be witting of such matters, I wis not, for this Book saith nought thereupon; but ye see, friends, that if theywit it, it doth anger them; and if they wit it not, what are ye thebetter for praying unto them? Moreover, meseemeth for the same reason, that the blessed Virgin Saint Mary, who is now in heaven with her Sonand Lord, Christ, would not be in any wise over well pleased if she wisthow men do worship unto her on the earth. And the like, I trow, may besaid of all God's saints. "

At the conclusion of his sermon, Sastre leaned forward over the pulpitand spoke in a low, earnest, loving tone. "Who is here, good friends, "asked he, "that loveth this blessed Lord Jesu, the Lamb that was slain?Who is here who will give up this vile and wretched world for His sake?Who that will sue [follow] this blessed Lamb whithersoever He goeth, even though He lead along the sharp way called tribulation, or the wearyway called prison, or the bitter way called poverty, or even verilythrough the low and dark door called death? Who is here? Is there noneI beseech you, good friends, hath Christ no souls in this place? Whenthe blessed angels count up the number of the purchased ones, will yehave them leave Bostock out of their reckoning? Shall it be worse thanSodom and Gomorrah, wherein there was _one_ soul that was saved? Isthere not _one_ here? Nay, brethren, I trust it is not so. I trust yewill come, yea in numbers, yea in throngs, yea in multitudes, and crowdon Christ to touch the hem of His blessed garment, that is the power ofHis great mercy. Christ loveth to have folk crowd on Him to cry Himmercy. I read not that ever He complained of the crowding of themultitude. I read not that ever He turned away so much as one poorcaitiff [sinner] who came unto Him. I read not that His lips plainedever of aught but that they came not--that they lacked faith. I am anold man, friends, and in all likelihood shall I never come here again;but I say unto you that I shall scan well the multitude in the whiteapparel for the faces which be upturned unto me this day. I pray youthat I miss them not. I pray God that ye--yea, that every man and womanof you, may be clothed in yon glistering and shene [bright] raiment, andmay lift up your voices to cry, `The Lamb is worthy' in the city ofGod!"

That sermon was a strange thing to Margery Lovell. Never, from the dayof her birth to that day, had she heard as she now heard of the Lambthat was slain. For above a mile of their way home Richard and Margerykept perfect silence, which the latter was the first to break justbefore they came in sight of Lovell Tower. 

"Master Pynson, we have heard strange things to-day. "

"We have, of a truth, Mistress Margery. I wonder whether Master Sastrebe right. "

"I wish greatly, " replied Margery, "that I could get the book wherein Ihave heard that Master Wycliffe rendered God's Word into the vulgartongue. I could see then whether Master Sastre were right. I would Iknew of any man who had that book!"

"Master Carew of Marston told me some time agone, " said Richard, ratherhesitatingly, "that he had the Gospel according to John the Apostle, copied out by a feat [clever] scribe from Master Wycliffe's renderingthereof. "

"O Master Pynson!" said Margery, entreatingly, "I pray you that you askgood Master Carew to lend me that book! Tell him that Mistress MargeryLovell will lay her best jewels to pledge that she returneth the booksafe. I must see that book Master Pynson!"

"Softly, I pray you, good Mistress Margery, " answered Richard, smiling;"it were well to go warily to work; for wot you not that MasterWycliffe--ay, and Master Sastre too--be accounted heretics by some? Youwould not, trow, fall under the ban of Holy Church?"

"I would with a good will do aught, or bear aught, " replied Margery, earnestly, "so I might wit of a surety that I should be one of those whowear the white apparel, and cry, `The Lamb is worthy' in the city ofGod!"

"Well, Mistress Margery, " said Richard, soothingly, "I will do my bestfor to get you the book, but it may be some time ere I see MasterCarew. "

Dame Lovell herself was standing on the steps of Lovell Tower, apparently looking out for the riders, for as soon as they came withinhearing distance she raised her voice to say, "Richard Pynson! SirGeoffrey would speak with you. Come in quickly, I pray you, and leavethe handmaidens to help Mistress Margery from her pillion. "

"I need no help, good mother, " said Margery, as she sprang lightly fromher seat, while Richard hurried into the house to find Sir Geoffrey. 

"Sir Geoffrey would send Richard Pynson to Marston, " said Dame Lovell, as she preceded Margery into the hall. "And how liked you MasterSastre, Madge?"

"Very greatly, good mother; never heard I before a homily so brave. "

"That is well, " said Dame Lovell, and disappeared into the kitchen, asMargery ran up-stairs to her own room, and brought down in her hand avaluable necklace. Richard came into the banqueting-hall from one door, as Margery made her appearance from the opposite one. 

"I have a letter from Sir Geoffrey to bear to Sir Ralph Marston, " saidhe. "Have you any commands for Marston, Mistress Margery?" hemischievously added. 

"Master Pynson, " said Margery, earnestly, in a low tone, "I pray you totake this jewel to Master Carew, and to leave it in pledge with him, incase he will lend me the book. If he value it at more than this, I cansend other jewels; but, Master Pynson, bring me the book!"

Richard placed the necklace for safety in the bosom of his doublet, andanswered, "Fear not, good mistress; if I bring you not the book, itshall not be for lack of entreaty. Only hope not too much, for I maychance to fail. "

"Pray God he lend you the book!" was her only answer. 

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Note. The Sangraal was the vessel in which the wine was contained whichChrist gave to His disciples, saying, "Drink ye all of this;" thisvessel was supposed to have been brought into England by Joseph ofArimathea; and the "quest" or search for this important relic formed oneof the chief adventures of the Knights of the Round Table. 

CHAPTER TWO. 

A LATE DINNER. 

 "And there is something in this book That makes all care be gone, And yet I weep--I know not why-- As I go reading on!"

 Mary Howitt. 

Margery went into the kitchen, and helped to prepare supper, under thedirections of Dame Lovell, and then she returned to her own room, andtried to finish her illumination of Peter and Malchus; but she could notcommand her thoughts sufficiently to paint well, so much was her heartset on "the book. " Therefore she sat with her hands folded in her lap, and tried to recall Sastre's sermon. Then came supper-time, and Margerywent down to the banqueting-hall; and after supper, having begged herparents' blessing before retiring to rest, she came back to her chamber. But she did not attempt to undress. When the sun set, a red gloryabove the tree-tops, she was watching at her casement for RichardPynson; and when the silver moon and the little golden stars had takenthe sun's place in the heavens, she was watching still. At last sheheard the sound of a horse's feet, and stole softly down the privatestaircase which led from her room to the hall. As Richard entered thehall, Margery softly murmured his name. 

"What, Mistress Margery!" he cried, in astonishment. "You here! Youhave watched well for the book, and--there it is. "

And Richard drew from the bag slung over his shoulder a small quartovolume. 

"Oh, thanks, good Master Pynson, a thousand thanks!" cried Margery, indelight. "And how long season may I keep the book?"

"Master Carew said, " returned Pynson, "that he asked not jewels for thesafe-keeping of the book, for the word of a Lovell was enough, " andRichard drew the necklace from his bosom and handed it to Margery. "Hewill lend the book for one month's time. He said, furthermore, that helent it, not because he loved it not, but because he prayed that you, Mistress Margery, might know and love it too. "

"Amen!" was Margery's answer, as she folded the book to her bosom, andcrept softly back to her chamber--but not to bed. The first thing shedid was to take off her petticoat and cote-hardie, and to put on a loosedressing-gown of grey serge. Then she divested herself of herhead-dress, and allowed her fair hair to flow down over her shoulderswithout restraint. Having thus rendered herself comfortable, she seatedherself in a carved chair, furnished with an ample cushion, andproceeded to examine the book. 

The book was bound in leather, dark brown in colour, and simple inworkmanship. It was clasped with two small clasps of common metal, washed over with silver; the leaves were of vellum, and on the firstpage was a badly-drawn and violently-coloured illumination of Christ andthe Samaritan woman. Stops (as a rule) it had not, except a full stophere and there; and capitals there were none, with the occasionalexception of a letter in red ink. Notwithstanding this, the manuscript, being written in a clear small hand, was very legible to eyes accustomedto read only black letter. At first Margery felt as if she were doingwrong in reading the book, but her curiosity drew her on, as well as herearnest desire to know more of those "strange things" of which Sastrehad spoken in his sermon. Margery had taken the precaution of fasteningthe door before she commenced the study of the book. After the firstglance which had made her acquainted with the particulars above noticed, she opened the book at random near the middle, and her eye fell on thefollowing words:--

"_Be not your herte afrayed, ne drede it; ye bileuen in God, and bileeueye in me. In the hous of my Fadir ben manye dwellingis; if ony thingelasse, I hadde seid to you; for I go to make readi to you a place. Andif I go to make redy to you a place, eftsoone I come, and I schal takeyou to my silf, that where I am, ye be_. " John xiv. 1-3. 

Never before had Margery read words like these. "Be not your herteafrayed!" Why, the one feeling which she was taught was more acceptableto God than any other, was fear. "In the hous of my Fadir ben manyedwellingis. " Margery clasped her hands above her head, and laid headand hands upon the open volume; and in the agony of her earnestness shecried aloud, "O Lamb that was slain, hast thou not made ready a dwellingfor Margery Lovell!"

Margery read on, and the more she read the more she wondered. TheChurch did not teach as this book did, and _both_ could not be right. Which, then, was wrong? How could the Church be wrong, which was thedepository of God's truth? And yet, how could the holy apostle be wrongin reporting the words of Christ?

Many times over during that night did Margery's thoughts arrangethemselves in this manner. At one time she thought that nothing couldpossibly supersede the infallibility of the Church; at another she sawthe complete impossibility of anything being able to stand for a momentagainst the infallibility of God. The only conclusion at which shecould arrive was a determination to read the volume, and judge forherself. She read on. "_I am weye, treuthe, and lyf; no man cometh tothe Fadir but by me_. " [John xiv. 6. ] Were these words the words ofChrist? And what way had Margery been taught? Obedience to the Church, humility, penances, alms-giving--works always, Christ never. Couldthese be the right way? She went on, till the tears ran down her cheekslike rain--till her heart throbbed and her soul glowed with feelings shehad never felt before--till the world, and life, and death, and thingspresent, all seemed to be nothing, and Christ alone seemed to beeverything. She read on, utterly oblivious of the flight of time, andregardless that darkness had given place to light, until the fall ofsomething in the room below, and the voice of Dame Lovell calling forCicely, suddenly warned her that the house was astir. Margery sprangup, her heart beating now for a different reason. She hurriedly closedthe book, and secreted it in a private cupboard, of which she alone hadthe key, and where she generally kept her jewels, and any littletrinkets on which she set a special value. Margery's next act, I fear, was indefensible; for it was to throw the cover and pillows of her bedinto confusion, that the maids might suppose it had been occupied asusual. She then noiselessly unfastened the door, and proceeded with herdressing, so that when, a few minutes after, Dame Lovell came panting upthe stairs, and lifted the latch, the only thing she noticed was Margerystanding before the mirror, and fastening up her hair with what shecalled a pin, and what we should, I suspect, designate a metallicskewer. 

"What, Madge, not donned yet?" was Dame Lovell's greeting. "How thouhast overslept thyself, girl! Dost know it is already five of theclock, and thy father and I have been stirring above an hour?"

"Is it so late, of a truth?" asked Margery, in dismay. "I cry youmercy, good mother!"

And Margery was thinking what excuse she could use by way of apology, when Dame Lovell's next words set her at rest, as they showed that themind of that good lady was full of other thoughts than her daughter'slate rising. 

"Grand doings, lass!" said she, as she sat down in the carved arm-chair. "Grand doings, of a truth, Madge!"

"Where, good mistress mine?"

"Where?" said Dame Lovell, lifting her eyebrows. "Why, here, in LovellTower. Where should they be else? Richard Pynson was so late ofreturning from Marston that he saw not thy father until this morrow. "

"I heard him come. "

"Wert awake?"

"Yea. I was awake a long season!"

"Poor lass!" said her mother. "No marvel thou art late. But harken towhat I was about to tell thee. Sir Ralph Marston and his kinsman theLord Marnell, dine with us to-day. "

"To-day?"

"Yea, to-day. Dear, dear, dear, dear! What folk must they be that livein London town! Marry, Sir Ralph sent word by Richard Pynson, prayingus not to dine until one of the clock, for that the Lord Marnell is notused to it at an earlier hour. I marvel when they sup! I trow it isnot until all Christian folk be a-bed!"

"Dwells the Lord Marnell in London?" inquired Margery, with surprise;for Margery was more astonished and interested to hear of a noblemanfrom London dining with her parents than a modern young lady would be iftold that a Chinese mandarin was expected. 

"Yea, truly, in London dwells he, and is of the bedchamber to our Lordthe King, and a great man, Madge! Hie thee down when thou art dressed, child, and make up thy choicest dishes. But, good Saint Christopher!how shall I do from seven to one of the clock without eating? I willbid Cicely serve a void at ten. "

And so saying, Dame Lovell bustled downstairs as quickly as hercorpulence would allow her, and Margery followed, a few minutes later. While the former was busy in the hall, ordering fresh rushes to bespread, and the tables set, Margery repaired to the ample kitchen, where, summoning the maids to assist her, and tying a large coarse apronround her, she proceeded to concoct various dishes, reckoned at thattime particularly choice. There are few books more curious than acookery-book five hundred years old. 

Our forefathers appear to have used joints of meat much less frequentlythan the smaller creatures, whether flesh or fowl, hares, rabbits, chickens, capons, etcetera. Of fish, eels excepted, they ate little ornone out of Lent. Potatoes, of course, they had none; and rice was sorare that it figured as a "spice;" but to make up for this, they ate, apparently, almost every green thing that grew in their gardens, rose-leaves not excepted. Of salt they had an unutterable abhorrence. Sugar existed, but it was very expensive, and honey was often usedinstead. Pepper and cloves were employed in immense quantities. Thearticle which appears to have held with them the corresponding place tothat of salt with us, and which was never omitted in any dish, no matterwhat its other component parts, was saffron. In corroboration of theseremarks, I append one very curious receipt, --a dish which formed one ofthe principal covers on Sir Geoffrey Lovell's table:--

"Farsure of Hare. 

"Take hares and flee [flay] hom, and washe hom in broth of fleshe withthe blode; then boyle the brothe and scome [skim] hit wel and do hit ina pot, and more brothe thereto. And take onyons and mynce horn and puthom in the pot, and set hit on the fyre and let hit sethe [boil], andtake bred and stepe hit in wyn and vynegur, and drawe hit up and do hitin the potte, and pouder of pepur and clowes, and maces hole [whole], and pynes, and raysynges of corance [currants], then take and parboylewel the hare, and choppe hym on gobettes [small pieces] and put him intoa faire [clean] urthen pot; and do thereto clene grese, and set hit onthe fyre, and stere hit wele tyl hit be wel fryed; then caste hit in thepot to the broth, an do therto pouder of canell [cinnamon] and sugur;and let hit boyle togedur, and colour hit wyth saffron, and serve hitforthe. "

It will be noticed from this that our ancestors had none of our vulgarprejudices with respect to onions, neither had they any regard to theScriptural prohibition of blood. The utter absence of all prescriptionof quantities in these receipts is delightfully indefinite. 

There were many other dishes to this important dinner beside the"farsure of hare;" and on this occasion most of the rabbits and chickenswere entire, and not "chopped on gobbettes;" for the feast was "for alord, " and lords were permitted to eat whole birds and beasts, while theless privileged commonalty had to content themselves with "gobbettes. "

When Margery had concluded her preparations for dinner, she went intothe garden to gather rosemary and flowers, which she disposed in variousparts of the hall, laying large bunches of rosemary in all availableplaces. All was now ready, and Margery washed her hands, took off herapron, and ran up into her own room, to pin on her shoulder a"quintise, " in other words, a long streamer of cherry-coloured ribbon. 

The guests arrived on horseback about half-past twelve, and RichardPynson ushered them into the hall, and ran into the kitchen to informDame Lovell and Margery, adding that "he pitied Lord Marnell's horse, " aremark the signification of which became apparent when the ladiespresented themselves in the banqueting-hall. Sir Geoffrey was alreadythere, conversing with his guests. Margery expected to find LordMarnell similar to his cousin, Sir Ralph Marston, whom she already knew, and who was a pleasant, gentlemanly man of about forty years of age, always joking with everybody, and full of fun. But she did not expectwhat she now saw. 

The great man from London, who sat in a large oak-chair in the hall, wasa great man in all corporeal senses. He was very tall, and stout inproportion; an older man than his cousin Sir Ralph, perhaps ten orfifteen years older; and there was something in his face which madeMargery drop her eyes in an instant. It was a very curious face. Theupper part--the eyes and forehead--was finely-formed, and showed atleast an average amount of intellect; but from the nose downward theform and expression of the features were suggestive only of theanimal, --a brutal, sensual, repelling look. Margery, who had looked forthe great man from London with girlish curiosity, suddenly felt anunconquerable and causeless dislike to him swell up in her heart, asomething which she could neither define nor account for, that made herwish to avoid sitting near him, and turn her eyes away whenever his weredirected towards her. 

Sir Geoffrey presented his wife and daughter to Lord Marnell, and SirRalph came forward with a cordial greeting; after which they took theirseats at table, for Richard Pynson was already bringing in the "farsureof hare, " and Mistress Katherine following with the pottage. Theoccupants of the high table, on the dais, consisted of Sir Geoffrey andDame Lovell, Lord Marnell, Sir Ralph Marston, Margery, Richard Pynson, Mistress Katherine, and Friar Andrew Rous, Sir Geoffrey's chaplain. Themaids sat at the second table, and the farm-servants at a third, lowerdown the hall. Sir Ralph, as usual, was full of fun, and spared nobody, keeping the whole table in a roar of laughter, excepting Lord Marnell, who neither laughed at his cousin's jokes, nor offered any observationsof his own, being wholly occupied with the discussion of the variousdishes as they were presented to him, and consuming, according to thejoint testimony of Dame Lovell and Friar Andrew after the feast, "enoughto last seven men for a week. " When dinner was over, and "the tableslifted, " the company gathered round the fire, and proceeded to makethemselves comfortable. Sir Ralph sang songs, and told funny anecdotes, and cracked jokes with the young people; while Lord Marnell, inconversation with Sir Geoffrey, showed that the promise of neither halfof his face was entirely unfulfilled, by proving himself a shrewdobserver, and not a bad talker. In the midst of this conversation, SirRalph, turning round to Sir Geoffrey, inquired if he had heard anythingof a certain sermon that had been preached the day before at BostockChurch. 

"I heard of it, " answered he, "but I heard it not. Some of mine, methinks, heard the same. Madge, wentest not thou thereto?"

"Ay, good father, I went with Master Pynson. "

"Ah!" said Sir Ralph. "I went not, for the which I now grieve, the moreas my good cousin telleth me that Master Sastre is accounted a great oneby some--but these seem not of the best. "

"Misconceive me not, fair cousin, " said Lord Marnell. "It is only theLollards that think well of the man, and thou wottest that Holy Churchlooketh not kindly on their evil doings. That ill priest, JohnWycliffe, who is accounted their leader, hath done more hurt to thefaith than any heretic these many years. "

"Thou art but ill affected unto them, I trow, " said Sir Ralph, jokingly. 

"Ill affected!" exclaimed Lord Marnell, bringing down his hand violentlyupon the arm of his chair, with a blow which made Margery start. "I cryyou mercy, fair mistress--but if I knew of any among my kin or meynie[Household retinue] that leaned that way--ay, were it mine own sister, the Prioress of Kennington--I tell thee, Ralph, I would have her upbefore the King's Grace's council, and well whipped!"

Margery shuddered slightly. Sir Ralph leaned back in his chair, andlaughed heartily. 

"Well said, fair cousin mine! But I pray thee, tell me what doctrineshold these men, that thou wouldst have them all up afore the King'sGrace's council, and well whipped?"

"All manner of evil!" answered Lord Marnell, wrathfully. "They hold, asI hear, that the blessed Sacrament of the Altar is in no wise the truebody of Christ, but only a piece of bread blessed by the priest, and tobe eaten in memory of His death; for the which reason also they wouldallow the lay folk to drink Christ's blood. Moreover, they say that theblessed angels and God's saints be not to be worshipped, but only to beheld in reverence and kindly memory. Also, they give to the commonpeople the Scriptures of God's Word for to read, which we wot well isonly fit for priests. And in all things which they do, I find not thatthese evil wretches do hold any true thing as taught by Holy Church, butone, which is masses for souls departed. I wis not much concerningthem, for they move mine anger. "

"I pray your good Lordship, " asked Sir Geoffrey, "can you tell mewhether these men be in great force in London or thereabouts at thistime? Find they any favour in the Court?"

"They be ever increasing, " said Lord Marnell "so much so that the King'scouncil have seen good to prepare some orders against them--forbiddingof their assemblages, and such like--for to present unto the Parliament. These orders provide, as my good friend holy Abbot Bilson did tell me, that all convicted to be Lollards shall suffer close prison, for longeror shorter time, as pleaseth the King's Grace. I trow they find notfavour at Court with many, but the few that look well on them be unhaplyof the highest. I have heard say that some in the Duke of Lancaster'spalace show them favour, and it is no news that the Queen--whose soulGod pardon!--did lean that way. In all open hours she was reading ofScripture in the vulgar tongue. Master Sastre, the priest, who my faircousin telleth me was a-preaching in Bostock Church yestermorn, is, Itake it, one of their chief men, and did learn of Master Wycliffehimself. I trow he will find it go hard with him if ever he cometh nearLondon again. He goeth a-preaching of his doctrines up and down therealm, and perverting from the faith evilly-disposed men and sely[simple, unlearned] damsels who lack something to set their tonguesrunning. "

Sir Ralph here made a remark which turned the conversation; for thisMargery was sorry, as it had interested her extremely. Lord Marnell'sremarks taught her more about the Lollards than she had ever knownbefore. So the Queen read the Bible in English! thought she. Whyshould not I do the same? She sat wrapped in her own thoughts for along time, and when she roused herself from them, she noticed that DameLovell had quitted the room, and that Sir Ralph and Sir Geoffrey weretalking politics, wherein they were occupied in proving, to theunqualified satisfaction of each, that there was "something rotten inthe State, " and that England could not last very long, her only businessbeing to demolish France. And Margery, finding the conversation nowextremely dull--though had she for an instant suspected the turn itwould take in her absence, she certainly would never have gone--slippedout, and joined the more noisy party in the kitchen, where she foundDame Lovell seated in the chimney-corner and inveighing ferventlyagainst late hours. 

"An it be not three of the clock already, " said that angry lady, "I am aheathen Jew, and no Christian! Time to prepare supper for Christianfolk--but when that great hulk of a man, that can do nothing in thisworld but eat, thinks to sup, I wis not! Marry, I trow that nought morewill go down his throat until evensong! I marvel if our grandsons willbe as great fools as we be!"

"More, Dame, " answered Mistress Katherine, sententiously. She was awoman who very seldom spoke, and when she did, compressed all her ideasinto as few words as would serve the purpose. 

"Nay, Saint Christopher! I hope not, " said Dame Lovell. "And what am Ifor to do now? Madge, lass, open the door and bid hither RichardPynson. "

Margery softly opened the door into the hall; and as softly called theperson who answered to that name. He rose, and came to her, and SirGeoffrey and Lord Marnell, who were in low-toned, earnest conversation, suddenly stopped as she appeared. 

"Richard, " said Dame Lovell, in what she doubtlessly intended for awhisper, "I pray thee, good youth, to go in softly, and privily demandof Sir Ralph what time he list to sup. "

Richard executed the order, and, returning, closed the door behind him. 

"Sir Ralph saith, good mistress mine, that the Lord Marnell when at homesuppeth not afore six of the clock; but he prayeth you for to sup whenyou will, to the which he will without doubt accommodate himself. "

"Six of the clock!" cried Dame Lovell, in amazement. "Richard, art surethou heardest aright?"

"Certes, good mistress. "

Dame Lovell sat in silent horror. 

"Well!" said she at length, "if ever in all my days did I hear of a likething! Cicely, serve a void in my privy chamber at four of the clock. This poor country of ours may well go to wrack, if its rulers sup notafore six of the clock! Dear, dear, dear! I marvel if the blessedVirgin Saint Mary supped not until six of the clock! May all the saintsforgive us that we be such fools!"

CHAPTER THREE. 

COMING EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE. 

 "Ay, sooth we feel too strong in weal to need Thee on that road. But woe being come, the soul is dumb that crieth not on God. "

 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 

The guests departed about seven o'clock, and Dame Lovell got to bed alittle before nine--an hour which was in her eyes most untimely. Margery, though she had not slept on the previous night, was unable toclose her eyes for some time. The unwonted excitement kept her awake, and another idea, too, mingled with her thoughts. The book! How shouldshe copy it? It must be at stolen hours--probably in the night. Andwhat material should she use? Not vellum, for Sir Geoffrey might askwhat she was doing if she requested more of that precious article thanwas necessary for her Breviary. He had allowed her some paper for therough draft of her illuminations, and she had a little of this left. She determined to make use of this paper so far as it would go, and totrust to circumstances for the remainder. 

Thinking and contriving, Margery sank to sleep, and dreamed that SirGeoffrey was reading the book to Lord Marnell, who, by that curiousmixture which often takes place in dreams, was also Richard Pynson. From this dream, about ten minutes after she fell asleep, as it appearedto her, Margery suddenly sprang up to the conviction that broad daylightwas streaming in at the window. She rose and dressed herself hurriedly, and, running down into the kitchen, was surprised to find nobody therebut Joan, the drudge of the household, who moreover was rubbing hereyes, and apparently only half awake. 

"Why, Mistress Margery!" said the girl, in astonishment, "your goodmistress-ship is early, considering our late hours. The Dame is not yetrisen. "

"In good sooth?" inquired Margery, looking at the clock, when she foundto her surprise that it was barely five o'clock; and receiving from Joanthe information that Dame Lovell had told Cicely overnight that she didnot intend to appear until six, she returned to her own room, and, drawing the book from its hiding-place, commenced her task of copying. Margery worked quickly, and had copied nearly a page in the hour. Soabsorbed was she in her task, that she never heard the door open, andstarted like a guilty thing when the well-known voice of her mothersounded close by her. 

"Eh, Madge! Up and at work? Thou wilt work thy fingers to the bone, child! Is that thy mass-book? Nay, it is paper, I see, and that, Iwis, is on vellum. What art doing, damsel?"

Pale and red, red and pale, went Margery by turns at this string ofquestions. 

"Why, lass, what hast?" asked Dame Lovell, in surprise. 

"I cry you mercy, good mother!" said Margery, descending toequivocation, and blushing more than ever; "I heard you not open mydoor, and your voice started me. "

"Poor Madge! did I fright thee?" said Dame Lovell, kindly. "But what isthis, child? Another Breviary? Dost want two?"

"Poor Madge" she was indeed at this moment. Terrified beyond measurelest Dame Lovell should inform Sir Geoffrey, whose learned eyes wouldperceive in a moment what the book was--and seeing more danger in hisdiscovering its real character than in letting him suppose it to beanother Breviary, Margery, generally so truth-telling, was frightenedinto a lie. 

"Ay, good mother, " she stammered out, "'tis a Breviary. "

All that day Margery sat upon thorns; but Dame Lovell made no mention ofthe incident, and she accordingly hoped it was forgotten. 

Day after day passed on, and Margery worked harder than ever at copyingthe book. She finished her task just one day before the month was up, and gave back the original to Richard Pynson, entreating him to make anerrand to Marston as soon as possible, and restore the book, with herhearty thanks, into the hands of Master Carew. 

On the evening of that day, Dame Lovell sat at work in the widechimney-corner of the hall. Near her was Mistress Katherine, scrapingalmonds into a bowl; while Margery, occupied with her distaff, sat at alittle distance. On a wide oaken settle on the opposite side of thefire lay Friar Andrew, taking a nap, as was his afternoon custom; whileon another settle drawn up before the fire, Sir Geoffrey and RichardPynson sat conversing with the ladies. 

"Madge, lass, hast finished thy Breviary?" asked Sir Geoffrey. "An thouhast, I would see it. "

Margery's heart leaped into her mouth, for now was the time for thediscovery of her falsehood to be made. Simply replying, however, "Iwill seek it, father, " she rose and laid her distaff down. 

"Ay, Madge is a feat scribe, truly!" remarked Dame Lovell, to Margery'sunspeakable distress. "She hath written two Breviaries, I wis. "

"Two!" said Sir Geoffrey, laughing. "One for Sundays and feasts, andthe other for week-days? Madge, bring us both of them. "

Margery left the room, and returned in a few minutes, with both thebooks in her hand. Sir Geoffrey took them, and opened the illuminatedone--the genuine Breviary--first. Margery reseated herself, and took upher distaff, but the thread was very uneven, and she broke it twice, while her father turned over the leaves of the book, and praised herwriting and illuminations. His praise was sweet enough, but some timehe must come to the end, and _then_--!

How fervently Margery wished that Dame Lovell would ask an irrelevantquestion, which might lead to conversation--that Friar Andrew wouldawake--that Cicely would rush in with news of the cows having brokeninto the garden--or that _anything_ would occur which would put a stopto the examination of those volumes before Sir Geoffrey arrived at thelast leaf! But everything, as it always is under such circumstances, was unusually quiet; and Sir Geoffrey fastened the silver clasps of theBreviary, and opened the book without anything to hinder his doing so. Margery stole furtive looks at her father over her distaff, and soonobserved an ominous look of displeasure creeping over his face. Hepassed over several leaves--turned to the beginning, and then to theend, --then, closing the volume, he looked up and said, in a sternvoice--

"Andrew!"

Friar Andrew snored placidly on. 

"Andrew!" said Sir Geoffrey, in a louder tone. 

Friar Andrew gave an indistinct sound between a snore and a grunt. SirGeoffrey rose from his seat, and striding over to where his confessorslept, laid hold of his shoulders, and gave him such a shake as nearlybrought him to the stone floor. 

"Awake, thou sluggard!" said he, angrily. "Is it a time for theshepherd to sleep when the wolf is already in the fold, and the lambs bein danger?"

"Eh? Oh! ay!" said Friar Andrew, half awake. "Time to sup, eh?"

"Look here, Andrew!" roared his offended patron, "and see thee what thissinful maid hath been doing. What penance deemest thou fit for suchfault as this?" He handed the book to the friar. The friar sat up, rubbed his eyes, opened the book, and turned over two or three leaves. 

"I cry your good worship mercy, " said he. "I knew not you were assayingto arouse me. I was dreaming of a kettle of furmety of Madge's making. "

"I trow here is a pretty kettle of furmety of Madge's making!" was theirate response. 

"I conceive you not, good master, " said the friar. "The book is a goodbook enough, trow. "

"Thou art an ass!" was the civil answer. "Seest thou not that it is thetranslation of Scripture whereof the Lord Marnell spake, by Master JohnWycliffe, the Lollard priest? Mindest thou not that which he said aboutLollards?"

"An what if it be?" said the confessor, yawning. "I pin not my faith onmy Lord Marnell's sleeve, though it _were_ made of slashed velvet. AndI trow Madge hath been too well bred up to draw evil from the book. Solet the damsel alone, good master, and give her book back. I trow itwill never harm her. " Margery was exceedingly surprised at the turnwhich affairs were taking. The truth was, that Friar Andrew was veryfond of her; he had been Sir Geoffrey's chaplain before she was born, she had grown up under his eye, and she made, moreover, such a kettle offurmety as he declared no one else could make. Beside this, Andrew wasa marvellous poor scholar; he could never read a book at sight, andrequired to spell it over two or three times before he could make outthe meaning. He could read his mass-book, because he had done so forthe last forty years, and could have gone through the service as easilywithout book as with it; though, had a different copy been given him, inwhich the pages did not commence with the same line, it would probablyhave perplexed him extremely. Thus, under these circumstances, his lovefor Margery, his love for furmety, and his utter ignorance, combined todispose him to let her off easily. 

Sir Geoffrey took the book from his chaplain with a sort of growl, andthrew it into Margery's lap. 

"There! take it, damsel!" said he. "I account it Andrew's business totake care of thy soul, and he saith it will not hurt thee. I mind itthe less, as thou wilt shortly go to dwell with one who will see to theein these matters, and will not let thee read Lollard books. "

The thread fell from Margery's hand, and so did the distaff, whichrolled over the floor with a clatter. She never heeded it. A terrible, indefinite dread had taken hold of her. 

"Father! what mean you?" she stammered forth at last. 

"What mean I?" said Sir Geoffrey, in the same half-affectionate, half-sarcastic tone. "Why, that I have promised thee to the LordMarnell, Lord of the Bedchamber to the King's Grace, and Knight of theGarter--and thou wilt be a lady and dwell in London town, and hold upthine head with the highest! What sayest to _that_, child?" he added, proudly. 

She sat a moment with her white lips parted, --cold, silent, stunned. Then the bitter cry of "Father, father!" awoke the echoes of the oldhall. 

Sir Geoffrey was evidently troubled. He had sought only his daughter'sgrandeur, and had never so much as dreamed that he might be making hermiserable. 

"Why, child! dost not like it?" said he, in surprise. 

She rose from her seat, and went to him, and kneeling down by him, laidher head, bowed on her clasped hands, upon his knee. "O father, father!" was all she said again. 

"Truly, lass, I grieve much to see thee thus, " said her father, in aperplexed tone. "But thou wilt soon get over this, and be right glad, too, to be so grand a lady. What shall I say to comfort thee?"

Long, terrible, hysterical sobs were coming from the bowed frame--but notears. At length, still without lifting up her head, she whispered--

"Is there no way to shun it, father? I love him not. O father, I lovehim not--I cannot love him!"

"Truly, my poor lass, I trow we cannot shun it, " said he. "I neverthought to see thee grieve so sore. The Lord Marnell is a noblegentleman, and will find thee in silken tissues and golden cauls. "

Sir Geoffrey did not rightly understand his daughter's sorrow. His"silken tissues and golden cauls" did not raise the bowed head one inch. 

"Father!" she whispered, "have you promised him?"

"I have, my child, " he answered, softly. 

She rose suddenly, and quickly turned to go up the stairs leading to herown room. At this moment Richard Pynson rose also, and quietly takingup the book, which had fallen from Margery's lap on the floor, he handedit to her. She took it with one hand, and gave him the other, but didnot let him see her face. Then she passed into her chamber, and theyheard her fasten the door. 

When she had done so, she flung herself down on the rushes [note 1], andbent her head forward on her knees. The longer she thought over herprospects, the more dreary and doleful they appeared. Her state of mindwas one that has been touchingly described by a writer who lived threehundred years later--"Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother"--who, of allwho have attempted and failed in the impossible task of rendering thePsalms into verse, perhaps approached as near success as any one. 

 "Troublous seas doe mee surrownde; Saue, O Lord, my sinking soule, Sinking wheare it feeles no grownde, In this gulf, this whirling hole; Wayghting ayde with earnest eying, Calling God with bootles crying; Dymme and drye in mee are fownde Eyes to see, and throat to sounde. "

Suddenly, as she sat thus bowed down, too sorrowful for tears, like thedew to a parched flower came the words of the book--nay, the words ofthe Lord--into her soul. 

"_Be not your herte afrayed, ne drede it_. "

"_And therfore ghe han now sorowe, but eftsoone I schal se ghou, andghoure herte schal haue ioie, and no man schal take fro ghou ghoureioie. Treuly, treuly, I seie to ghou, if ghe axen the Fadir ony thingin my name he schal ghyue to ghou_. " John xvi. 22, 23. 

Now, Margery had neither teacher nor commentary to interpret to her thewords of Scripture; and the result was, that she never dreamed ofmodifying any of them, but took the words simply and literally. Itnever entered her head to interpret them with any qualification--toargue that "anything" must mean only some things. Ah! how much betterwould it be for us, if we would accept those blessed words as plainly, as unconditionally, as conclusively, as this poor untaught girl!

But when Margery considered the question more minutely, poor child! sheknew not what to ask. The constant reference of everything by the LordJesus to "the will of the Father" had struck her forcibly; and now shedared not ask for entire freedom from the crashing blow which had fallenon her, lest it should not be the will of the Father. So she contentedherself with a supplication which, under the circumstances, was the bestshe could have offered. She did not even try to form her petitions intowords--the depths in which her soul lay were too deep for that; it was awordless cry which went up to God. But its substance was an entreatythat the Father would do His will, and would bend her will to it; thatwhatever He saw fit to give her, He would always give His presence andHis love; that whatever He was pleased to take away, He would not takefrom her the word unto His handmaid wherein He had caused her to hope. And when she rose from her knees, the prominent idea in her mind mighthave been expressed in the words of the old proverb, "He loseth nothingthat keepeth God for his friend. "

An hour afterwards, Dame Lovell, who could not rest for the remembranceof her child's grief, came softly into Margery's chamber to see if shecould comfort her. She was surprised to find her sleeping as quietly asa little child, with the book, even in sleep, held fast to her bosom, asif she would permit nothing to separate her from that Word of God whichhad given rest to her soul. 

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

Note 1. Carpets were very rare at this time, and only used on stateoccasions and for invalids. Their place was supplied by fresh greenrushes, strewn on the floor. It appears rather doubtful, however, whether carpets were not sometimes used in the winter. 

CHAPTER FOUR. 

LIFE IN LONDON. 

 "Whan we cam' in by Glasgow toun, We were a comely sicht to see, -- My luve was clad in velvet black And I mysel' in cramoisie. "

 Old Ballad. 

A fortnight after the events recorded in the last chapter, Lovell Towerwas in the confusion of great preparations for the approaching wedding. Friar Andrew was despatched to York fair to purchase twenty yards ofscarlet cloth, fourteen yards of tawny satin, eight of purple satin, andthe same number of blue cloth of silver, with jewels and rich furs. Allwas cutting-out and fitting-on, with discussions about trimmings, quintises, and head-dresses. Richard Pynson was sent hither and thitheron errands. Sir Geoffrey himself superintended the purchase of a newpillion, and ordered it to be covered with green velvet. Lord Marnell, who did not often come to Lovell Tower himself, sent over a trustymessenger every day to inquire if Mistress Margery had rested well andwas merry. From the latter condition she was very far. At length thepreparations were completed; and on a splendid summer day, when thebirds were singing their most joyous melodies, Margery Lovell wasmarried, in Bostock Church, to Sir Ralph Marnell, Baron Marnell ofLymington, Knight of the Garter. The bride was attired in blue cloth ofsilver, trimmed with miniver; and her hair, as was then the custom atweddings, was not confined by any head-dress, but flowed down her back, long and straight. The bridegroom was dressed in cramoisie--crimsonvelvet--richly trimmed with bullion, and wore three long waving plumesin his cap, as well as a streamer of gold lace. If any one who may readthese pages should inquire why Margery chose blue for her wedding-dress, I may answer that Margery would have been greatly astonished if any onehad recommended white. White at this period was not only a mourningcolour, but mourning of the very deepest character. 

No pains were spared to make this a merry wedding, and yet it certainlycould not be called a joyous one. All the inhabitants of Lovell Towerknew well that the bride was very far from happy; Sir Geoffrey and DameLovell were naturally sorry to lose their only child; Friar Andrewmourned over his favourite and his kettle of furmety; while RichardPynson had his own private sorrow, to which I need not allude further inthis place. 

The bridal feast was held at Lovell Tower, and all the neighbours wereinvited to it. The festivities were prolonged to a late hour; and atfive o'clock next morning everybody was busy helping the bride to packup. Everybody thought of everything so well, that there was very littleleft for her to think of; but she did think of one thing. When Margeryset out for her new home in London, the book went too. 

The journey to London from the North was in those days a long andwearisome one. There were no vehicles but litters and waggons. Margerytravelled part of the way in a litter, and part on a pillion behind herbridegroom, who rode on horseback the whole way. He had with him aregular army of retainers, besides sundry maidens for the Lady Marnell, at the head of whom was Alice Jordan, the unlucky girl who, at our firstvisit to Lovell Tower, was reprimanded for leaving out the onions in theblanch-porre. Margery had persuaded her mother to resign to her for apersonal attendant this often clumsy and forgetful but reallywell-meaning girl. It was a Friday evening when they arrived in London;and Margery was much too tired to think of doing anything but rest herwearied head in sleep. 

As early as four o'clock the next morning, she was roused by Londoncries from a happy dream of Lovell Tower. "Quinces! sweet quinces! ripequinces!"

"Any kitchen-stuff, have you, maids?"

"Cakes and ale! cakes and ale!"

"Cherry ripe! cherry ripe!"

"Come buy, pretty maids, come buy! come buy!" with an undercurrent ofthe long rhymed cry of the hawker of haberdashery, of which Shakespearehas given us a specimen as regards the English version--

 "Lawn, as white as driven snow; Cyprus, black as e'er was crow, " etcetera. 

Margery lay still, and listened in silence to all these new sounds. Atlength she rose and dressed herself, with the assistance of Alice, whowas seriously dissatisfied with the narrow streets and queer smells ofthe town, and spared no comment on these points while assisting heryoung mistress at her toilette. Having dressed, Margery passed into anantechamber, close to her bedroom, where breakfast was served. Thisrepast consisted of a pitcher of new milk, another pitcher of wine, adish of poached eggs, a tremendous bunch of water-cress, a large loaf ofbread, and marchpanes--a sweet cake, not unlike the modern macaroon. Breakfast over, Margery put on her hood, and taking Alice with her, shesallied forth on an expedition to examine the neighbourhood of her newhome. One of Lord Marnell's men-servants followed at a short distance, wearing a rapier, to defend his mistress in case of any assault beingmade upon her. 

Lord Marnell's house was very near the country, and in a quiet andsecluded position, being pleasantly situated in Fleet Street. Greenfields lay between the two cities of London and Westminster. There wasonly one bridge across the river, that silver Thames, which ran, soclear and limpid, through the undulating meadows; and the bridge wasentirely built over, a covered way passing under the houses for wheeledvehicles. Far to the right rose the magnificent Palace of Westminster, a relic of the Saxon kings; and behind it the grand old Abbey, and thestrong, frowning Sanctuary; while to the left glittered the walls andturrets of the White Tower, the town residence of royalty. Margery, however, could not see the whole of this as she stepped out of herhouse. What first met her eyes were the more detailed and less pleasantfeatures of the scene. There were no causeways; the streets, as a rule, would just allow of the progress of one vehicle, though a few of theprincipal ones would permit the passage of two; and the pavementsconsisted of huge stones, not remarkable either for evenness orsmoothness. A channel ran down the middle of the street, into whichevery housewife emptied her slops from the window, and along which dirtywater, sewerage, straw, drowned rats, and mud, floated in profuse andodoriferous mezee. Margery found it desirable to make considerable useof her pomander, a ball of various mixed drugs inclosed in a goldnetwork, and emitting a pleasant fragrance when carried in the warmhand. As she proceeded along the streets which were lined with shops, the incessant cry of the shopkeepers standing at their doors, "What doyou lack? what do you lack?" greeted her on every side. The vehicleswere of two classes, as I have before observed--waggons and litters, thelitters being the carriages of the fourteenth century; but the waggonswere by far the most numerous. Occasionally a lady of rank would ridepast in her litter, drawn by horses whose trappings swept the ground; ora knight, followed by a crowd of retainers, would prance by on hishigh-mettled charger. Margery spent the happiest day which she hadpassed since her marriage, in wandering about London, and satisfying hergirlish curiosity concerning every place of which she had ever heard. Lord Marnell frowned when Margery confessed, on her return, that she hadbeen out to see London. It was not fit, he said, that she should go outon foot: ladies of rank were not expected to walk: she ought to haveordered out her litter, with a due attendance of retainers. 

"But, my lord, " said Margery, very naturally, "an't please you, I couldnot see so well in a litter. "

Lord Marnell's displeased lips relaxed into a laugh, for he was amusedat her simplicity; but he repeated that he begged she would remember, now that she _had_ seen, that she was no longer plain Mistress MargeryLovell, but Baroness Marnell of Lymington, and would behave herselfaccordingly. Margery sighed at this curtailment of her liberty, andwithdrew to see where Alice was putting her dresses. 

As it was approaching evening, Lord Marnell's voice called herdownstairs. 

"If thou wilt see a sight, Madge, " he said, good-naturedly, as sheentered, "come quickly, and one will gladden thine eyes which neversawest thou before. The King rideth presently from the Savoy to theTower. "

Margery ran to the window, and saw a number of horses, decked, as wellas their riders, in all the colours of the rainbow, coming up the streetfrom the stately Savoy Palace, which stood, surrounded by green fields, in what is now the Strand. 

"Which is the King's Grace, I pray you?" asked she, eagerly. 

"He weareth a plain black hood and a red gown, " answered her husband. "He rideth a white horse, and hath a scarlet footcloth, all powderedover with ostrich feathers in gold. "

"What!" said Margery, in surprise, "that little, fair, goodly man, withthe golden frontlet to his horse?"

"The very same, " said Lord Marnell. "The tall, comely man who ridethbehind him, on yon brown horse, and who hath eyes like to an eagle, isthe Duke of Lancaster. `John of Gaunt, ' the folk call him, by reasonthat he was born at Ghent, in Flanders. "

"And who be the rest, if I weary you not with asking?" said Margery, rather timidly. 

"In no wise, " answered he. "Mostly lords and noble gentlemen, of whomthou mayest perchance have heard. The Earl of Surrey is he in the greencoat, with a red plume. The Earl of Northumberland hath a blue coat, broidered with gold, and a footcloth of the same. Yon dark, proud-looking man in scarlet, on the roan horse, is the Duke of Exeter[Sir John Holland], brother to the King's Grace by my Lady Princess hismother, who was wed afore she wedded the Prince, whose soul God rest!Ah! and here cometh my Lord of Hereford, Harry of Bolingbroke[afterwards Henry IV], the Duke of Lancaster's only son and heir--and ason and heir who were worse than none, if report tell truth, " added LordMarnell, in a lower tone. "Seest thou, Madge, yon passing tall man, with black hair, arrayed in pink cloth of silver?" [See note 1]. 

"I see him well, I thank your good Lordship, " was Margery's answer; butshe suddenly shivered as she spoke. 

"Art thou cold, Madge, by the casement? Shall I close the lattice?"

"I am not cold, good my Lord, I thank you, " said Margery, in a differenttone; "but I like not to look upon that man. "

"Why so?" asked Lord Marnell, looking down from his altitude upon theslight frail figure at his side. "Is he not a noble man and a goodly?"

"I know not, " answered Margery, still in a troubled voice. "There is athing in his face for which I find not words, but it troubleth me. "

"Look not on him, then, " said he, drawing her away. She thanked him forhis kindness in showing and explaining the glittering scene to her, andreturned to her supervision of Alice. 

A few days after this, the Prioress of Kennington, Lord Marnell'ssister, came in her litter to see her young sister-in-law. Margery wassurprised to find in her a lady so little resembling her country-formedidea of a nun. She wore, indeed, the costume of her order; but herdress, instead of being common serge or camlet, was black velvet; herfrontlet and barb [see Note 2] were elaborately embroidered; her longgloves [see Note 3] were of white Spanish leather, delicately perfumed, and adorned with needlework in coloured silks; she wore nearly as manyrings as would have stocked a small jeweller's shop, and from hergirdle, set with the finest gems, were suspended a pomander richlyworked in gold and enamel, a large silver seal, and a rosary, made ofamethyst beads, holding a crucifix, the materials of which werealabaster and gold. 

In those palmy days of Romanism in England, nuns were by no means sostrictly secluded as now. They were present at all manner offestivities; the higher class travelled about the country very much asthey chose, and all of them, while retaining the peculiar shape andcolour of the prescribed monastic costume, contrived to spend a fortuneon the accessories and details of their dress. The Prioress ofKennington, as I have just described her, is a specimen of nearly allthe prioresses and other conventual authorities of her day. 

This handsomely-dressed lady was stiff and stately in her manner, anduttered, with the proudest mien, words expressive only of the mostabject humility. "If her fair sister would come and see her at her poorhouse at Kennington, she would be right glad of so great honour. "Margery replied courteously, but she had no desire to see much of thePrioress. 

Lord Marnell took his wife to Court, and presented her to the King--theQueen was dead--and the Duchess of Gloucester [Eleanor Bohu], his aunt. The King spoke to Margery very kindly, and won her good opinion by sodoing. The Duchess honoured her with a haughty stare, and then"supposed she came from the North?" in a tone which indicated that sheconsidered her a variety of savage. The ladies in waiting examined andquestioned her with more curiosity than civility; and Margery's visit toCourt left upon her mind, with the single exception of King Richard'skindness, a most unpleasant impression. 

In the winter of 1396, King Richard brought home a new queen, thePrincess Isabelle of France, who had attained the mature age of eightyears. Margery watched the little Queen make her entrance into London. She was decked out with jewels, of which she brought a great quantityover with her, and fresh ones were presented to her at every place whereshe halted. Alice, with round eyes, declared that "the Queen's Grace'sjewels must be worth a King's ransom--and would not your good Ladyshipwish to have the like?"

Margery shook her head. 

"The only jewels that be worth having, good Alice, " said she, "be gemsof the heart, such like as meekness, obedience, and charity. And intruth, if I were the chooser, there be many things that I would haveafore jewels. But much good do they the Queen's Grace, poor child! andI pray God she rest not content with gauds of this earth. "

Before that winter was over, one thing, worth more than the Queen'sjewels in her eyes, was bestowed upon Margery. Something to take careof--something to love and live for. A little golden-haired baby, whichbecame, so far as anything in this world could become so, the light andjoy of her heart and soul. 

Margery soon learned to value at its true worth the show and tinsel ofLondon life. She never appeared again at Court but once, to pay herrespects to the new Queen, who received her very cordially, seated on athrone by her husband. The small Queen of eight "hoped she was quitewell, and thought that England was a very fine country. " The king spoketo her as kindly as before, offered her ipocras [see Note 4] and spices, and on the close of the interview, took up his little Queen in his arms, and carried her out of the room. Margery had, indeed, no opportunity tovisit the Court again; for the young Queen was educated at Windsor, andvery rarely visited London. And Lady Marnell, tired of the hollowglitter of high life, and finding few or none in her own sphere withwhom she could complacently associate, went back with fresh zest to herbaby and the book. 

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

Note 1. These descriptions are taken from the invaluable illuminationsin Creton's _Histoire du Roy Richart Deux_, Harl. Ms. 1319. Creton wasa contemporary and personal friend of King Richard. 

Note 2. The frontlet and barb were pieces of white linen, the formerworn over the forehead, the latter over the chin. 

Note 3. Gloves were just becoming fashionable in the fourteenth centuryfor common wear. Before that, they were rarely used except when thewearer carried a falcon on the wrist. 

Note 4. A sweet wine or liqueur, generally served at the "void. "

CHAPTER FIVE. 

THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 

 "All quick and troubled was his speech, And his face was pale with dread, And he said, `The king had made a law, That the book must not be read, -- For it was such fearful heresy, The holy abbot said. '"

 Mary Howitt. 

Three years had passed since the events narrated in the last chapter, and Margery was now twenty-one years of age. She appeared older thanshe was, and her face wore an unnaturally pensive expression, which hadbeen gradually settling itself there since the day of her marriage. Shenever laughed, and very rarely smiled, except when her eyes rested uponher little golden-haired Geoffrey, whom she had sought and obtainedpermission to name after her father. He was a bright, merry littlefellow, perpetually in motion, and extremely fond of his mother, thoughhe always shrank from and seemed to fear his father. 

On a summer day in the year 1399, Margery sat in her bower, or boudoir, perusing the book. Lord Marnell was, as usual, at Court; and littleGeoffrey was running about his mother's apartments on what he doubtlessconsidered important business. Suddenly, in the midst of her reading, acry of pain from the child startled Margery. She sprang up, and ran tohim; and she found that in running about, he had contrived to fall downa step which intervened between the landing and the antechamber, wherebyhe had very slightly bruised his infantine arm, and very greatlyperturbed his infantine spirit. Geoffrey was weeping and whiningpiteously, and his mother lifted him up, and carried him into herbedroom, where she examined the injured arm, and discovered that theinjury consisted only of an almost imperceptible bruise. The child, however, still bewailed his misfortune; and Lady Marnell, having appliedsome ointment to the sore place, sat down, and taking Geoffrey in herlap, she soothed and rocked him until he fell asleep, and forgot allabout his bruised arm. The boy had been asleep about a quarter of anhour, when the recollection suddenly flashed upon Margery's mind thatshe had left the book open to all comers and goers, instead of puttingit carefully away, as was her wont. She set down the child softly onthe trussing-bed, (the curious name given by our forefathers to a pieceof furniture which formed a sofa or travelling-bed at pleasure), andquietly opening the door into her bower, she saw--her husband standingon the hearth, with the book in his hand, and a very decided frowngathering on his countenance. The rustle of Margery's dress made LordMarnell look up. 

"What meaneth this, I pray you, mistress?" asked he, angrily. 

There was no need, had Margery felt any disposition, to attempt furtherconcealment. The worst that could come, had come. 

"It is a book of mine, " she quietly answered, "which I left here a shortseason agone, when the boy's cry started me. "

"Hast read it?" asked Lord Marnell, no less harshly. 

"I have read it many times, good my Lord. "

"And I pray you for to tell me whence you had it, good my Lady?" saidhe, rather ironically. 

Margery was silent. She was determined to bear the blame alone, and notto compromise either Pynson or Carew. 

"Had you this book since you came hither?" said Lord Marnell, varyingthe form of his question, when he saw she did not answer. 

"No, my Lord. I brought it with me from home. "

And the word "home" almost brought the tears into her eyes. 

"Your father--Sir Geoffrey--knew he thereof?"

"He did, " said Margery, "and rebuked me sharply therefor. "

"He did well. Why took he not the book from you?"

"Because he showed it to Friar Andrew Rous, his and my confessor, whothought there was no harm in the book, and that I might safely retainthe same. "

"Then Friar Andrew Rous is the longest-eared ass I have lightly seen. Whence got you this book?"

"It is mine own writing. I copied it. "

"Whence had you it?"

No answer. 

"I say, whence had you this book?" roared Lord Marnell. 

"My Lord, " said Margery, gently, but decidedly, "I think not that itneedeth to say whence I had the same. The book was lent unto me, whenceI copied that one; but I say not of whom it was lent unto me. "

"You shall say it, and soon too!" was the reply. "This matter must notbe let drop--it passeth into the hands of holy Abbot Bilson. I willseek him presently. "

And so saying, Lord Marnell strode out of the room, leaving Margery in acondition of intense terror. 

That afternoon, as Margery sat in her bower, she was informed that thePrioress of Kennington was in the oaken chamber. Margery went down toher, holding Geoffrey by the hand, and found her seated on a settle, apparently preferring this more ancient form of seat to a chair; andwearing her veil low over her face. The Prioress rose when Lady Marnellentered, and threw back her heavy black veil, as she advanced to greether. Margery returned her salutation courteously, and then tried toinduce Geoffrey to go to his aunt--but Geoffrey hung back and would notgo. Margery did not attempt to force the child, but sat down, and heattached himself to that particular plait of her dress which wasfurthest from the Prioress. The Prioress tried to propitiate him, bydrawing from her pocket a piece of linen, which, being unfolded, revealed a placenta--a delicacy which the nuns of several convents werespecially famed for making, and the nature of which will be better knownto an ordinary reader by the explanatory term cheese-cake. Geoffreygraciously accepted the placenta, but utterly declined all furtherintimacy. The expression of the Prioress's countenance suggested toMargery the idea that she had seen her brother, and had heard of thediscovery of the book; so that Margery was quite prepared for herremarking gravely, after her unsuccessful attempt to attract her littlenephew--

"I heard this morn, fair sister, of a thing which did much trouble me. "

"You mean, " said Margery, simply, "of the discovering of a book in mychamber by my Lord my husband, the which did anger him?"

"I rejoice that you take my meaning, " answered the Prioress, in an evenvoice. "I meant that verily. I grieve much, fair sister, to hear frommy fair brother that you have allied yourself unto those evil men whichbe known by the name of Lollards. "

"I cry you mercy, holy mother, " answered Margery, quietly, "I haveallied myself unto no man. I know not a Lollard in the realm. Only Iread that book--and that book, as you must needs wit, holy mother, containeth the words of the Lord Jesu. Is there hurt therein?"

The Prioress did not directly answer this question. She said, "If yourelders [parents], fair sister, had shown the wisdom for to have put youin the cloister, you would have been free from such like temptations. "

"Is it a temptation?" replied Margery. "Meseemeth, holy mother, thatthere be temptations as many in the cloister as in the world, only theybe to divers sins: and I misdoubt that I should have temptation in thecloister, to the full as much as here. "

"I cry you mercy, fair sister!" said the Prioress, with an air ofsuperiority. "We have no temptations in our blessed retreat. Our rulesaveth us, and our seclusion from the vanity of the world--and I prayyou, what other evil can assail a veiled nun?"

Margery glanced at the heavy gold chain round the Prioress's neck, themultifarious rings on her fingers, and the costly jewels in her girdle, and rather doubted her testimony as to the utter absence of vanity in aveiled nun; but she contented herself with saying, "I trow, holy mother, that ye carry with you evil hearts into your cloister, as have all menwithout; and an evil heart within, and the devil without, need notoutward matters whereon to form temptation. At least, I speak by mineown. "

The Prioress looked rather shocked. "The evil heart, " answered she, "isgoverned and kept down in us by our mortifications, our almsgivings, ourpenances, our prayers, and divers other holy exercises. "

"Ah, holy mother, " said Margery, looking up, "can ye keep down by suchmeans your evil hearts! I trow mine needeth more than that!"

"What mean you, fair sister?" inquired the Prioress. 

"Nought less, " replied Margery, "than the blood of the Lamb slain, andthe grace of Christ risen, have I yet found, that would avail to keepdown an evil heart!"

"Of force, fair sister, of force!" said the Prioress, coldly, "that isas well as said. "

"Then I pray you, why said you it not?"

The Prioress rose. "I trust, fair sister, " said she, without giving anyreply to Margery's home question, "that you may see your error ere it befull late so to do. "

"I trust, " said Margery, as she followed her sister-in-law to the door, "that God will keep me in the true faith, whatsoever that be. "

"Amen!" said the Prioress, her long black robe sweeping the steps as shemounted her litter. 

"Is she gone?" lisped little Geoffrey, when his mother returned. "Deff'y so glad! Deff'y don't like her!"

That evening Margery received a message from her husband, bidding hermeet him and Abbot Bilson in the oaken chamber, and bring the book withher. She took the book from the table on which Lord Marnell had thrownit--no need to hide it any longer now--kissed little Geoffrey's sleepingforehead, as he lay in his cradle, and went down to the oaken chamber. 

Lord Marnell, who, when angry, looked taller than ever, stood on thehearth with his arms folded. Abbot Bilson was seated in an arm-chair, with his cowl thrown back. He was a man of about sixty, with afinely-formed head, more bald than the tonsure would account for, and aremarkably soft, persuasive voice and manner. Had the Order of Jesuitsexisted at that time, Abbot Bilson might fitly have been the head of it. "His words were softer than oil, yet were they drawn swords. "

"The Lady Marnell, " said her husband to the Abbot as she entered, andthe latter, without rising, saluted her with the benediction, "Peace bewith thee, daughter. "

"Where is the book?" asked Lord Marnell, sternly, but not quite soangrily as he had spoken in the morning. 

Margery passed it to him. 

"See there, reverend father, " said he, as he handed it to the Abbot. "What callest thou that?"

The Abbot turned over the leaves, but the suavity of his manner sufferedno change. 

"A fine, clear scribe hath written this, " remarked he, politely. "TheGospel according unto the blessed John, I ween, from the traduction ofMaster John Wycliffe, the parson of Lutterworth, who deceased a fewyears back. And our good brother Andrew Rous thought no harm of yourkeeping the book, my daughter?"

"So he said, " answered Margery, shortly. 

"Ah! But your father--?"

"Did not like thereof at the first; but after that Father Rous had sosaid, he made no further matter. "

"Ah! of force. I conceive it fully. Your mother, good daughter?"

"My mother spake not of the matter. She witteth not to read, andtherefore knew not the book. "

"Certes, " said the abbot, with the most exquisite gentleness. LordMarnell, who kept fidgeting up and down the room, seemed almost annoyedat the Abbot's extreme suavity. 

"You had this book from a friend, methinks?" resumed the Abbot. 

"I cannot tell you, father, whence I had it, " was Margery's firm reply. 

The Abbot looked surprised. 

"Did our brother Rous lend it you?" he asked, his manner losing a smallportion of its extraordinary softness. 

"Nay. "

"Some friend, then, belike? Sir Ralph Marston, your good cousin? orMaster Pynson, the squire of my worthy knight your father?"

Margery felt instantaneously that she was in the power of a verydangerous man. How he was endeavouring to ferret out admissions anddenials which would afterwards stand him in good stead! How came he, too, to know so much about her friends? Had he been questioning LordMarnell? Margery's breath came short and fast, and she trembledexceedingly. She was annoyed with herself beyond measure, because, whenthe Abbot named Richard Pynson, she could not help a conscious blush inhearing him mention, not indeed the person who had actually lent her thebook, but one who was concerned in the transaction. The Abbot saw theblush, though just then it did not suit his purpose to take notice ofit. 

"Well, well, " said he, courteously, "we will not go further into thatquestion at present. But you must wit, dear daughter, that this bookcontaineth fearful heresy! Hath not our brother Rous taught you thesame? Error of all kinds is therein, and weak women like unto you benot able, my child, for to separate in all cases this error from thetruth wherewith, in these pernicious volumes, it is mingled. You arevery young, daughter, and wit not yet all that the fathers of the Churchcan tell you, an' you be meek and humble in receiving of theirteaching. "

He ceased, evidently thinking that he had made an impression. He wasquite prepared for a little pouting, and for earnest entreaties, andeven passionate words; but the one thing for which he was not preparedhe got in Margery's answer. 

"I wis well, reverend father, " she said, very quietly, "to the full aswell as it list you to tell me, how young, and weak, and all unwitting Ibe. But I trow that Christ deceiveth not His children because they beweak; and that if I can any words at all conceive, I can His. Saith Henot, `_If ony man wole do His wille_, _he schall knowe of thetechinge_'? [John vii. 17. ] Saith He not again, `_Seke ye Scripturis_'?[John v. 39. ] I pray you now, father, to whom said He that? Untofathers of the Church? Nay, soothly, but unto Jews unbelieving--veryheathens, and no Christians. Moreover, saith He not again, `_He thatdispisith me, and takith not my wordis, hath him that schal juge him;thilk word that I have spoken schal deme him in the laste day_'? [Johnxii. 48. ] I pray you, good father, how shall I know the word that shalljudge me if I read it not? Truly meseemeth that the despising of HisWord lieth more in the neglect thereof. Also say you that this bookcontaineth heresy and evil teaching. Good father, shall Christ the Sonof God teach evil? Doth God evil? Will God deceive them that ask Himtruth? Knoweth He not as much as fathers of the Church? Nay truly, good father, I trust that you wot not fully what you have said. He is`_weye, treuthe, and lyf; no man cometh to the Fadir but by Him_. '"[John xiv. 6. ]

Abbot Bilson, for once in his life, was completely dumb-foundered. Helooked silently at Lord Marnell. 

"I pray you see now, reverend father, " said Lord Marnell, angrily, "howthe teaching of this book hath leavened yon girl's talk! Is it a smallevil, Madge, to turn upon thy teacher when he teacheth thee of wisdom, with sayings picked up from a book? Art not ashamed?"

"No, my Lord, I am no wise shamed, " answered she; "for the reverendfather teacheth me the words of men, and the words of my book be thewords of Christ; and when Christ and men come to warring, I trow thereis small doubt as to who shall be the winner. "

The Abbot sat mutely gazing at Margery. Her face, usually so calm andpale, was lighted up, as she spoke, with a light not of this world; andhe could not comprehend it. Had she asked pardon, he could have soothedher; had she lamented and bewailed, he might have promised her manythings to comfort her; had she spoken bitterly or passionately, he mighthave commanded her silence. But this conduct of hers, so quiet, yet sodecided--so gentle, but so uncompromising--puzzled him extremely. Heonly saw the exterior, and he could not discover that wherein her greatstrength lay. 

"My Lord Marnell, " he said, in a perplexed tone, "I would speak withyou. Good lady, will you give us leave?"

Margery rose, and, courtesying, quitted the room at once; but she tookthe book with her, and nobody prevented her from doing so. 

"My Lord, " said the Abbot, when she was gone, "I am bewildered utterly. I know not what to do with this girl. Never the like of her saw Ibefore, and my experience is baffled. But meseemeth that the best thingis to treat her gently at the first; and if she relent not, _then_--"

The sentence was left unfinished, but Lord Marnell understood it. 

CHAPTER SIX. 

NEWS FROM HOME. 

 "There are briars besetting every path, That call for patient care; There is a cross in every lot, And an earnest need for prayer; But a lowly heart that leans on Thee Is happy anywhere. "

 Miss Waring. 

It was a lovely, clear, moonlight night, and the streets of London werehushed and still. By the light of the moon might be discerned a man intraveller's dress, walking slowly along Fleet Street, and looking up atthe houses, as if uncertain which of them would prove the one he sought. The traveller, though he looks much older, and his face wears a weary, worn expression, we recognise as our old friend Richard Pynson. Suddenly, in the midst of his search, Richard stopped and looked up. From an oriel window, directly above his head, a faint sound of singingreached him--an air which he instantly recognised as "The Palmer'shymn, " sung by the pilgrims to Jerusalem on their journey to the HolyLand. The voice of the singer, though low, was so clear, that the wordsof the hymn were floated distinctly to his ear. 

 "Holy City, happy City, Built on Christ, and sure as He, From my weary journeying, From the wastes, I cry to thee; Longing, sighing, hasting, crying, Till within thy walls I be. Ah! what happy, happy greeting For the guests thy gates who see! Ah! what blessed, blessed meeting Have thy citizens in thee! Ah! those glittering walls how fair, Jasper shene and ruby blee. Never harm, nor sin, nor danger, Thee can tarnish, crystal sea; Never woe, nor pain, nor sorrow, Thee can enter, City free!"

The voice ceased, and Richard Pynson, without any further doubt ortrouble, applied at once for admittance at the gate of the house whencethe music had issued. He could never mistake the voice of MargeryLovell. The old porter, half asleep, came to the gate, and, sentinel-like, inquired, "Who goes there?"

"A friend, a messenger from Dame Lovell, who would fain have speech, ifhe may, of the Lady Marnell. "

As soon as the porter heard the name of Dame Lovell, he threw open thegate. "Enter, friend. " The ponderous gate swung to again, and the oldman slowly preceded Richard through the archway to the door of thehouse, and up the wide staircase. He ushered him into a room panelledwith oak, where he stirred up the decaying embers of the fire, requestedhim to be seated, and left the room. At the door of the adjoiningchamber, Richard heard him softly whisper, "Mistress Alice! MistressAlice!"

A gentle movement in the room followed, and then Richard heard thefamiliar voice of Alice Jordan. 

"Hush! good Christopher, " said she, in a low tone; "the boy sleepeth atlast--wake him not. What wouldst?"

"There is here a messenger from Lovell Tower, who would have speech ofmy Lady. "

On hearing this, Alice came forward at once into the oaken chamber whereRichard sat. 

"Ah! Master Pynson!" she said, "is it you! My Lady will be right fainto see you--but you come at an evil hour. "

"How so?" asked Richard, quickly. 

"My Lady is watching this livelong night by the cradle of the youngmaster, who is sore sick--we fear nigh unto death. The child is ingrievous disease [restlessness, uneasiness], and cannot sleep; and hergood Ladyship hath been singing unto him, I ween, for to soothe him torest. Her voice hushed as you came, wherefore I count that the boysleepeth. "

"What aileth the poor child?" inquired Richard. 

"My Lady counteth that he got him an ill rheum when we departed hencefor my Lord his house of plesance [country house], for to sweeten [SeeNote 2]. Howsoever that be, he is now grievous sick. "

"The Lady Marnell herself is well?"

"Alas!" replied Alice, "I ween she is little better than the child. Shehath been in sore trouble of late, wherefore it is no marvel. There berumours of accusations for heresy out against her, and my Lord is illangered towards her. Well, God witteth, and God keep her! You will seehow evil [ill] she looketh an' she come to speak with you, and I trowthat she will when I give her to wit who is here. "

So saying, Alice returned to the room she had quitted, and for someminutes Richard heard nothing more. Then the door re-opened, and a ladyentered the chamber. 

Was _that_ Margery Lovell? Never, surely, were hers that feeble step, that worn, wan, white face, that dark ring round the eyes, telling ofweary vigils, and of bitter weeping! But the smile of welcome wasMargery Lovell's own, and the gesture, as she came forward quickly, holding out both hands, was hers also; though the smile died away in aninstant, and the worn, wearied look came back instead. 

"Dear, good friend!" she said, "how it gladdeth me to see you! You comestraightway from Lovell Tower? My father and mother be well? AndMistress Katherine, and Cicely, and all the maidens? And Lyard, and oldBeaudesert? (naming her palfrey and the watchdog). And all mine oldfriends--Sir Ralph Marston, and Master Carew?"

Richard smiled a grave, almost mournful smile. 

"You ask too many questions, good my Lady, to be answered in a breath. But Dame Lovell is in health, and greets you well by me, bidding you beassured ever of her love and blessing. "

"And my father? O Master Pynson, my father! my father!"

She sat down, and buried her face in her hands, and wept; for thoughRichard had made no answer in words, his face told his tidings toounmistakably. Sir Geoffrey Lovell was dead. After a time Margerylooked up whiter and more wan than ever, and begged to know theparticulars of her father's death. Richard informed her that SirGeoffrey had been taken ill three days only before he died; they hadimmediately summoned Master Carew, who was a physician, and who hadpronounced that since he could not live many days, it would be uselessto send for his daughter, who could not possibly reach Lovell Tower intime to see him alive. Dame Lovell was well in health, but had quitelost her old cheerfulness, and appeared to feel her husband's death veryacutely. It had been arranged that Friar Andrew should remain with DameLovell as her confessor. As to himself, Richard said that he should ofcourse return to his father for a time, until he could by some act ofbravery or special favour receive the honour of knighthood; but he didnot like to say anything to Dame Lovell about leaving her, so long as hesaw that he was of any use to her, as he knew that she regarded him inthe light of an adopted son, and had especially seemed to cling to himsince Margery's departure. 

Margery replied that she would have requested for him the favour ofknighthood in a moment at the hands of Lord Marnell, but she did notlike to ask him for anything so long as he was displeased with her. 

Richard inquired after Lord Marnell. Margery said he was well, and waswith the King at Havering-atte-Bower: but talking about him seemed toincrease her look of weariness and woe. She turned the subject byinquiring again about her old friends. Cicely and the maids, Richardtold her, were well; but old Beaudesert always howled whenever he wasasked for Madge; and Lyard would stand switching his tail in the meadow, and looking wistfully at the house for the young mistress whom he mustnever see again. 

"You miss me, then, all?" said Margery, mournfully. 

"You will never know how sore, " was Richard's answer. 

Another pause ensued--there seemed some strange constraint betweenthem--and then Richard asked--

"And what tidings take I home, good my Lady? Dame Lovell bade me have acare to ask how you fared, and the child. I grieve to hear from AliceJordan that _he_ fareth but evil, and for _you_--"

He smiled the same grave smile. 

"Well--_well_, Master Pynson, " said Margery, quickly. "I fare well. Icannot go where is not Christ, and where He is, howsoever I fare, I mustneeds fare well. And for the child--come and see him. "

She led the way noiselessly to the adjoining room. Little Geoffrey layin Alice's arms in a heavy sleep. His breathing was very quick andshort, and his face flushed and fevered. Richard stood looking silentlyat him for a few minutes, and then returned with Margery to the oakenchamber. She offered him refreshments, but he declined them. He hadsupped, he said, already; and ere breakfast-time, he looked to be on hisway back to the North. Margery wrote a short letter to Dame Lovell, andintrusted it to him; and then she sat by the table, wearily resting herhead upon her hand. 

"I pray you, good my Lady, " said Richard, suddenly, breaking the spellthat seemed to bind them, "what meaneth this bruit [noise, rumour] ofheresy that I hear of you?"

Margery looked up with a strange light in her eyes. 

"You remember, I trow, asking Master Carew for to lend me yon book?--andwending with me to hear Master Sastre's homily?"

"I mind it well. "

"_That_ meaneth it. That because I read Christ's words, and love them, and do them, so far as in my poor power lieth, the charge of heresy islaid at my door. And I ween they will carry it on to the end. "

"_The end_?" said Richard, tremblingly, --for he guessed what that meant, and the idea of Margery being subjected to a long and comfortlessimprisonment, was almost more than he could bear. His own utterpowerlessness to save her was a bitter draught to drink. 

"Ay, the end!" she said, with the light spreading all over her face. "Mind you not how Master Sastre asked us if we could sue the Lamb alongthe weary and bitter road? Is it an evil thing to sue the Lamb, thoughHe lead over a few rugged stones which be lying in the path? Nay, friend, I am ready for the suing, how rough soever the way be. "

Richard sat looking at her in silence. He had always thought her halfan angel, and now he thought her so more than ever. 

"I trow you know these things, good friend?" said Margery, with her sad, faint smile. "You know, is it not, how good is Christ?"

"I am assaying for to know, " answered Richard, huskily. "I have beena-reading of Master Carew's book, since I found you counted it so greata thing. Oft-times have Master Carew and I sat reading of that bookwhenever I could make an errand unto his neighbourhood; and he hathtaught me many things. But I cannot say yet that I be where you be, Mistress Margery, " he added, calling her by the old familiar title, "orthat I know Christ as friendly as you seem to know Him. "

"Then, " said Margery, earnestly, "let not go your grasp till you havefast hold of Him. Ah! what matter how soon or how sore cometh the end, if `_whanne He hath loued Hise that ben in the world, into the ende Heloueth them_. ' [John xiii. 1. ] O dear friend, count not anything lostif thou keepest Christ His love! If He shall come unto thee and say ofaught by which thou settest store, as He did say unto Peter, `_Louest__thou me more than these_?' let thine answer be his, `_Che, Lord, Thouwoost that I loue Thee_!' [John xxi. 15. ] Oh count not aught too rareor too brave for to give Christ! `_He that loueth his lyf schal leeseit; and he that hatith his lyf in this world, kepith it untoeverlastinge lyf_. ' [John xii. 25. ] No man loseth by that chepe[exchange, bargain] of life worldly for life everlasting. Never shallthe devils have leave to say, `Behold here a man who hath lost byChrist!'"

"Must we needs give Christ _all_?" said Richard, in an unsteady tone. 

"Is there a thing that thou wouldst keep from Him?--a thing that thoulovest more than thou lovest Him? Then it will be no marvel that thoushouldst lose the same. Trust me, if His heart be set on thee, He willeither have thy heart away from it by thy good will, or will have itaway from thy heart by bitter rending and sorrow. And alas for that manwho hath no portion in Christ His heart!"

Richard answered almost in a whisper, and bent forward to take Margery'shand as he did so. The spell was fully broken now. 

"There was only one thing, and He hath taken it. Margery, I loved_you_. I had given readily all else but you. And I trow you will countit but a sorry [poor, unworthy] giving, wherein the heart goeth not withthe hands. "

She turned her head hastily away, and made no answer; but he felt herhand grow deathly cold in his own. He dropped it, and rose--and so didshe. She went with him to the door; and there, as she offered her handfor a farewell greeting, she spoke--

"Richard, God hath parted thee and me, and whatsoever God doth He dothwed. If it were as thou sayest, there was need thereof. When childrencome home to their father's house from afar, I trow they fall nota-bewailing that they had not leave to come in company. And if only wemay clasp hands at the gate of the _Urbs Beata_, I trow well that weshall count it no great matter, good friend, that we saw but little theone of the other on the journey!"

Richard kissed her hand, and then she drew it from him, and softlypassed into her darkened nursery. For a moment he stood looking afterher. "Please God, we will, Margery!" he said to himself, at length. Then he ran lightly down the stairs, and old Christopher rose at thesound of his step to open the door for him. 

And so Richard Pynson and Margery Marnell parted, never more to speak toeach other on this side of the Happy City. 

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

Note 1. Any reader acquainted with mediaeval hymns will recognise inthis--

"Urbs coelestis! urbs beata! Super petram collocata. "

I have translated a few lines of the hymn for the benefit of the Englishreader; but my heroine must be supposed to sing it in the originalLatin. 

Note 2. "Sweetening" was a process to which our forefathers werecompelled by their want of drains, and consisted in leaving a houseentirely empty for a time, to have the windows opened, the rushesrenewed, and to adroit of a general purification. Families who had themeans generally "went to sweeten" at least every summer. 

CHAPTER SEVEN. 

BEREAVEMENT, BUT NOT DEATH. 

 "Take from me anything Thou wilt, But go not _Thou_ away!"

Little Geoffrey slowly recovered from the illness which had brought himto death's door, and though able to run about the house, he was stillfar from perfect health, when Margery received orders to prepare foranother interview with Abbot Bilson. She rightly divined that thiswould be more stormy than the last. Abbot Bilson came now fullyprepared, and not alone. He was accompanied by Archbishop Arundel, aman of violent passions, and a bitter persecutor of all whom heconceived to lean to the opinions of Wycliffe. When Margery entered theroom, and saw the Archbishop, she trembled, as well she might. Shemeekly knelt and asked their blessing--the manner in which priests werecommonly greeted. The Abbot gave his, saying, "May God bless thee, andlead thee unto the truth!"

"Amen!" responded Margery. Arundel, however, refused his benedictionuntil he had inquired into the matter. 

"Be seated, my daughter!" said the Abbot. Margery obeyed. 

"Holy Church, daughter, hath been sore aggrieved by thine evil doing. She demandeth of thee an instant yielding of yon heretical andpernicious book, the which hath led thee astray; and a renunciation ofthy heresy; the which done, thou shalt receive apostolic absolution andbenediction. "

"I know not, reverend father, what ye clepe [call] heresy. Wherein haveI sinned?"

"In the reading of yon book, and in thy seldom confession. Moreover, Itrow thou holdest with the way of John Wycliffe, yon evil reprobate!"replied the Archbishop. 

"I cry you mercy, reverend fathers. I take my belief from no man. Icrede [believe] the words of Christ as I find the same written, andconcern not myself with Master Wycliffe or any other. I know not anyLollards, neither have I allied myself unto them. "

The Archbishop and the Abbot both looked at Lord Marnell--a mute inquiryas to whether Margery spoke the truth. 

"I ween it is so, reverend fathers, " said he. "I wis nought of my wifeher manner of living ere I wedded her, but soothly sithence [since] shecame hither, I know of a surety that she hath never companied with anysuch evil persons as be these Lollards. "

"Hold you _not_ with the way of Wycliffe, daughter?" inquired the Abbot. 

"I wis not, reverend father, " answered she, "for of a truth I know notwherein it lieth. I hold that which I find in the book; and I trow an'I keep close by the words of Christ, I cannot stray far from truth. "

"The words in yon book be no words of Christ!" said Arundel. "That evilone Wycliffe, being taught of the devil, hath rendered the holy words ofthe Latin into pernicious heresy in English. "

"I pray you then, father, will you give me the book in Latin, for I wisa little the Latin tongue, and moreover I can learn of one that hath thetongues to wit better the same. "

This was not by any means what Arundel intended, and it raised hisanger. 

"I will not give thee the Latin!" exclaimed he. "I forbid thee to reador learn the same, for I well know thou wouldst wrest it to thine evilpurposes. "

"How can you put a right meaning to the words, my daughter?" mildlysuggested the Abbot. 

"I know well that I could in no wise do the same, " replied Margery, humbly, "had I not read the promise of Christ Jesu that He would sendunto His own `_thilk Spyryt of treuthe_, ' who should `_teche them altreuthe_, ' [John xvi. 13] wherefore by His good help I trust I shallread aright. "

"That promise was given, daughter, unto the holy apostles. "

"It was given, reverend father, unto weak men and evil, else Peter hadnever denied his Master, ne [neither] had all of them left Him and takento flight, when the servants of the bishops [see Note 1] laid hold onHim. I wis that I have an evil heart like as they had, but meseemeththat mine is not worser than were theirs, wherefore I count that promisemade unto myself also. "

"Thou art lacking in meekness, Madge, " said Lord Marnell. 

"I trust not so, good my Lord; but an' if I be, I pray God to give it tome. "

"Give up the book, Madge!" said her husband, apparently desirous toallay the storm which he had raised, "and thou shalt then receiveabsolution, and all will go well. "

"I will give up the book, my Lord, in obedience to you, " repliedMargery, "for I wis well that wives be bounden to obey their husbands;and soothly it is no great matter, for I know every word therein. Butunder your good leave, my Lord, the truth which this book hath taughtme, neither you nor any other man shall have power to take from me, forit is of God, and not of men!"

She drew the book from her pocket--ladies wore much larger pockets inthose days than they now do--kissed it, and handed it to her husband. 

"Thou hast well done, Madge!" said Lord Marnell, more kindly thanbefore, as he passed the book to the Archbishop. Arundel, with amuttered curse upon all evil teaching, took the book from Lord Marnellwith his hand folded in the corner of his gown, as if he thought itsvery touch would communicate pollution, and flung it into the fire. Thefire was a large one, and in a minute the volume was consumed. Margerywatched the destruction of her treasure with swimming eyes. 

"Burn, poor book!" she said, falteringly, "and as thy smoke goeth up toGod, leave it tell Him that the reading and the loving of His Word isaccounted a sin by those who ought to be His pastors. "

"Woman, wilt not hear the truth?" cried Arundel. 

"Truly, father, I have heard it, and it shall rest with me unto my dyingday. But I trow that if your teaching were truth, ye had never burnedwith fire the Word of Christ, who hath power, if ye repent not, toconsume you also with the like!"

"Told I not thee that the evil book which I gave to the fire was notChrist His Word, but the work of the devil?"

"Yea, truly; and the like said the heathen Jews, `_Wher we seyen not welthat thou art a Samaritan, and hast a deuel_?' But I find not thattheir saying the same made it ever the truer. What saith Christ inanswer? `_I haue not a deuel; but I honoure my Fadir, and ye hanunhonourid me_. '" [John viii. 48, 49. ]

"My daughter, " said the Abbot, with even more than his usual gentleness, "I misdoubt greatly that you be obstinate in your error. And if this beso, we shall have necessity of deeds the which we should sore lament. You wit, doubtless, that in case you continue thus obstinate, you willbe had up afore the King's Grace's Council?"

"I am ready, " answered Margery. 

"You wit also, " pursued the Abbot, no less gently, "that you may besentenced unto close prison for such time as pleaseth the King's Grace?"

"I am ready, " said Margery again. 

Her examiners looked surprised. 

"Moreover, " continued the Abbot, in a softer tone than ever, "wit youthat we can allow you no longer to have the charge and teaching of yourson, who must needs be instructed in the true faith?"

The end of the reverend fathers was at length reached. The quiet wordsof the Abbot produced an effect which the furious abuse of theArchbishop had been unable to accomplish. A cry of mingled terror, anguish, and despair, broke from poor Margery's lips. 

"Ye could not--ye could not be so cruel!" she sobbed. "Take from me allI have in this world--comfort, freedom, yea, life--only leave me mychild!"

"Thou seest what thou hast brought on thyself!" said Arundel. "How canwe, being the ministers of God His truth, suffer the mind of yoninnocent child to be poisoned with like evil doctrine?"

"Doth God part the child from the mother?" faltered Margery. "This isnone of His doing. My darling! my darling!"

Lord Marnell pitied his wife. Her agony touched all that was soft andgentle in his not too soft heart. 

"Well, well, Madge!" he said, kindly; "I will see that thy child is nottaken from thee, if thou wilt obey these reverend fathers in confessingof thine error, and wilt humbly beg absolution at their hands. "

Margery looked up at her husband with an expression of unutterablegratitude beaming in her eyes--but the moment she heard his if, her facefell instantly. 

"I conceive you, good my Lord, " she said, mournfully, "howsoever I thankyou. You will give me back my darling, if I will deny that I holdChrist His truth. I cannot. I dare not!"

"`Christ His truth, ' persist you in calling your heresy!" cried Arundel, in a fury. "Choose, then, quickly, for the last time, betwixt `ChristHis truth' and your child!"

She shivered from head to foot as if an ague-fit were on her, and hersobs almost mounted to a scream. No heart that had any pretension tohumanity could have helped pitying her. Her husband did pity her; butArundel was carried away by passion, and Bilson had no heart. Throughall this tempest, however agonised, firm and unwavering came theanswer--

"Christ!"

Arundel, rising, ordered her to kneel. Margery knelt down on thehearth, her hands clasped on her breast, and her eyes looking up toheaven. Solemnly, and with all that terrific majesty which the Churchof Rome so well knows how to put into her threats and denunciations, theArchbishop cited her to appear before the council on the 17th day of thefollowing September. In the meantime she was to be confined in one ofthe State dungeons. Arundel graciously added that he would give her theremainder of that day to make her preparations. Lord Marnell hereinterposed, and begged the Archbishop to reconsider his decision. Hehad anticipated Margery's examination by the council, and possibly herbeing sentenced to a term of imprisonment, but he had not bargained forthis previous incarceration. Arundel bluntly refused to alter hissentence. 

Margery raised her tearful eyes to Lord Marnell. "My Lord, " she said, "and you, reverend fathers, I have one small thing to ask of you. Ipray you deny me not. "

"What is it, Madge?" asked Lord Marnell. 

"My good Lord, " she said, pleadingly, "suffer me to take one last kissof my child, ere ye take me where I shall see him no more!"

The Abbot seemed disposed to grant Margery's petition, though theArchbishop demurred; but Lord Marnell settled the matter byauthoritatively commanding that the mother should be permitted to takeleave of her child. Arundel, with rather a bad grace, gave way on thissecondary point. Margery was then dismissed. 

She went up-stairs as if she were walking in a dream, and found Alicehiding behind the door for the amusement of little Geoffrey, who was inhigh glee. Margery stood a moment on the threshold, looking at them, and mournfully thinking that it was the last time she would ever look onthat sunny little face, or hear that silvery laugh. As she stood there, Alice caught sight of her mistress, and her share of the mirth ceasedinstantly. 

"My Lady! my Lady! what have you, I pray you tell me? You look as ifsentence of death had been passed on you!"

Margery passed her hand dreamily across her brow. 

"Sentence, good Alice, of the evil which is in death!" she said, softly, "and henceforth death must needs be a glad thing. But that is to comeyet. "

She sat down, and took the child on her knee, and he nestled his littlegolden head into her bosom. For a few minutes she rocked herself andhim to and fro in silence, but at length her voice came, and though ittrembled a little, it was almost as quiet and silvery as usual. 

"Geoffrey, dost love me?"

"Yes, mother, very much. "

"Poor child! how wilt do without me!"

"Go you hence, mother?"

"Yes, my child, I go hence. Geoffrey, wilt mind ever what I now sayunto thee? Wilt never, never forget it, but ever keep it fresh andshene, and think thereof whenever thou dost think of me?"

"Yes, mother, I shan't forget. "

"Alice, thou wilt help him to remember, good lass, if thou be not takenfrom him. "

"That will I, good my Lady, " said Alice, sobbing, and only comprehendingthat something painful had happened. 

"Geoffrey, darling, thou wilt be a good child to thy father?"

"I'll try, mother, but--he frighteth me. "

Margery sighed heavily. 

"List me now, my heart. Dost remember what I told thee about JesusChrist?"

Geoffrey answered that he did. 

"Right, my heart. And lovest Jesus Christ, who died for thee?"

"Yes, mother, I love Him and you. "

The child's innocent answer nearly upset Margery's half-assumedcalmness. She rocked him a minute longer in silence. "Remember, mineown sweet heart, ever that nothing but Jesus can save thee. Thou canstnot save thyself. Beg of Him with all thine heart that He will savethee, and love Him all thy life long, even unto _the end_. "

She ceased an instant. 

"Now, sweet heart, kiss me. Give me a brave kiss, mine own--it is thelast. Never shall we kiss again till we kiss in the Happy City!Fare-thee-well, dearly beloved! God have thee in His holy keeping! Godteach thee what I cannot--what I by reason of mine ignorance know not, or what thou by reason of thy tender years canst not yet conceive. Godforgive thee thy sins, and help thee in all trouble and woe, and bringthee to that blessed home where I shall see thee again, and where theysin not, nor grieve, neither part any more!"

Margery gently detached herself from the child's embrace, and set himdown. She desired Alice to take him away, and then to return and assisther in matters respecting which she would tell her particulars when sheshould have removed the child. She stood looking after the boy as Aliceled him away, and he turned his head to say, "God be wi' ye!" [See Note2]. 

"Never again! never again!" said Margery to herself in a half-whisper. "The worst part of death is over! I have nothing left now but Christ. "

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

Note 1. Wycliffe always renders "Bisschopis" the word translated "chiefpriests" in the authorised version. 

Note 2. The farewell phrase which has in modern times been shortenedinto "good-bye. "

CHAPTER EIGHT. 

A LODGING ON THE COLD GROUND. 

 "Christ is at hand to scorn or bless-- Christ suffers in our strife. "

 Christian Year. 

In the evening, as previously ordered, Margery quitted Marnell Place inher litter for her prison in the Tower. The jailer stared at her, asAbbot Bilson, who accompanied her, gave her into his charge, andwhisperingly asked the reason for which she was to be incarcerated. 

"Heresy, good friend. "

"Heresy!" said the jailer, staring more than ever. "What pity for oneso marvellous young! Poor lady! it sorroweth me!"

When Margery was at length locked in, she had time to look round herprison. It was a small, square, whitewashed cell, completelyunfurnished; all the furniture had to be brought from Marnell Place. Not much was allowed. A mattress and blanket by way of bed, a stool, and a crucifix, were the only articles permitted. The barred window wasvery small, and very high up. Here Margery was to remain untilSeptember. The days rolled wearily on. Lord Marnell occasionallyvisited her; but not often, and he was her sole visitor. The jailer, for a jailer, was rather kind to his prisoner, whom he evidently pitied;and one day he told her, as he brought her the prison allowance forsupper, that "strange things" were taking place in the political world. There was a rumour in London that "my Lord of Hereford" had returned toEngland before his period of banishment was over, and had possessedhimself of the person of King Richard at Flint Castle. 

"What will he do?" asked Margery. "Soothly I wis not, " answered thejailer. "I trow he will make himself king. Any way, I trust it may hapfor your Ladyship's good, for it is the wont to release prisoners at thebeginning of a new reign. "

Shortly after that, Henry of Bolingbroke fulfilled the jailer'sprediction, so far as regarded his kingship. He led Richard in triumphthrough London, with every dishonour and indignity which his own evilnature could devise; then consigned him to Pontefract to die and satdown on his throne. _How_ Richard died, Henry best knew. Thus closedthe life and reign of that most ill-treated and loving-hearted man, atthe early age of thirty-three. The little Queen, a widow at eleven, wassent back to France--her matchless collection of jewels being retainedby Henry. Few men have had more reason to describe themselves as HenryIV does in his will--"I, Henry, _sinful wretch_. " [See Note 1. ]

The change of monarchs, however, brought no change for Lady Marnell. Ifanything, it was the worse for her; for Abbot Bilson was a personalfriend of the new King, who was far more violently opposed to theLollards than his predecessor had been. 

On the 16th of September, 1400, Lord Marnell was just quitting Margery'scell, when the jailer admitted Abbot Bilson, who courteously greetedLord Marnell, and replied rather more coldly to the salutation of hisprisoner. 

"Good morrow, my Lord. Have you induced this wretched girl to see theerror of her ways?"

"I assayed it not, " said Lord Marnell, somewhat sulkily. "Farewell, Madge, --I will see thee again ere long. "

"Farewell, good my Lord, " said Margery, and for the first time in herlife she was sorry to see her husband go. The truth was, that LordMarnell felt so much vexed with his spiritual advisers, that he wasseriously afraid, if he remained, of saying something which might causehis own imprisonment. The jailer locked the door after him, and theAbbot and Margery were left together. 

"You have had time, daughter, to think over your sin, in penitence andprayer. Are you yet conscious that you have committed a grievous sin?"

"No, father. "

"No are? [i. E. , Are you not?] I grieve to hear it. Fear you not theban of Holy Church?"

"I fear it not, so Christ confirm it not; He did warn me afore of thesame. `_Thei schulen make ghou withouten the synagogis; but the ourcometh, that ech man that sleeth ghou deme that he doith seruyse toGod_. '" [John xvi. 2. ]

"Cease thy endless quotations from Scripture!" cried the Abbot, waxingwroth, and forgetting his civilities. 

But Margery only replied by another--"`_He that is of God herith thewordis of God; therefore ye heren not for ye be not of God_. '" [Johnviii. 47. ]

"Take the curse of the Church, miserable reprobate!" cried Bilson, losing all command of himself, and smiting her in the face. 

"Take you heed, " was the answer, "that you bring not on yourself thecurse of Christ, who is the Head and Lord of the Church, for Hesuffereth not lightly that His sheep be ill handled. "

"Aroint thee, sorceress!" said the abbot. "I am no sorceress, " repliedMargery, quietly, "neither do I use evil arts; I speak unto you in thewords of Christ--bear you the sin if you will not hear. But lo! it iseven that which is written, `_He hath blyndid her yghen_ [their eyes], _and he hath maad hard the herte of hem; that thei see not with yghen, and undirstonde with herte, and that thei be conuertid, and I heelehem_. '" [John xii. 40. ]

The abbot could bear no more. He struck her furiously--a blow whichstretched her senseless on the stone floor of the cell. Having by thisprimitive means silenced Margery's "endless quotations, " he let himselfout with a private key. 

When Lord Marnell returned to the prison that evening, he found Margeryin what he supposed to be a swoon. He summoned the jailer, and throughhim sent for a physician, who applied restoratives, but told LordMarnell at once that Margery had fallen, and had received a heavy blowon the head. By the united care of the physician and her husband, sheslowly returned to consciousness: not, however, fully so at first, forshe murmured, "Mother!" When Lord Marnell bent over her and spoke toher, she suddenly recognised him as if awaking from a dream. Yes, shereplied to their inquiries, she had certainly fallen, and she thoughtshe had hurt her head; but she would not tell them that the cause of thefall was a passionate blow from the Abbot's hand. The physician askedwhen her examination was to take place; and on Lord Marnell replying, "To-morrow, " he shook his head, and said she would not be able toappear. 

"Oh ay, ay, let me go!" said Margery, "I would not have delay therein. I shall be better by morn, and--"

But as she spoke she fainted away, and the doctor, turning to LordMarnell, said--

"She is no wise fit for it, poor lady! The inquiry must needs bedelayed, and the blame thereof be mine own. "

"Then I pray you, " replied Lord Marnell, "to say the same unto thecouncil; for they heed not me. "

He answered that he would go to them as soon as he thought that hispatient required no further professional assistance. Margery seemedbetter shortly, and Master Simon, for such was the doctor's name, repaired at once to the council charged with the examination ofprisoners accused of heresy, and told them that their State prisoner, the Lady Marnell, was very ill in her dungeon, and would not be able toappear before them for at least some weeks to come. Arundel, whopresided, only laughed. The doctor insisted. 

"Why, " said be, "the poor lady is sickening for a fever; let her alone:how can a woman light-headed answer questions upon doctrine and heresy?"

The council, governed by Arundel, still seemed unwilling to grant theprayer; when, to the surprise of every one present, Abbot Bilson, theprincipal witness for the Crown, rose and supported the petition. Thepuzzled council accordingly granted it. Arundel was very much underBilson's influence, and Bilson had a private reason for his conduct, which will presently appear. 

So the examination was adjourned until February, and Margery, releasedfor the moment from the struggle with her enemies, was left to combatthe fever which had seized her. Lord Marnell and Master Simon beggedfor an order of the council to remove poor Margery home, the latterasserting that she would never recover in the Tower. The councilrefused this application. They then requested that one of herwaiting-women should be allowed to attend her, and that bedding andlinen, with such other necessaries as Master Simon might deem fit, mightbe supplied to the prisoner from her own house. The council, after aprivate consultation among its members, thought fit to grant thisreasonable prayer. 

Alice Jordan was made very happy by an order from Lord Marnell to attendher sick mistress. Everything that Marnell Place could furnish, whichMaster Simon did not absolutely forbid, --and Master Simon was easy ofpersuasion--was lavished on the whitewashed cell in the Tower. Alice, however, was carefully searched every time she passed in and out of theTower, to see that she supplied no books nor writing-materials to theprisoner, nor took any letters from her. Poor Margery! the care wasneedless, for she was just then as incapable of writing as if she hadnever been taught. 

Margery's illness lasted even longer than Master Simon had anticipated. On a dark, cold winter night, when snow was falling thickly outside theprison, and a low rushlight burned on the table, dimly lighting up thenarrow cell, Margery unexpectedly whispered, "Who is there?"

"I, dear mistress--Alice Jordan. "

"Alice Jordan! Where then am I? Or was it all a terrible dream? Isthis Lovell Tower?" Alice's voice trembled as she said, "No. "

"What then? Oh! I know now. It is the Tower of London, and the endcometh nigh. "

"Nay, dearest mistress, you fare marvellous better now. "

"I mean not the fever-death, good friend, but _the end_--the end of myweary pilgrimage, the gate of the Happy City. Welcome be the end of theway, for the way hath been a rough one and a sore! However sharp be theend, I can bear it now. My soul hath been loosed from earth. I seenothing now, I want nothing but Christ, and to be with Him in the glory. Alice, how fareth the child? I dared not to ask afore, since I cameinto this place, but I can now. "

"I trow he fareth well, good mistress, but of a long season I have notseen him. My Lord hath sent him unto the care of Dame Lovell. "

Margery's eyes, rather than her voice, expressed her pleasure at thisnews. 

"Hath my Lord my husband been here sithence I took sick?"

"Every day, my Lady; and I trow he sent away the boy for that reason, lest his coming hither should give him the sickness. "

"Knoweth my mother of my sickness?"

"I wis not, my Lady, but I trow that my Lord would tell her, when hesent the child down with Master Pynson. "

"Master Pynson! Hath he been hither?"

"Yea, good my Lady, he came up, I ween, on Saint Luke's Day [October18], and took back the young master with him. "

"What said he when ye told him of my prison, Alice?"

"He covered his face, and wept sore. "

Margery turned her face to the wall. "A fiery trial!" she murmured, asif to herself--"a fiery trial for him as well as me! Is this the waywherein the Father will draw him? If so, Richard, I can bear it. "

The 16th of February came. On the morning of that day, as Lord Marnellstepped out of his own house into the open air, with the intention ofpaying his usual visit to Margery, Abbot Bilson came up, radiant andsmiling, and carrying under his arm a large parchment roll. 

"Ah, my very good Lord, well met! Whither away?"

"I purpose to see Madge. "

"Ah!" exclaimed the Abbot, who was occupied with an amusement whichcomes naturally to men of his disposition, and has been wittily dennedas "washing one's hands with invisible soap, in imperceptible water. "

"What hast under thine arm, reverend father?" asked Lord Marnell. 

"Ah! this is the indictment of the Lady Marnell. Your Lordship witteththat she will be examined to-morrow afore the council, and by themsentenced. "

"You will endeavour yourself, reverend father, that the sentence be madeas light as may be. "

"My Lord, we have but one sentence for heretics, " said Abbot Bilson, with a smile which showed all his teeth, like a wild beast. "The Actregarding them was yestermorn sceptred by the King's Grace. "

"One!" remarked Lord Marnell, in some surprise. "The sentence now, then, is--?"

"_Death_. "

Lord Marnell hastily laid his hand on a buttress, to steady himself, when he heard this awful news. 

"You have deceived me, father! You have deceived me!" he cried. "Youtold me, some months gone, when first I called you into this matter, that the sentence on heretics was prison. "

"My good Lord, I pray you remember that I told you but a moment back, that the new Act is just passed. Ere that the sentence truly was closeprison; but now--"

On finding himself thus inveigled by the cunning of Abbot Bilson, LordMarnell was beside himself with passion. He burst into a torrent of themost fearful language. Abbot Bilson stood calmly by, as if quiteaccustomed to such scenes. 

"My good Lord, I pray you blaspheme not, or I must needs appoint you asore penance, " was all that he mildly observed. 

Lord Marnell recovered himself by a strong effort, and asked, aspolitely as he could, what description of death was commanded by the newAct. 

"Burning or beheading, at the pleasure of the King's Grace, " replied theAbbot, as unconcernedly as though the choice in question lay between acouple of straws. 

"My wife, being a peeress, will of force be beheaded?"

"Likely, I trow, " replied the Abbot, drawing his cowl closer over hishead, as a cold blast of wind came up the street. 

"Father, you must use all effort that the sentence be so pronounced, ifthe King's Grace remit it not. "

"The King's Grace remitteth never sentence on heretics, " said Bilson, with another of his disagreeable smiles. "He is much too true andfaithful son of Holy Church therefor. And as to my poor efforts, myLord--"

"You _can_, and you _shall_, " wrathfully answered Lord Marnell, and, notto prolong the contest, walked rapidly away. 

Abbot Bilson stood looking after him, with an expression on his face notunlike that which a triumphant demon might be supposed to exhibit. 

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

Note 1. Henry had previously conspired against the King three times, and had even plotted the death of his own father. His father sentencedhim to death, and if Richard had not interposed, Henry would not havelived to depose his benefactor. "How true is the saying, " cried poorRichard in his agony, "that we have no greater enemy than the man whomwe save from the gallows!"--See Creton's MS. Bibl. Imp. 8448-2_Ambassades_. 

CHAPTER NINE. 

AN OBDURATE HERETIC. 

 "Great your strength, if great your need. "

 Henry Kirke White. 

In the evening of the same day, the council sent a physician to reporton the prisoner's health. Not gentle Master Simon, but a stern, iron-handed, iron-hearted man, from whom Margery and Alice shrankinstinctively. The physician reported that the Lady Marnell hadundoubtedly been very ill, but was now better, and ailed nothing butweakness; he accordingly recommended that the examination should takeplace, but that the prisoner, in consideration of her extreme debility, should be indulged with a seat. Master Simon tried hard to obtain alittle further postponement; but this time the powerful Abbot wasagainst him, and he gained nothing by his motion. So, on the morning ofthe 17th, Margery rose from her sick-bed to appear before the council. Lord Marnell, who had lately shown her extraordinary kindness, as thoughwith the view of undoing, so far as lay in his power, the evil which hisrash, though well-meant conduct had originally created, assisted hiswife into her litter, and rode beside it during the short journey. Onarriving at the door, where they found a steep flight of steps to mount, Lord Marnell would not allow Margery to try her strength, but carriedher up in his arms. He knew, and so did she, that she would need allthe strength she could muster for the trial which was to come. Thecouncil-chamber was hung with red cloth, and the benches appropriated tospectators were filled to overflowing. For one moment Margery shrankback at the sight of so many strange faces; and a faint tinge of colourmounted to her pale cheek as Lord Marnell led her forward to her chair. In the president's seat was the Archbishop of Canterbury, and on hisleft hand Abbot Bilson. Several abbots, priors, and other legal andecclesiastical dignitaries, made up the remainder of the council. 

For eight weary hours, with very short intervals for refreshment, theykept that fragile prisoner before them, and all the time she neverquailed, nor evaded any of their questions. Twice Master Simoninterfered, and begged that wine might be given her, or he would notanswer for her further recovery; and once she herself asked for a glassof water, and for a few minutes seemed about to faint. 

Abbot Bilson came out in his true colours at this examination. He wasno longer the mild, persuasive teacher; he now showed himself theunforgiving revenger. The Archbishop pressed the prisoner hard withquestions, many of them irrevelant to the indictment; and most of theother members of the Council put queries to her. 

They inquired, amongst other things, if she believed that in theSacrament of the Lord's Supper the bread and wine became the very bodyand blood of Christ. 

"Nay, certes, " was Margery's answer. "For if Christ, being in life, could hold His own body, and give the same unto His disciples, then wereit no true human body, for a natural and true body cannot be in twoseveral places at the self-same moment of time. Moreover, if the breadof the host be verily the body of Christ, then did He eat His own body, and that is contrary to very reason. "

"The mysteries of the faith be above reason, " said Arundel. 

"Of a truth, and farther above it, maybe, than we wit; but in no wisecontrary thereunto. "

"Believe you in Purgatory?"

"The Church teacheth the same, and I say not that it may not be true;but I find it not in the book. "

"Pray you unto the blessed Virgin Saint Mary, the holy angels, and thesaints?"

"Soothly, no: it is not in the book. `_Whateuer thing ye axen the Fadirin my name, I schal do that thing_, ' saith Christ: but I hear not a wordof `whatever thing ye shall ask Saint Michael, or Saint Anne. '"

"Account you confession unto priests to be right or evil?"

"It may be right--I wis not; but I saw it not in the book. I pray you, reverend fathers, if any other part of God His book do name thesethings, and give leave for the same, that you show it unto me, andthereupon I will believe them, but no else. "

The above is, of course, a mere sample of the innumerable questionswhich were put to the prisoner. Towards the close of the day, theArchbishop and abbots consulted together for a few minutes; and thenArundel turned to the accused. 

"Margery Marnell, Baroness Marnell of Lymington, the Court demands ofyou whether you will put your name to this paper, and hold to all thingstherein contained?"

"Let me read the paper, my Lord Archbishop, and then I will give you ananswer. "

The Archbishop did not wish her to read the paper; but Margery steadilydeclined to sign anything in the dark. At length the council permittedit to be read to her. It contained a promise to abjure all Lollarddoctrines, and to perform a severe penance, such as the council shouldlay on her, for the scandal which she had caused to the Church. Margeryat once refused to sign anything of the kind. The Archbishop warned herthat in that case she must be prepared to submit to the capitalsentence. 

"Ye may sentence me, " she said, in her clear voice, always distinct, however feeble, "to what ye will. I fear you not. I wis ye have powerto kill my body, but my soul never shall ye have power to touch. Thatis Christ's, who witteth full well how to keep it; and to His blessedhands, not yours, I commit myself, body and soul. "

The Archbishop then passed sentence. The Court found Margery, BaronessMarnell of Lymington, guilty of all crimes whereof she stood indicted, and sentenced her to death by burning, in the open place called TowerHill, on the 6th day of March next ensuing. 

The prisoner bowed her head when the sentence had been pronounced, andthen said as she rose, and stretched out her hand to Lord Marnell, whocame forward and supported her, "I greatly fear, reverend fathers, thatyour day is yet to come, when you shall receive sentence from a Courtwhence there is no appeal, and shall be doomed to a dreader fire!"

When Lord Marnell had assisted his wife back into her dungeon, and laidher gently on the bed, he turned and shook his fist at the wall. 

"If I, Ralph Marnell of Lymington, had thee here, Abbot Thomas Bilson--"

"Thou wouldst forgive him, my good Lord, " faintly said Margery. 

"Who? I? Forgive _him_? What a woman art thou, Madge! Nay--by thebones of Saint Matthew, I would break every bone in his body! Forsooth, Madge, those knaves the Archbishop and the Abbot have played me a scurvytrick, and gone many times further than I looked for, when I called theminto this business. But it is so always, as I have heard, --thychirurgeon and thy confessor, if they once bear the hand in thy matters, will never let thee go till they have choked thee. I fear I shall havehard labour to get thee out of this scrape. I will do all I can, bethou sure, but thou wist that I am not in favour with the new King as Iwas with King Richard, whose soul God rest! Madge, wilt forgive me, wife?"

"With a very good will, my Lord, " said Margery. "I wis well that thouwottedst not all that thou didst. "

"Not I, by Saint James of Compostella!" exclaimed Lord Marnell. "Werethe good King Richard alive and reigning, I would soon let both theArchbishop and the Abbot feel the place too hot for to hold them. But Ican do nothing with Harry of Bolingbroke, looking, too, that he hateththe Lollards as he hateth the devil--and a deal more, I trow, for Icount that that prince and he be old friends, " added Lord Marnell, withan air of great disgust. 

Margery smiled gravely. She felt sorry for her husband, who she saw wasvery miserable himself at the unexpected result of his conduct; but shedid not allow herself for an instant to hope that he could save her. 

"Mine own good Lord, " she said, "I pray you torment not yourself inassaying my relief, neither in thinking that you be the cause of mytrouble; for I forgive you as freely as Christ hath forgiven me, and Icount that is free enough. "

Lord Marnell stood leaning against the wall, and looking at Margery, wholay outside the bed. 

"Of a truth, wife, I conceive thee not. Thou art here in the Towerdungeon, and thou lookest for no good outcoming, and lo! thou art calmand peaceful as if thou wert on King Henry's throne! What means it, Madge?"

"I trow I am much happier here than I should be on King Henry's throne!"answered Margery, with a smile. "Christ is with me, good husband, andwhere Christ is, is peace. `_Pees I leeue to ghou, my pees I ghyue toghou; not as the world ghyueth I ghyue to ghou_' [John xiv. 27]. `_These thingis I haue spoken to ghou, that ghe haue pees in me. In theworld ghe schulen haue disese; but triste ghe, I haue ouercome theworld_?'" [John xvi. 33. ]

When Lord Marnell quitted Margery that evening, he hastened to Court, and attempted to gain the ear of the King. Since the deposition of hisfriend and master, King Richard, he had never appeared there. He wasconsequently a stranger to the pages and porters, who tried to get ridof him as politely as they could. At length Lord Marnell caught sightof the Earl of Surrey, who with some hesitation consented to introducehim into the privy chamber. Henry listened to Lord Marnell only untilhe comprehended the nature of his plea; then met him with a frown and anangry--

"Pardon a Lollard? Never!"

"Please it, your Grace, your noble predecessor, King Richard, though noLollard, would have granted me at once, in consideration of my long andfaithful service unto him. "

"I am not Richard of Bordeaux, but Henry of Bolingbroke!" was thehaughty answer, as the King turned round abruptly, and quitted LordMarnell. 

"By our Lady of Walsingham, I wis full well _that_" replied the latter, _sotto voce_. 

As Lord Marnell quitted the palace, he met in the corridor with thePrince of Wales, [Afterwards Henry V] who stopped and saluted him, andLord Marnell at once begged for his intercession with his father. ThePrince readily promised it, but on learning particulars, the son's browdarkened as the father's had done. He was very sorry, but he reallycould not ask the King's pardon for a Lollard. Lord Marnell would havegiven his whole fortune to undo his own work of the last eighteenmonths. He had never dreamed that Abbot Bilson would have summoned thearchbishop to his aid, nor that Margery would have stood half as firmlyas she had done. He only knew her as a fragile, gentle, submissivegirl, and never expected to find in her material for the heroine or themartyr. Lord Marnell tried to procure the mediation of everybody aboutthe Court; but all, while expressing great sympathy with him, declinedto risk their own necks. Even the King's sons said they dared notcomply with his request. Prince Thomas [afterwards Henry V] wasextremely kind--very much grieved that he could not help him; but PrinceHumphrey [Duke of Gloucester] turned scornfully from him, and PrinceJohn [the great Duke of Bedford] coldly bade him take heed to his ownsafety. The Earl of Somerset, the King's half-brother, shook his head, and said he was already suspected by the King to be a Lollard himself, and such an application from him would probably seal his own doom. LordMarnell applied to the Queen [Jeanne of Navarre, the second wife ofHenry IV]; but she seemed most afraid of all to whom he had spoken, lestshe should incur the King's anger, and possibly endanger herself. 

The interval between the day of the examination and that appointed forthe execution passed drearily to all parties. Lord Marnell, notwithstanding all these repulses, exerted himself unremittingly toprocure a commutation of the sentence, at least to beheading; but invain. The King was inexorable. If the Lady Marnell had chosen to allyherself with Lollards, she well knew what she was doing, and must abidethe consequences. Vainly did Lord Marnell represent how young andinexperienced she was; in vain did he urge that the Act which made theLollards amenable to capital punishment had been passed since herindictment, and only a few weeks before. Henry was not naturallydisposed to hear his pleasure called in question; and Abbot Bilson hadhad possession of the royal ear already. 

When Alice returned from Marnell Place on the evening of the 26th ofFebruary, Margery saw, by the expression of her face, that she had heardsomething which shocked her. She asked what it was. 

"You mind, good my Lady, the day that you went with Master Pynson tohear a sermon in Bostock Church?"

"I trow I shall not lightly forget it, " was Margery's answer. 

"Master Sastre was a-preaching, was he not?"

"Ay. Wherefore?"

"My Lady, he suffered death this forenoon by burning. "

"Master Sastre! Who told thee?"

"Christopher it was that told me, --and yon evil man--for sure, though hebe a holy priest, yet is he an evil man, or would he never else have sodealt with your Ladyship--yon evil man, Abbot Bilson was there, and didsore press Master Sastre for to have confessed his error; but MasterSastre did maintain the same to the end. "

Margery turned away her head. The venerable image of Sastre rose upbefore her, as he learned forward over the pulpit to say those lastearnest words. 

"Ah, dear old teacher!" she whispered to herself. "Thou wilt not havelong to look among the multitude in the white apparel, for _one_ facewhich was upturned to thee that day!"

CHAPTER TEN. 

GLORIFYING THE LORD IN THE FIRES. 

 "Ah, little is all loss, And brief the space 'twixt shore and shore, If Thou, Lord Jesus, on us lay, Through the dark waters of our way, The burden which Christopheros bore-- To carry Thee across. "

 Miss Muloch. 

As Lord Marnell sat with Margery in her cell in the evening of the 1stof March, she begged him to grant her a favour. Her contrite husbandbade her ask what she would. Margery replied that she greatly wished towrite a last letter to her mother. Writing-materials were carefullykept from her. Could Lord Marnell supply her with the means of doingso? He said he would attempt it. 

When Alice returned on the following day from Marnell Place, whither shehad been to procure a change of linen for her mistress, she brought withher also a loaf of bread. The jailer demurred at this, but Alice urgedthat Lady Marnell did not like the bread made by the prison baker, andsurely the jailer would not grudge her a loaf from home, for the fewdays she had to live. The jailer shook his head, but let it pass. WhenAlice was safe in the cell, she broke the loaf, and produced from it, cunningly imbedded in the soft crumb, several sheets of paper foldedsurprisingly small, a pen, and a little inkhorn. Margery's eyesglistened when she saw these, and she wrote her letter secretly duringthe night. But how to get it out of the prison with safety? Alice wasable to provide for this also. The letter was sewn in one of thepillows, which would be carried back to Marnell Place after theexecution. 

The last day of Lady Marnell's life sped away as other less eventfuldays do, and the evening of the 5th of March arrived. Alice, havingjust returned from her usual journey to the house, was disposing of thearticles which she had brought with her, when the jailer's key grated inthe lock, and the door was opened. Lady Marnell looked up, expecting tosee her husband, though it was rather before his usual time for visitingher; but on looking up, she saw Abbot Bilson. 

This feline ecclesiastic came forward with bent head and joined hands, vouchsafing no reply to Margery's salutation of "Good even, father, " norto Alice's humble request for his blessing. He sat down on a chair, andfor some minutes stared at Margery in silence--conduct so strange thatat length she said, "Wherefore come you, father?"

"To look at thee, child of the devil!" was the civil answer. 

Alice, who had just requested the blessing of the _priest_, was moreangry than she could bear with the _man_. She was just on the point ofsaying something sharp, when Lord Marnell's voice behind the Abbotinterposed with--

"If thou wouldst see a child of the devil, I trow thou hast little needto look further than thy mirror!"

The Abbot rose calmly, and let Lord Marnell enter. 

"It becometh not poor and humble monks, servitors of God, to lendthemselves unto the vanity of mirrors, " said he, pulling out a largerosary, and beginning to tell his beads devoutly. 

"`Servitors of God!'" cried Lord Marnell, too angry to be prudent. "Dost call thyself a servitor of God? If God hath no better servitorsthan thou, I ween He is evil served!"

The Abbot cast a glance from the corner of his eye at Lord Marnell, butmade no answer, save to tell his beads more devoutly than ever. 

"Hast no other place to tell thy beads in?" asked that nobleman. 

The Abbot rose without a word, and, pausing at the door, stretched hishand over the assembled trio, and muttered some words to himself. 

"Away with thee, Lucifer, and thy maledictions!" exclaimed Lord Marnell. "There be here who are nearer to the angels than ever thou shalt be!"

Suddenly the Abbot was gone. Nobody had seen or heard him depart--heseemed to melt into the night, in some strange, mysterious way. 

"He is gone, and Satan his master go with him!" said Lord Marnell. "Ho, jailer! lock the door, I pray, and leave us three alone together. "

The jailer obeyed; and Lord Marnell sat down by the side of Margery'sbed, and bade Alice lie down on her own pallet, and sleep if she could. He gave the same counsel to Margery; but the latter smiled, and said shewould never sleep again in this world. 

"Now, Madge!" said her husband, "hast aught on thy mind, good wife, thatthou wouldst say ere morn? Aught that I can do for thee? Trust me, Iwill do the same right gladly. "

Margery thanked him fervently; there was a heartiness in his tone whichwas not often audible. 

"There be a few matters, mine own good Lord, which under thy goodpleasure I would willingly have done. I would that all my servantsmight have a year's pay; and for Alice, poor lass! who hath tended me sowell and truly, I pray that a small matter of money may be given her bythe year: moreover, I would like, if she will--for I would not lay herunder bond--that she should keep with Geoffrey while she liveth, or atleast until he be a man. And, good husband, I would that thou wouldstteach my poor child to remember me, his mother, but above all, toremember the Lord for whom I die, and who, having loved me in the world, loveth me unto the end. [John xiii. 1] Tell him to count nought toogood for Christ. I trust Christ hath set His heart upon him--I haveprayed for him too much else--and He promised me that whatever thing Ishould ask the Father in His name He would do that thing. " [John xvi. 16]. 

"Hast thou prayed ever for me, good wife?" asked Lord Marnell. 

"Many times, my good Lord, and I will do so till I die. "

"The Church teacheth that dying stoppeth not praying, " said he. 

"I wis well that the Church so teacheth; but I saw it not in the book;however, if I find it to be so, I will pray God for thee there also. "

"Thou sayest well, Madge; but I trow thou art more angel presently thanshall I be ever. I tell thee, Madge--for mayhap it will comfort thee toknow it--thy dealings and sayings of late have caused me to think moreon these things than ever did I afore. It seemeth but a small matter tothee, to go through the fire to the glory. I marvel an' it could be sounto me. "

"Say not `to the glory, ' good husband, but to Christ. I would not havethe glory and lack Christ. And for thee, I do rejoice and bless Godheartily, if He will make my poor doings of any good service unto thewelfare of thy soul. And believe me, that if thou art called unto myfiery ordeal, Christ will give thee grace and strength equal unto thyneed. It is not much for them who love Christ, if they see Him standbeyond a little fire, to pluck up heart and go through the fire to Him. O good husband, take these as my dying words, and teach them to thechild for the same, `Christ without everything is an hundredfold betterthan everything without Christ!'" Those last words were ringing in LordMarnell's ears when, about eight o'clock in the morning, he stood on thesteps of Marnell Place, looking towards the Tower, and fancying themournful preparations which were going on there. Margery had thought itbest that she should be alone for her fiery trial. As Lord Marnellstood there, lost in thought, he suddenly heard his own name spoken. Heturned round, and saw two men before him, in travellers' attire. One ofthem was an old man, with venerable white head and beard; the other wasmuch younger, and Lord Marnell recognised him at once. 

"Master Pynson! I pray you what brings you here? Is the boy well?"

"He is well, " answered Richard, in a low tone, "and Dame Lovelllikewise. We came hither on matters pertaining to my friend who herestandeth, and a terrible bruit hath reached us that the Lady Marnellwill suffer this morrow. "

"It is true, " said Lord Marnell, sorrowfully. 

"Can no help be found?" cried Richard, in an agony. "I would put mylife for hers--yea, an hundred times twice told!"

"And I likewise, " said her husband. "No--there is no help. The Kingwill hear of no remittance. "

"When is it?"

"At nine o' the clock. You will come into the house and eat?"

Richard declined. He had already secured a chamber at the "Blue Boar, "and would not trouble his Lordship. 

"Come, Master Carew, " said he to his companion, "let us be on our way. "

"Go ye for to see her?" inquired Lord Marnell. 

"I will not lose sight of her, " answered Richard, "until she be in theParadise of God!"

Long before nine o'clock on the morning of that 6th of March, a largecrowd was already gathered on Tower Hill. Some came there from afeeling of revenge--glad to see a Lollard burned. Among these wasArchbishop Arundel. Some, from a feeling of deep pity for the pooryoung girl who was to be almost the proto-martyr of the new faith. Among these were Pynson and Carew. The chief part of the concourse, however, shared neither of these feelings to any great degree, but camesimply to see a sight, just as they would have gone to see a royalprocession, or any other pageant. 

As nine o'clock struck on the great bell of the Tower, the martyrappeared, led forth between the sheriff and Abbot Bilson. She wasclothed in one long white garment, falling from her throat to her feet;and, notwithstanding the inclemency of the weather, her head, arms, andfeet were bare. No fastening confined her golden hair, which streamedfreely over her shoulders and fell around her. She walked slowly, butquite calmly. Arrived at the place of execution, the sheriff urged herto confess. 

"I will confess, " said Margery, "to Him who can alone absolve me. " Andlifting up her eyes, she said, "O Lord God, who art above all things, and hast given Thy Son to die for us sely and sinful men, I confess toThee that I am a vile sinner, utterly unworthy of Thy grace and mercy. That day by day, for twenty-three years, have I done what I ought not, and said what I ought not, and thought what I ought not. That all mylife also have I left undone things the which I ought for to have done. Wherefore, O Father, let it please Thee of Thy goodness to forgive me, and to look not on me, but on Thy Son Christ, in whose rightwise-ness Iam rightwise, and who hath loved me as Thou hast loved also Him. O LordGod, turn not away the face of Thy servant, whose heart Thou hast movedto pray thus unto Thee!"

The Abbot and the sheriff were extremely annoyed, but they did not dareto silence her, for the multitude hung breathlessly on her words. 

"There's none so much harm in _that_, any way!" said a woman who stoodnear Richard Pynson. 

"Wilt thou confess, sinful heretic?" asked the Abbot. 

"To God I will and have done, " answered Margery; "to man I will not. "

There was a short pause, while the sheriff's men, under his direction, heaped the wood in the position most favourable for burning quickly. Then the sheriff read the indictment in a loud voice. It was a longdocument, and took upwards of twenty minutes to read. After this, theypassed a chain round Margery's body, and fastened her to the stake. Thesheriff then, with a lighted torch, advanced to set the wood on fire. 

"Will ye allow me that I may speak unto the people?" asked Margery ofthe Abbot. 

"No, miserable reprobate!" said he, "thou hast spoken too much already!"

"I pray Christ forgive you all that you have done unto me!" was themartyr's answer. 

The sheriff now applied the torch. Meanwhile Margery stood on the pileof wood, with her hands clasped on her bosom, and her eyes lifted up toheaven. What means it? Does she feel no pain? How is it that, as theflames spring up and roar around her, there is no tremor of the claspedhands, no change in the rapturous expression of the white upturned face?And from the very midst of those flames comes a voice, the silver voiceof Margery Lovell, as clear and melodious as if she stood quietly in thehall at Lovell Tower--

"_Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to take virtue, and Godhead, andwisdom, and strength, and honour, and glory_--"

But the voice fails there, and the "blessing" is spoken to the angels ofGod. 

And from the outskirts of the crowd comes another voice which is verylike the voice of Richard Pynson--

"_I am agen risyng and lyf; he that beleeueth in me, yhe though he bedeed, he schal lyue; and ech that lyueth and bileueth into me, schal notdye withouten eende_. " [John xi. 25]. 

"The noble army of martyrs praise Thee, " softly adds old Carew. 

Thus did Margery Marnell glorify the Lord in the fires. 

CHAPTER ELEVEN. 

MARGERY'S LETTER. 

 "So that day there was dole in Astolat. "

 Tennyson. 

The winter had just given place to spring, and a bright, fresh morningrose on Lovell Tower. Dame Lovell was busy in the kitchen, as she waswhen we first saw her, and so were Mistress Katherine and thehandmaidens; but Dame Lovell now wore the white weeds of widowhood, andher face was thinner and much graver. Richard Pynson on his return fromLondon, had brought her the terrible news of Margery's death; and DameLovell, in the midst of her sorrow, which was very deep, had solemnlyaffirmed that no power on earth should ever induce her to pardon herson-in-law for the part which he had taken in the matter. 

Richard Pynson, long before this, had mooted the question of his returnto his father, but Dame Lovell would not hear of it. He reminded hersmilingly that _she_ needed no squire; but she came and put both herhands on his shoulders, and made him look her in the face. 

"Thou sayest sooth, Richard, that I need no squire, but I trow I need ason. I am an old lone woman, and shall not keep thee long; and I haveloved thee as if I had been thine own mother. Promise me, mine own dearlad, that thou wilt not go hence while I live. "

Richard looked up with the tears in his eyes, and told her, as he kissedher hand, that it was no wish of his to depart, and that he would not doso without her full consent. 

"That shalt thou have never!" was the answer. So Richard remained atLovell Tower. On the morning of which I speak, little Geoffrey, who wasvery fond of Richard, and was petted by him perhaps rather more than wasgood for him, had suddenly espied him at the farther end of the garden, and instantly rushed after him as fast as his little legs would carryhim. A few minutes afterwards, Cicely came into the kitchen from thehall, and announced to her mistress that a strange gentleman wished tosee her. Dame Lovell took off her apron, and rinsed her hands in water. 

"See thou to the marchpane, Kat, " remarked she to Mistress Katherine, asshe went to receive her guest. 

It was no wonder that Cicely had not known him, for some seconds elapsedbefore Dame Lovell herself could recognise Lord Marnell. Six years hadpassed since they met at his marriage to Margery, but he looked at leasttwenty years older. His figure was still upright, though much thinner, but the very form of his features seemed changed, and his rich auburnhair was now white as drifted snow. His manner, which had been bluntand almost boisterous, was remarkably quiet. When he saw that DameLovell did not recognise him, he said, with a smile--

"You know me not, fair mother?"

Dame Lovell's astonishment overcame her enmity for the moment. 

"Troth, I knew thee not, good son! is it truly thou? Nay, how changedart thou!"

"I wis that well, " he answered. "Where is Geoffrey?"

"I trow he be in the garden with Richard, " replied Dame Lovell. "I willbid him hither. "

Little Geoffrey, holding Richard's hand, as if he would not part withhim for a moment, returned to the house at his grandmother's bidding;but like her, he could not recognise his father, whom he had not seenfor some months, until Lord Marnell's well-known voice assured him ofhis identity. He rather shrank from him, as usual; but when LordMarnell contrary to his custom, lifted him up and kissed him, he seemeda little reassured, and sat on his father's knee, staring at himintently. Lord Marnell gave a cordial greeting to Richard, and then, observing how earnestly his little son's eyes were fixed upon him, askedhim at what he was looking. 

"What have you done with your hair?" was Master Geoffrey's puzzledanswer. 

Lord Marnell laughed, and told the child that everybody's hair turnedwhite as they grew old. 

"But your Lordship's hath done so quickly, " remarked Richard. 

"That were no great marvel, " he answered, gravely. 

Dame Lovell found it rather difficult to keep up her revengefuldetermination. She was naturally a very easy-tempered woman, and theevident change, moral as well as physical, in Lord Marnell, touched her, and melted her enmity considerably. 

"I pray you, fair mother, " he said, looking up, "to leave me tell youwherefore I came hither. Firstly, it was to give you a letter fromMadge, which she wrote in the Tower unto you. " And Lord Marnell, passing his hand into his breast, pulled out a small square packet, tiedwith blue silk, and sealed with yellow wax. It was directed--

"_To the hands of my singular good lady and most dear mother, Dame AgnesLovell, at Lovell Tower, be these delivered with speed_. "

Dame Lovell kissed the letter, and placed it in her own bosom. Shecould not read a word of it, but it was enough that it came fromMargery. 

"Secondarily, " pursued Lord Marnell, "I would fain ask you, fair mother, for to keep Geoffrey here a while longer, for I wis not yet what I shalldo. "

"That will I, right heartily, " said Dame Lovell, in a tone as cordial asher words. 

"Moreover, an' it stand with your pleasure, I would pray you for to takeback Alice Jordan, as you will find in yon letter that Madge did desireher for to be about Geoffrey, if she would, and she seemeth right fain. "

"I will have her with a very good will, " answered Dame Lovell, "and sheshall be next in mine house unto Mistress Katherine, and shall eat atthe high table. "

Lord Marnell thanked her sincerely for her readiness to comply with hiswishes. He said that Alice should come down to Lovell Tower as soon asshe could conveniently set out, and old Christopher, as the most trustyof his household, should escort her. There was silence for a shorttime, and then, with a kind of shadow of a smile, Lord Marnell saidsuddenly--

"Do you hate me, fair mother?"

"I did afore I saw thee this morrow, " replied Dame Lovell, candidly. 

"And wherefore not after?"

"Meseemeth thou hast repented thyself of thy deed. "

"Repented!" said Lord Marnell, mournfully. "Mother, will you crede meif I tell you that no sorrow worser than this can ever befall me, andthat had I known what would come of my seeking of Abbot Bilson, I hadsooner cut off my right hand?"

"I do, " said she. 

"Madge knew it, poor damsel! and she said she forgave me in such manneras Christ did forgive herself. Will you do the like, mother?"

"With all mine heart and soul, good son!" cried Dame Lovell, every shredof her animosity vanished, and the tears fairly running down her cheeks. 

"Don't cry, g'ammer!" exclaimed little Geoffrey, jumping off hisfather's knee and running to Dame Lovell. "What are you crying for?Somebody hurt you? If they have, I'll kill 'em!"

Dame Lovell laughed through her tears at Master Geoffrey's threat. Shewas a good deal surprised when Lord Marnell spoke of going away; but hesaid he had promised his cousin Sir Ralph that he would stay with himnext time he came into the neighbourhood; and he must return to Londonin a day or two. So he only remained to dinner, and departedimmediately afterwards, evoking from Geoffrey the significant remarkthat "he liked him a great deal better this time. "

That evening, Dame Lovell and Friar Andrew sat down by the fire tolisten to that last letter. Her widow's dress, somewhat resembling thatof a nun, but pure white, left only her eyes, nose, and mouth visible. Richard Pynson, in a rather more ambitious costume than the page's suitwherein we made his acquaintance, seated himself in the opposite corner. How like Margery's voice the letter sounded, in that old hall at LovellTower!--so much so, that it seemed scarcely a stretch of fancy to expecther to glide down the stair which led from her chamber, where her childnow lay sleeping. How well Richard could recall the scene when, sixyears before, she came softly down to receive from his hand thecherished and fatal volume!

Richard broke the seal, while Friar Andrew threw back his cowl, and DameLovell smoothed her apron, and bent forward to listen. 

"Mine Own Dear Mother, --In as humble and lowly manner as I may, Icommend myself unto you, praying you of your daily blessing. 

"Whereas I hear that Richard Pynson hath been here in London on SaintLuke's Day last, and hath borne back Geoffrey with him, at the whichnews I am truly glad, I trow that you have heard of my close prison inthe Tower, whence I now write. I pray you therefore, good mother, notto lay this overmuch to heart, neither to grieve for me; for I certifyunto you that never was I so happy and blessed as now I am, when overthe dark water, which is death, I can see a glimpse of the Happy City. Neither, good mother, be downcast, I beseech you, when you shall hearthat on Sunday, the eve of Saint Anselm, I am to die. I pray you, dearmother, if you knew that on Sunday I should be advanced to some highplace in the Court, would you sorrow? Yea, would you not rejoicegreatly therefor? Wherefore I entreat you, sorrow not now, but rejoicerather, for I am to be taken up into an high place, yea, passing high--even the Court of Christ Himself, whence also none of those changes andevils can cast me down again, which are ever coming upon them who livein this world. 

"Moreover, good mother, I do you to wit that this is Christ's truth forthe which I suffer, and that Christ Himself is with me. Yea, I think onChrist as He that is standing on the other side of the fire; and shall Inot then make haste through the same that I may come at Him?

"Likewise I do beseech you, mine own dear mother, grieve not when youthink that I have had but little joy or gladness in this my short life. If divers children be playing in a garden, and the serving-man do comeand fetch away some afore others, that they may see their elders, andmay have brave gifts the which be ready for them at home, fall theya-weeping, think you, because they must lose an hour of play? Nay, truly not, if their hearts be set on the brave gifts afore them. So, good mother, though you have passed in this weary and evil life nighsixty years, and I only twenty-three, count it, I beseech you, but anhour more or less of child's playing, which will surely be made up to uswhen we go home, and receive the brave gifts which our Father hath forus in His storehouse. And if I have not known joy as much as some, Ihave the less for to leave behind me in the case wherein I now am. Foryou know, good mother, that at the first I was wedded against mine ownwill and liking; and though I may and must say unto you for my Lord myhusband, that in this evil case he hath been more gentler unto me thanever afore, and hath drawn mine heart much closer unto him, yet nathlessI may say also that an' I had been with mine own will wedded, I trowthat I had had far more for to leave for Christ, and had found far morehardship in the doing of it. For God doeth all His work well; and Hewist surely what He did when my dear father--whose soul God rest!--waslet wed me thus. 

"Behold now, most dear mother, how I have taken from you all cause ofyour lamentation, and have left you nothing but to rejoice for me!Wherefore rejoice for me, for at this time a sennight hence, I shall besinging with the angels of God. I trow that one look at Christ Jesuwill pay me all mine account in the small matter I have suffered forHim. I trow that if He but smile, and say, `Thou art welcome, dearchild, for I have loved thee, ' I shall count the fires of this world butlight gear then. Will you sorrow that I am in good case? Will yougrieve because I am blessed? Will you count you have lost your child, when she is singing in the great glory? Nay, good mother, I wis I havewell said in praying you to rejoice rather. 

"And, dear mother, I beseech you that you bring up mine own dear childin the same. I would have him, if I may, as dear unto Christ as I am, and as ready to leave all for Christ His sake, as I, his mother, havedone. I say not this, God witteth, to magnify my poor deeds, the whichI know well be vile enough and want as much and great washing in ChristHis blood, as the worst sin that ever I did, --but, good mother, teach myboy of Christ! Count it not anything that he leaveth for Him. Yea, forsooth, rather would I a thousandfold that he should live on a drycrust for Christ, than that he should have many brave dishes and richfare without Him. To this end I beseech you, most dear mother, that youwill have the child learned for to read, and will get that he may readGod's Word, which hath shown me how dear and gracious is Christ Jesus. I pray you spare no pains ne goods for to do this. 

"Dear mother, I have prayed my Lord my husband that, if she will, AliceJordan shall have the care of Geoffrey. She hath been a good and trueserving-woman unto me, and she witteth how I would have him ordered. Ipray you, therefore, if she come unto you, that you would put her abouthim. Likewise commend me, I beseech you, unto mine ancient friends andfellows, and all the meynie, and bid them learn for to love Christ Jesu, and we shall then meet shortly again. Specially I would desire minehumble service unto dear Father Andrew, and I do beg him for my sake toread for himself the blessed book which hath been my comfort. 

"And to end, --for I will weary you no longer, dear friend RichardPynson, with reading of mine evil hand, and I give you God's blessingand mine for the kindness you have done unto me, and pray you not toforget the last words which I said unto you with my voice, but to keepfast hold of Christ, till you know and love Him better than any friendin this evil world, --so to end, dear mother, I beseech you that youwould forgive me all wherein I have been an ill daughter unto you, andall things wherein at any time I have troubled you. Good mother, I amhappy. I am looking out of the night to see the day-dawn breaking. Come Sunday, I shall be in heaven. Come Sunday, by God's mercy--not bymine own good, which God witteth is but evil--I shall stand with theangels before Christ His throne. Haste, haste, dear good day that shalldeliver me! And God give you to know Christ, and send us a happymeeting in that His blessed habitation, unto the great gladding of yourmost loving and dutiful daughter, Margery Marnell. 

"Written this second of March, from the gate of the _Urbs Beata_. "

CHAPTER TWELVE. 

EASTWARD HO!

 "Whether he go to East or West, With Christ he always is at home. "

 Newton. 

For a few minutes after Richard finished reading the letter, there wassilence, unbroken save by the sound of weeping, in the old hall. FriarAndrew cried like a child. Dame Lovell, too, wept profusely, especiallyat the passage in which Margery begged her forgiveness, and sobbed forththat she had nothing to forgive her. Richard had hard work to read. Heheard her voice in every line, and when he came to the one sentenceaddressed to himself, he very nearly broke down altogether. After thatlong pause, Richard, who had been sitting with his head buried in hishands, looked up and spoke. 

"Mistress, you mind that I did promise you not to go hence save withyour good will?"

"Well, Richard?"

"May I have the same, good mistress, for a season?"

"Where wouldst go, lad? Dost want to see thy father? I meant not tolet thee from going home at times, so thou leave me not wholly. " [Letmeans hinder. The modern signification of this word is exactly theopposite of its original meaning. ]

"You do misconceive me, mistress. I trust soothly, to go but for aseason, though mayhap a long one; but not home. An' you will give meleave, and I have my father's goodwill to it, I shall go abroad. "

"Go _where_, Richard?" asked Dame Lovell, in some alarm and no littleastonishment. 

"Anywhere, " he answered, listlessly, "that is far enough away. I shallwend unto the East Country. "

"Eh, Richard! thou wilt be slain of robbers!" cried Friar Andrew. "Allyon country is full filled of Saracens and heathens, who think no moreof shedding Christian blood than of cooking a capon. "

"I shall be slain, good father, I trow, if I stay here. There is nopeace heraway in England for them who read God's Word, and I have readit. I should quickly be indicted, I ween; for a Lollard, an' I stayed. Master Carew told me yestre'en, that there were spies hereabouts, and hedid trow he was suspected. And if they take him, they will come next tome. "

"Richard! Richard!" cried Dame Lovell. "Thou frightest me, lad! Butwilt thou go, soothly? I wis not how to leave thee do so. "

"Dear mistress, " said Richard, in a low tone, "I pray God and you topardon me, but I fear I am only a poor caitiff coward. I could not bearthe fiery ordeal which Margery has borne. I will confess to you, goodlady, that night and day I do pray God to spare me the same. I hadbetter go, ere I am tired, and perchance fail and deny my Master. Iwill give you to wit of my welfare, in case I should meet any Palmers ontheir way home, and may be I can come back, an' there should rise a kingwho shall give us leave to live. "

"Well, my lad! I trow I must not let thee!" said Dame Lovell, in agrieved tone. "I wis not how to do without thee, Richard; but I ween Ishould sorrow more to keep thee and bring thee to grief, than in leavingthee go away from me. "

The following day brought a servant in Lord Marnell's livery, with aletter to Richard. 

"_To the hands of Master Richard Pynson, at Lovell Tower, give these_. 

"Good Master Pynson, --I pray you for to look warily unto your ways; forI hear by messengers from London that you be suspected for a Lollard, and Abbot Bilson hath your name on his list of evil affected unto theChurch. If you can wend for a time unto some other country, I trow youwould find your safety in so doing. I beseech you burn this letter, orit may do me a mischief. 

"It hath come into my mind that Madge did name unto me your desire ofknighthood. If such be still your wish, I pray you make use of me inthis matter. Let me wit by the bearer of these your pleasure herein, and if you desire to watch this even, I will meet you in Bostock Churchearly on the morrow. 

"I set out on my way to London to-morrow. 

"Commend me in all lowly fashion to my good mother; and with God'sblessing and mine to the child, I rest, your loving friend, R. Marnell. "

Richard read Lord Marnell's letter to Dame Lovell, and then at once putit in the fire. He determined to accept the kind offer thus made tohim; and accordingly he sent word by the messenger that he would beready to meet Lord Marnell in Bostock Church, at any early hour on thefollowing morning. 

Knighthood was then conferred in two ways. A knight-banneret was onecreated on the field of battle. An ordinary knight was required to beof good family and of a suitable age, and the accolade was given himafter a night's fasting and watching in some church. Other, but lessimportant ceremonies were also observed. This latter course wasnecessarily the one chosen by Richard. At five o'clock on the followingmorning, Lord Marnell met him in Bostock Church, and gave him the strokeon the shoulder with the flat of his sword, which was required to makeits recipient a knight. [See Note 1. ] Richard thanked Lord Marnellfervently for his warning, and also for his kindness in offering himknighthood; and told him that he had already resolved to go abroad, before receiving his letter. 

"I think you will do well, " said he; "but I pray you, Sir Richard, tolose no time, for spies be about in Marston even now. "

Late that night, after an affectionate farewell to Dame Lovell and FriarAndrew, and a warm kiss to little Geoffrey, who was fast asleep, SirRichard Pynson set out on his long and perilous journey. Dame Lovellsent with him one of her own servants, a man who she knew would imperilhis own life sooner than that of Richard; and he returned to her in afew days with the welcome tidings that he had seen Richard safelyembarked on a vessel for La Rochelle, with Master Carew's son, a youthof about eighteen, as his squire. The servant had, however, more, andless agreeable news than this to tell; for as he passed through Marston, he had been told that Master Carew was arrested, and on his journey toLondon under a strong guard. 

So set in the bitter persecution, which was to last for many wearyyears. 

A full twelvemonth had passed since Richard's departure. Of LordMarnell, Dame Lovell had neither seen nor heard anything more. AliceJordan had arrived, to little Geoffrey's great delight; but she had onlybeen able to report the return of her master to London, as she had leftthat place the day after his arrival. Dame Lovell fulfilled her promiseof promotion for Margery's humble but faithful friend, who washenceforth generally addressed in the house as "Mistress" Alice. LittleGeoffrey, though somewhat consoled by Alice's appearance, missed Richardsorely; and demanded of his grandmother at least once a day, "when hewould come back!"

The family and household were seated at supper, on a summer afternoon inthe year 1402, when the sound of a horn outside the moat sent one of thefarm-servants hurriedly to the gate. He returned saying, "A holyPalmer, good mistress, seeketh entrance. "

"A Palmer! bring him in speedily, good Hodge!" exclaimed Dame Lovell. "Blessed is the house whereinto entereth a Palmer, --and mayhap he maygive us to wit of Richard. "

The Palmer was attired in a long coat of coarse brown frieze, with alarge flapped hat, not unlike that of a coal-heaver. He was conductedto the high table, where Friar Andrew served him with meat, and put allmanner of questions to him. He had come, he said, from Damascus, wherehe had met with a friend of theirs, one Sir Richard Pynson, and hebrought a packet from him; which he thereupon took from his wallet, anddelivered into Dame Lovell's hands. It was a large packet, andevidently contained something more than merely a letter. Dame Lovellwas highly delighted, particularly when, on opening the parcel, she drewout a magnificent piece of baudekyn, one of the richest dress-stuffsthen made, and only to be procured from Constantinople. Beside this thepacket only contained a letter, which Dame Lovell was sorely puzzled howto read. There was nobody at Lovell Tower who could read except FriarAndrew, and he, as has been previously stated, was not by any means afirst-class scholar. However, Dame Lovell passed him the letter, andafter spending some time in the examination of it, he announced that hethought he could read it, "for the lad had written the letters great, like a good lad, as he always was. " Richard had, indeed, purposely doneso, because he anticipated that Friar Andrew would have to read it. ThePalmer interposed, saying that he could read well, and offered to readthe letter; but this Dame Lovell civilly declined, because she thoughtthere might be secrets in the letter, and she did not know whether thePalmer were to be trusted. Friar Andrew was mechanically retiring intoone of the deep windows, but Dame Lovell stopped him, and requested himto follow her to her own room. She gathered up her baudekyn, and leftthe servants to entertain the Palmer, who she gave orders should befeasted with the best in the house. 

"Now, father, " said Dame Lovell, when she had Friar Andrew and theletter safe in her own apartment, "Now read, I pray thee; but we willhave no eavesdroppers, and though Palmers be holy men, yet may theycarry tales. "

Friar Andrew sat down, cleared his throat, and began to read rathergrandiloquently. He read syllable by syllable, like a child, and everynow and then stumbled over a hard word. As to the names of places, hedeclared himself unable to read those at all. I therefore purpose togive the letter, not as Andrew read it, but as Richard wrote it. 

"_To the hands of the very worthy Dame, my good lady and mistress, DameAgnes Lovell, of Lovell Tower, be these delivered with all convenientspeed_. 

"Dear Mistress and my worthy Dame, --In as humble and lowly wise as maybe, I commend myself to your kindly favour, hoping that these may findyou in health, as they leave me presently. I do you to wit, goodmistress, that I have arrived safely, by the grace of our Lord, atDamascus, which is a very fair and rich city, and full of all manner ofmerchandise; and I have been by Byzantium, and have seen all the holyrelics there kept; to wit, the cross of our Lord, and His coat, and thesponge and reed wherewith the heathen Jews [`Cursed be they!' interposedFriar Andrew] did give Him to drink, and more blessed relics else than Ihave the time to write of, the which nathless be named, as I think, inthe Travels of Sir John Maundeville. This city of Damascus is verygreat, and there be about the same so fair gardens as I never did see atany other place; moreover, Saint Paul here dwelt, and was a leech. [SeeNote 2. ] Also I give you to wit, good lady, that I look by our Lord'shelp, to go on to the holy city of Jerusalem, the which is from herefive days' journey. And I send you herein a fine piece of baudekyn, thebravest I could see, the which I bought in the market at Byzantium, tomake you a rare gown for feast-days. Moreover, I beseech you to sayunto good Father Andrew, (I count he will read this letter, andtherefore do say unto himself), I would fain have sent you somewhatlikewise, good father, but as yet I found not to my hand aught thatwould like you; but I look, when I shall be in Jerusalem, if it be theLord's pleasure that I come therein, for to get you some relics, by thewhich I wis you will set great store. " ["Thou art a good lad, " said thefriar]. 

"Edmund Carew is in health, and is a faithful squire, and a passinghonest fellow [see note 3]; but he doth long for to hear news of hisfather, and my heart also is oft-times sore to wit what is become ofmine old friend. If you shall hear of any one who wendeth unto the Landof Promise, I beseech you send us news herein. Likewise would I fainknow somewhat of the Lord Marnell, who I guess [see note 4] hath nowreturned to London. Is Geoffrey yet with you? I pray you ask him if heremembereth me, for an' he doth, I will bring him a brave thing when Ishall come: and God's blessing and mine be with the sweet heart, andkeep him ever from all evil. 

"I beseech you commend me humbly unto the Lord Marnell, if you see himor send to him, and also unto Sir Ralph Marston, when you shall havespeech of him; and greet well all the maidens and servants from me. Pray salute also Mistress Katherine on my part, and specially MistressAlice Jordan. Moreover, I beseech you to make my most humble duty andservice unto my good knight my father, and my good lady my mother, andsalute from me lovingly my sistren, who I trust be all in health. I metthis holy Palmer at a church called Our Lady of Sardenak, the which isfive miles from this city; and he hath promised me for to deliver myletters with safety, and in all convenient haste. I have written alsounto my father by him; wherefore, if he come unto you first, as I counthe will do, I pray you for my sake to put him in the way to Pynsonlee. 

"I give you to wit also, good mistress, that in this country be some menwho call themselves Jacobites, --to wit, disciples of Saint James, --andthey be right Lollards, holding that a man should make confession to Godand no wise unto the priest; and also read they God's Word in their owntongue, and not in Latin, the which giveth me much marvel how they camein this place, for they do wit nothing of us and of our country. Nathless, I trow that God learneth [teaches] His own alike in all landsand at divers times. 

"I pray you specially, good mistress, that you give me to wit how I maycome home. Doth King Henry still reign? and is he yet evil affectedtoward the Lollards? for so long as things be in this case, I dare in nowise take my way unto you. 

"And now, dear mistress, I pray God to have you in His holy keeping, tothe which I commit you all. 

"From your very humble serving-man and loving friend, Richard Pynson. 

"Edmund Carew prayeth me for to make his lowly commendations unto you. 

"Written at Damascus, this xxvii day of November. "

This was the first and last letter which Dame Lovell received fromRichard Pynson. Probably he wrote many others, but they never came tohand. 

Friar Andrew, with the greatest difficulty, managed to write back a fewlines. His letter took him a whole week to compose and transfer topaper. It was written in short sentences, like a child's epistle; andnearly every sentence commenced with Richard's name. Friar Andrewinformed his correspondent that all parties named in his letter werewell; that Geoffrey was still with them, sent his loving commendations, and said he remembered him, and would never forget him as long as helived; that of Lord Marnell they had only heard a rumour which theycould not believe, of his having joined an insurrection in the West;that Master Carew was had up to London and strictly examined by thecouncil, but that his answers were so ingeniously evasive that theycould lay hold of nothing, and nothing had been found in his house whichcould criminate him; he had accordingly been dismissed with a caution. Sir Ralph Marston had privately declared that "the old fox must havehidden his Lollard books in some uncommonly safe place, for I wis he hadsome. " Friar Andrew concluded his letter with a malediction upon "evilcompanions, " by which he meant the anti-Lollard party; for though Andrewcared not a straw about the matter of opinion, he could never forgivethem for his favourite's death. He also besought Richard to "look wellto his ways, and have nought to do with heathen Jews and Saracens, whoall worshipped mawmetis, " [see note 5] and to come home as soon as hecould--which, however, must not be just now. 

Friar Andrew then folded his elaborate and arduous piece of composition, and directed it in remarkable characters and singular spelling, asfollows:--

"_To ye hondes of ye veraye gode Knyghte, Syr Rechurt Pynsone ofPinnsonrue, beyng yn ye Halie Londe at Dommosscsc_ (this word gave himimmense trouble), _or elsewhar, dilyuher thes_. "

"There!" said the friar, with a deep sigh of relief in conclusion, as heexhibited the fruit of his prowess in triumph to Dame Lovell. "Methinketh that Richard himself could not better those letters!"

Dame Lovell looked with unfeigned admiration at the cabalisticcharacters, for such they were in her eyes, and declared them "rightbrave, " opining moreover that "learning was soothly a passing rarething!"

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Note 1. Knighthood is now conferred only by the Sovereign, who is "thefountain of honour, " or by a viceroy, as representing the Sovereign. Inancient times, however, "a knight could make a knight. " When the Dukeof Suffolk was taken prisoner in battle by a simple squire, he asked, before surrendering his sword, "Are you a knight?" "No, " was theanswer. "Kneel, then, " replied Suffolk, "that I may make you one; for Iwill never give up my sword to a squire. " The squire knelt, and Suffolkknighted his captor, and then delivered his sword to one who, by thelaws of chivalry, had now become his equal. 

Note 2. The reader does not need to search through the Acts of theApostles for any mention of Saint Paul's having been a doctor for it isone of the endless legends of the Middle Ages, of which Maundeville'sTravels are full. 

Note 3. A very pleasant companion. "Fellow" and "companion" have nowexchanged meanings, though we still speak of a bed_fellow_ and the_fellow_ to a glove. 

Note 4. This "Americanism" is really an old English phrase, as manymore so-called Americanisms also are. 

Note 5. Idols. Our forefathers had a rooted idea that Jews andMohammedans were idolaters. Their very word for idols, "Mawmetis, " wasa corruption of the name of Mahomet. 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN. 

THE DAY AFTER AGINCOURT. 

 "Urbs Coelestis! Urbs Beata! Super petram collocata, Urbs in portu satis tuto, De lonquinquo te saluto; Te saluto, te suspiro, Te affecto, te requiro. "

Fourteen years had passed away since the burning of the Lady Marnell. Anew king had risen up, who was not a whit less harshly inclined towardsthe Lollards than his predecessor had been. This monarch, Henry theFifth, of chivalrous memory, was riding over the field of Agincourt, theday after the battle, surrounded by about twenty of his nobles. Behindthe nobles rode their squires, and all around them on the field lay thedead and dying. 

"Saw you yonder knight, Master Wentworth, " inquired one of the squiresof his next neighbour, "that we marked a-riding down by the woody knollto the left, shortly afore the fight? I marvel if he meant to fight. "

"He had it, if he meant it not, " answered the other; "the knight, youwould say, who bore three silver arrows?"

"Ay, the same. What befell him?"

"A party of French skirmishers came down upon him and his squire, andthey were both forced to draw sword. The knight defended himself like agallant knight, but--our Lady aid us!--they were twelve to two, orthereabouts: it was small marvel that he fell. "

"He did fall? And the squire?"

"The squire fought so bravely, that he earned well his gilded spurs. [Gilded spurs were the mark of a knight. ] He stood over his master wherehe fell, and I trow the French got not his body so long as the squirewas alive; but I saw not the end of it, for my master bade me thence. "

"I pray you, " interposed a third squire, "wit you who is yon youth thatrideth by the King's left hand?"

"The tall, pale, fair-haired youth on the white horse. "

"He. "

"That is the Lord Marnell--a new favourite. "

"The Lord Marnell! Is he a kinsman of the Lady Marnell, who--"

"Hush! Yes, her son. "

"His father is dead, also, then?"

"His father was beheaded about twelve years gone, on account of havingtaken part in a rebellion, got up by the friends of King Richard; but itwas said at the time privily, that an' he had not been suspected ofLollardism, his part in the rebellion might have been forgiven. "

"Where, then, dwelt this youth, his son?"

"In the North, I ween, somewhere, with his grandmother, who hath diednot long since. Then the young Lord came down to seek his fortune inLondon and the King's Grace saw him, and fancied him. "

The squires' conversation, and themselves as well, came to a suddenstop, for the King and his suite had halted in front of them. 

Almost in their way, on the ground lay a wounded man. His visor wasraised, and his face visible; but his surcoat was slashed and coveredwith mire and blood, so that the eye could no longer discern the deviceembroidered on it. A scallop-shell fastened to his helmet, intimatedthat he had at some past time been a pilgrim to the shrine of SaintJames of Compostella; while the red cross upon his shoulder was anindisputable indication that he "came from the East Countrie. " His agewould have been difficult to guess. It did not seem to be years whichhad blanched the hair and beard, and had given to the face a wearied, travel-worn look--a look which so changed the countenance from what itmight otherwise have been, that even

 "--The mother that him bare, If she had been in presence there, She had not known her child. " Marmion. 

Close to the dying man lay, apparently, his squire--dead; and beside himwas a shield, turned with its face to the ground. 

"The very same knight whom we saw a-riding down the knoll!" said one ofthe squires, with an oath. A man was thought very pious in thefourteenth and fifteenth centuries if he did not swear pretty freely. "At least I ween it be the same--I should wit well the shield an' Icould see it. "

King Henry and his nobles were attentively contemplating the woundedknight. 

"Light down, my Lord Marnell, " said the King, "and see what is thedevice upon yon shield. We would know which of our faithful servants wehave unhappily lost. "

As the King spoke, the eyes of the dying man suddenly turned to GeoffreyMarnell, who sprang lightly from his horse to fulfil the royal order. He knelt down by the shield, and lifted it up to examine the arms; andas he turned it, the well-known cognisance of Pynson of Pynsonlee--thethree silver arrows--met his eye. An exclamation of mingled sorrow andsurprise burst from Geoffrey's lips. 

"Who is he?" said Henry, eagerly. 

"Sir Richard Pynson of Pynsonlee, an't please your Grace. "

"Ha! the Lollard knight!" cried the King. "Better he than another! Ihad bruit of him, and, truly, I looked to have him to the stake when heshould return from his Eastern travel. It is well. "

The King and his suite rode on; but Geoffrey was not one of them. Hehad thrown down the shield, and had turned to the dear friend of hisyouth, who lay dying before him. 

"Richard! dear, dear Richard!" he said, in trembling accents. "How cameyou here? Have you only come home to die? O Richard, die not just now!But perchance it were better so, " he added, in a low tone, recallingthe cruel words of the King. "Is it thus that thy God hath granted theethat which thou requestedst, and hath not let thee pass through thefiery trial?"

As Geoffrey thus bemoaned the fate of his old friend, he fancied that hesaw Richard's lips move, and he bent his head low to catch his lastwords. Faintly, but audibly, those two last words, so full of meaning, reached his ear. And the first of the two was "Margery!" and the last"Jesus!"

The tears fell from Geoffrey's eyes, as he softly kissed the pale browof the dead; and then, remounting his horse, he galloped after the King. There was no need of his remaining longer; for he could do nothing morefor Richard Pynson, when he had clasped hands with Margery Lovell at thegates of the _Urbs Beata_. 

THE END.