One Snowy Night, by Emily Sarah Holt. 

PREFACE. 

The story of the following pages is one of the least known yet saddestepisodes in English history--the first persecution of Christians byChristians in this land. When Boniface went forth from England toevangelise Germany, he was received with welcome, and regarded as asaint: when Gerhardt came from Germany to restore the pure Gospel toEngland, he was cast out of the vineyard and slain. 

The spirit of her who is drunk with the blood of the martyrs of Jesus isthe same now that it was then. She does not ask if a man agree with theWord of God, but whether he agree with _her_. "When the Church hasspoken"--this has been said by exalted ecclesiastical lips quiterecently--"we cannot appeal to Scripture against her!"

But we Protestants can--we must--we will. The Church is not God, butman. The Bible is not the word of man, but the Word of God (OneThessalonians, two, verse 13; Ephesians, six, verse 17): therefore itmust be paramount and unerring. Let us hold fast this our profession, not being moved away from the hope of the Gospel, nor entangled againwith the yoke of bondage, but stablished in the faith, grounded andsettled. "For we are made partakers of Christ, if we hold the beginningof our confidence stedfast unto the end. "

CHAPTER ONE. 

SAINT MAUDLIN'S WELL. 

 "For men must work, and women must weep, And the sooner 'tis over, the sooner to sleep. "

 Reverend Charles Kingsley. 

"Flemild!"

"Yes, Mother. "

It was not a cross voice that called, but it sounded like a very tiredone. The voice which answered was much more fresh and cheerful. 

"Is Romund come in yet?"

"No, Mother. "

"Nor Haimet either?"

"I have not seen him, Mother. "

"Oh dear, those boys! They are never in the way when they are wanted. "

The speaker came forward and showed herself. She was a woman of someforty years or more, looking older than she was, and evidently veryweary. She wore a plain untrimmed skirt of dark woollen stuff, short tothe ankles, a long linen apron, and a blue hood over her head andshoulders. Resting her worn hands on the half-door, she looked drearilyup and down the street, as if in languid hope of catching a glimpse ofthe boys who should have been there, and were not. 

"Well, there's no help for it!" she said at last, "Flemild, child, youmust go for the water to-night. "

"I? O Mother!" The girl's tone was one of manifest reluctance. 

"It can't be helped, child. Take Derette with you, and be back as quickas you can, before the dusk comes on. The lads should have been here tospare you, but they only think of their own pleasure. I don't know whatthe world's coming to, for my part. "

"Father Dolfin says it's going to be burnt up, " said a third voice--thatof a child--from the interior of the house. 

"Time it was!" replied the mother bluntly. "There's nought but troubleand sorrow in it--leastwise I've never seen much else. It's just work, work, work, from morning to night, and often no rest to speak of fromnight to morning. You get up tireder than you went to bed, and you mayjust hold your tongue for all that any body cares, as the saints know. Well, well!--Come, make haste, child, or there'll be a crowd round SaintMartin's Well. " [Note 1. ]

"O Mother! mayn't I go to Plato's Well?"

"What, and carry your budget four times as far? Nonsense, Flemild!"

"But, Mother, please hear me a minute! It's a quiet enough way, whenyou are once past the Bayly, and I can step into the lodge and see ifCousin Stephen be at home. If he be, he'll go with me, I know. "

"You may go your own way, " said the mother, not quite pleasantly. "Young folks are that headstrong! I can't look for my children to bebetter than other folks'. If they are as good, it's as much as one needexpect in this world. "

Flemild had been busily tying on a red hood while her mother spoke, andsigning to her little sister to do the same. Then the elder girl tookfrom a corner, where it hung on a hook, a budget or pail of boiledleather, a material then much used for many household vessels now madeof wood or metal: and the girls went out into the narrow street. 

The street was called Kepeharme Lane, and the city was Oxford. Thislane ran, in old diction, from the Little Bayly to Fish Street--inmodern language, from New Inn Hall Street to Saint Aldate's, slightlysouth of what is now Queen Street, and was then known as the GreatBayly. The girls turned their backs on Saint Aldate's, and wentwestwards, taking the way towards the Castle, which in 1159 was not aruined fortress, but an aristocratic mansion, wherein the great De Veresheld almost royal state. 

"Why don't you like Saint Martin's Well, Flemild?" demanded the child, with childish curiosity. 

"Oh, for lots of reasons, " answered her sister evasively. 

"Tell me one or two. "

"Well, there is always a crowd there towards evening. Then, very often, there are ragamuffins on Penniless Bench [Note 2] that one does not wantto come too near. Then--don't you see, we have to pass the Jewry?"

"What would they do to us?" asked the child. 

"Don't talk about it!" returned her sister, with a shudder. "Don't youknow, Derette, the Jews are very, very wicked people? Hasn't Mothertold you so many a time? Never you go near them--now, mind!"

"Are they worse than we are?"

Flemild's conscience pricked her a little as she replied, "Of coursethey are. Don't you know they crucified our Lord?"

"What, these Jews?" asked Derette with open eyes. "Old Aaron, andBenefei at the corner, and Jurnet the fletcher, and--O Flemild, not, surely not Countess and Regina? They look so nice and kind, I'm surethey never could do any thing like that!"

"No, child, not these people, of course. Why, it was hundreds andhundreds of years ago. But these are just as bad--every one of them. They would do it again if they had the chance. "

"Countess wouldn't, _I_ know, " persisted the little one. "Why, Flemild, only last week, she caught pussy for me, and gave her to me, and shesmiled so prettily. I liked her. If Mother hadn't said I must neverspeak to any of them, I'd have had a chat with her; but of course Icouldn't, then, so I only smiled back again, and nodded for `thankyou. '"

"Derette!" There was genuine terror in the tone of the elder sister. "Don't you know those people are all wicked witches? Regular blackwitches, in league with the Devil. There isn't one of them would notcast a spell on you as soon as look at you. "

"What would it do to me?" inquired the startled child. 

"What wouldn't it do? you had better ask. Make you into a horrid blacksnake, or a pig, or something you would not like to be, I can tell you. "

"I shouldn't quite like to be a black snake, " said Derette, after aminute's pause for reflection. "But I don't think I should much mindbeing a pig. Little, tiny pigs are rather pretty things; and when theylie and grunt, they look very comfortable. "

"Silly child!--you'd have no soul to be saved!"

"Shouldn't I? But, Flemild, I don't quite see--if _I_ were the pig--would that be me or the pig?"

"Hi, there! Where are you going?"

Flemild was not very sorry to be saved the solution of Derette'sdifficult problem. She turned to the youth of some fifteen years, whohad hailed her from the corner of Castle Street. 

"Where you should have gone instead, Haimet--with the budget for water. Do go with me now. "

"Where on earth are you going--to Osney?"

"No, stupid boy: to Plato's Well. "

"I'm not going there. I don't mind Saint Maudlin's, if you like. "

"We are out of the way to Saint Maudlin's, or else I shouldn't haveminded--"

"No, my lady, I rather think you wouldn't have minded the chance of adance in Horsemonger Street. However, I'm not going to Plato's Well. If you go with me, you go to Saint Maudlin's; and if you don't, you mayfind your way back by yourselves, that's all. "

And laying his hands on the budget, Haimet transferred it from hissister's keeping to his own. 

Plato's Well stood in Stockwell Street, on the further side of theCastle, and on the south of Gloucester Hall, now Worcester College. Fortified by her brother's presence, Flemild turned after him, and theywent up Castle Street, and along North Bayly Street into Bedford Lane, now the northern part of New Inn Hall Street. When they reached theNorth Gate, they had to wait to go out, for it was just then blocked bya drove of cattle, each of which had to pay the municipal tax of ahalfpenny, and they were followed by a cart of sea-fish, which paidfourpence. The gate being clear, they passed through it, Flemildcasting rather longing looks down Horsemonger Street (the modern BroadStreet), where a bevy of young girls were dancing, while their elderssat at their doors and looked on; but she did not attempt to join them. A little further, just past the Church of Saint Mary Magdalen, they cameto a small gothic building over a well. Here, for this was SaintMaudlin's Well, Haimet drew the water, and they set forth on the returnjourney. 

"Want to go after those damsels?" inquired the youth, with a nod in thedirection of the dancers, as they passed the end of the street. 

"N-o, " said Flemild. "Mother bade me haste back. Beside, they won't beout many minutes longer. It isn't worth while. "

"Like a woman, " retorted Haimet with a satirical grin; "the real reasonalways comes last. "

"What do you know about it?" answered his sister, not ill-humouredly, asthey paused again at the North Gate. "O Haimet, what are those?"

A small company of about thirty--men, women, and a few children--werecoming slowly down Horsemonger Street. They were attired in rough shorttunics, warm sheepskin cloaks, heavy boots which had seen hard service, and felt hats or woollen hoods. Each man carried a long staff, and alllooked as though they were ending a wearisome journey. Their faces hada foreign aspect, and most of the men wore beards, --not a very commonsight in England at that date, especially with the upper classes. Andthese men were no serfs, as was shown by the respectability of theirappearance, and the absence of the brazen neck-collar which marked theslave. 

The man who walked first of the little company, and had a look ofintelligence and power, addressed himself to the porter at the gate inexcellent French--almost too excellent for comprehension. For thoughFrench was at that date the Court tongue in England, as now in Belgium, it was Norman French, scarcely intelligible to a Parisian, and stillless so to a Provencal. The porter understood only the general scope ofthe query--that the speaker wished to know if he and his companionsmight find lodging in the city. 

"Go in, " said he bluntly. "As to lodgings, the saints know where youwill get them. There are dog-holes somewhere, I dare say. "

The leader turned, and said a few words to his friends in an unknowntongue, when they at once followed him through the gate. As he passedclose by the girls, they noticed that a book hung down from his girdle--a very rare sight to their eyes. While they were watching theforeigners defile past them, the leader stopped and turned to Haimet, who was a little in advance of his sisters. 

"My master, " he said, "would you for the love of God tell us strangerswhere we can find lodging? We seek any honest shelter, and ask nodelicate fare. We would offend no man, and would gladly help with anyhousehold work. "

Haimet hesitated, and gnawed his under lip in doubtful fashion. Flemildpressed forward. 

"Master, " she said, "if in truth you are content with plain fare andlodging, I think my mother would be willing to give room to one or twoof the women among you, if they would pay her by aid in household work:and methinks our next neighbour would maybe do as much. Thinkest thounot so, Haimet?--Will you follow us and see?"

"Most gladly, maiden, " was the answer. 

"My word, Flemild, you are in for it!" whispered Haimet. "Mother willbe right grateful to you for bringing a whole army of strangers uponher, who may be witches for all you know. "

"Mother will be glad enough of a woman's arms to help her, and let herrest her own, " replied Flemild decidedly; "and I am sure they look quiterespectable. "

"Well, look out for storms!" said Haimet. 

Flemild, who had acted on an impulse of compassionate interest, washerself a little doubtful how her action would be received at home, though she did not choose to confess it. They passed down North GateStreet (now the Corn-market), and crossing High Street, went a few yardsfurther before they readied their own street. On their right hand stoodthe cooks' shops, and afterwards the vintners', while all along on theirleft ran the dreaded Jewry, which reached from High Street to what is_now_ the chief entrance of Christ Church. The fletchers' and cutlers'stalls stood along this side of the street. Eastwards the Jewrystretched to Oriel Street, and on the south came very near the CathedralChurch of Saint Frideswide. The (now destroyed) Church of Saint Edwardstood in the midst of it. 

As our friends turned into their own street, they passed a girl of someseventeen years of age--a very handsome girl, with raven hair and darkbrilliant eyes. 

She smiled at Derette as she passed, and the child returned the silentsalutation, taking care to turn her head so that her sister should notsee her. A moment later they came to their own door, over which hung apanel painted with a doubtful object, which charity might accept as thewalnut tree for which it was intended. Just as this point was reached, their mother came to the door, carrying a tin basin, from which shethrew some dirty water where every body then threw it, into the gutter. 

"Saint Benedict be merciful to us!" she cried, nearly dropping thebasin. "What on earth is all this ado? And the children here in themidst of it! Holy Virgin, help us! There is nothing but trouble for apoor woman in this world. And me as good as a widow, and worse, too. Haimet! Flemild! whatever are you about?"

"Mother, " said Flemild in politic wise, "I have brought you some help. These good women here seek lodging for the night--any decent kind willserve them--and they offer to pay for it in work. It will be such arest for you, Mother, if you will take in one or two; and don't youthink Franna would do the same, and old Turguia be glad of the chance?"

Isel stood with the basin in her hand, and a look half vexed, halfamused, upon her face. 

"Well! what is to be will be, " she said at last. "I suppose you'vearranged it all. It'll be grand rest to have every thing smashed in thehouse. Come in, friends, as many of you as like. Those that can't findstraw to lie on can sit on a budget. Blessed saints, the shiftlessnessof girls!"

And with a tone of voice which seemed to be the deeper depth belowdespair itself, Isel led the way into the house. 

Derette had fallen a little back, entranced by a sight which alwaysattracted her. She loved any thing that she could pet, whether a babyor a kitten; and had once, to the horror of her mother's housekeepingsoul, been discovered offering friendly advances to a whole family ofmice. In the arms of the woman who immediately followed the leader, laywhat seemed to Derette's eyes a particularly fascinating baby. She nowedged her way to her mother's side, with an imploring whisper of"There's a baby, Mother!"

"There's three, child. I counted them, " was the grim reply. 

"But, Mother, there's one particular baby--"

"Then you'd better go and fetch it, before you lose it, " said Isel inthe same tone. 

Derette, who took the suggestion literally, ran out, and with manysmiles and encouraging nods, led in the baby and its mother, with ayoung girl of about eighteen years, who came after them, and seemed tobelong to them. 

"I suppose I shall have to go with you, at any rate through thisstreet, " said Haimet, returning after he had set down the bucket. "Ourfolks here won't understand much of that lingo of yours. Come along. "

The tone was less rough than the words--it usually was with Haimet, --andthe little company followed him down the street, very ready to acceptthe least attempt at kindness. 

Isel and Flemild were somewhat dismayed to discover that their chosenguests could not understand a word they said, and were quite asunintelligible to them. Derette's mute offer to hold the baby wasquickly comprehended; and when Isel, taking the woman and girl up theladder, showed them a heap of clean straw, on which two thick rough rugslay folded, they quite understood that their sleeping-place for thenight was to be there. Isel led the way down again, placed a bowl ofapples before the girl, laid a knife beside it, and beginning to pareone of the apples, soon made known to her what she required. In asimilar manner she seated the woman in the chimney-corner, and put intoher hands a petticoat which she was making for Derette. Both thestrangers smiled and nodded, and went to work with a will, while Iselset on some of the fresh water just brought, and began to preparesupper. 

"Well, this is a queer fix as ever I saw!" muttered Isel, as she cleanedher fish ready for boiling. "It's true enough what my grandmother usedto say--you never know, when you first open your eyes of a morning, whatthey'll light on afore you shut them at night. If one could talk tothese outlandish folks, there'd be more sense in it. Flemild, I wonderif they've come across your father. "

"O Mother, couldn't we ask them?"

"How, child? If I say, `Have you seen aught of an Englishman calledManning Brown?' as like as not they'll think I'm saying, `Come and eatthis pie. '"

Flemild laughed. "That first man talks, " she said. 

"Ay, and he's gone with the lot. Just my luck!--always was. My fatherwas sure to be killed in the wars, and my husband was safe to take itinto his head to go and fight the Saracens, instead of stopping at homelike a decent fellow to help his wife and bring up his children the waythey should go. Well!--it can't be helped, I suppose. "

"Why did Father go to fight the Saracens?" demanded Derette, looking upfrom the baby. 

"Don't you know, Derette? It is to rescue our Lord's sepulchre, " saidFlemild. 

"Does He want it?" replied Derette. 

Flemild did not know how to answer. "It is a holy place, and ought notto be left in the hands of wicked people. "

"Are Saracens wicked people?"

"Yes, of course--as bad as Jews. They are a sort of Jews, I believe; atany rate, they worship idols, and weave wicked spells. " [Note 3. ]

"Is all the world full of wicked people?"

"Pretty nigh, child!" said her mother, with a sigh. "The saints knowthat well enough. "

"I wonder if the saints do know, " answered Derette meditatively, rockingthe baby in her arms. "I should have thought they'd come and mendthings, if they did. Why don't they, Mother?"

"Bless you, child! The saints know their own business best. Come hereand watch this pan whilst I make the sauce. "

The supper was ready, and was just about to be dished up, when Haimetentered, accompanied by the leader of the foreigners, to the evidentdelight of the guests. 

"Only just in time, " murmured Isel. "However, it is as well you'vebrought somebody to speak to. Where's all the rest of them folks?"

"Got them all housed at last, " said Haimet, flinging his hat into acorner. "Most in the town granary, but several down this street. OldTurguia took two women, and Franna a man and wife: and what think you?--if old Benefei did not come forth and offer to take in some. "

"Did they go with him?"

"As easy in their minds, so far as looks went, as if it had been my Lordhimself. Didn't seem to care half a straw. "

"Sweet Saint Frideswide! I do hope they aren't witches themselves, "whispered Isel in some perturbation. 

To open one's house for the reception of passing strangers was not anunusual thing in that day; but the danger of befriending--and yet moreof offending--those who were in league with the Evil One, was anever-present fear to the minds of men and women in the twelfth century. 

The leader overheard the whisper. 

"Good friends, " he said, addressing Isel, "suffer me to set your mindsat rest with a word of explanation. We are strangers, mostly ofTeutonic race, that have come over to this land on a mission of good andmercy. Indeed we are not witches, Jews, Saracens, nor any evil thing:only poor harmless peasants that will work for our bread and molest noman, if we may be suffered to abide in your good country for thispurpose. This is my wife--" he laid his hand on the shoulder of thebaby's mother--"her name is Agnes, and she will soon learn your tongue. This is my young sister, whose name is Ermine; and my infant son iscalled Rudolph. Mine own name is Gerhardt, at your service. I am aweaver by trade, and shall be pleased to exercise my craft in yourbehalf, thus to return the kindness you have shown us. "

"Well, I want some new clothes ill enough, the saints know, " said Iselin answer; "and if you behave decent, and work well, and that, I don'tsay as I might be altogether sorry for having taken you in. It's right, I suppose, to help folks in trouble--though it's little enough help Iever get that way, saints knows!--and I hope them that's above 'll bearit in mind when things come to be reckoned up like. "

That was Isel's religion. It is the practical religion of a sadly largenumber of people in this professedly Christian land. 

Agnes turned and spoke a few words in a low voice to her husband, whosmiled in answer. 

"My wife wishes me to thank you, " he said, "in her name and that of mysister, for your goodness in taking us strangers so generously into yourhome. She says that she can work hard, and will gladly do so, if, untilshe can speak your tongue, you will call her attention, and do for amoment what you wish her to do. Ermine says the same. "

"Well, that's fair-spoken enough, I can't deny, " responded Isel; "andI'm not like to say I shan't be glad of a rest. There's nought but hardwork in this world, without it's hard words: and which is the uglier ofthem I can't say. It'll be done one of these days, I reckon. "

"And then, friend?" asked Gerhardt quietly. 

"Well, if you know the answer to that, you know more than I do, " saidIsel, dishing up her salt fish. "Dear saints, where ever is that boyRomund? Draw up the form, Haimet, and let us have our supper. Saygrace, boy. "

Haimet obeyed, by the short and easy process of making a large crossover the table, and muttering a few unintelligible words, which shouldhave been a Latin formula. The first surprise received from the foreignguests came now. Instead of sitting down to supper, the trio knelt andprayed in silence for some minutes, ere they rose and joined their hostsat the table. Then Gerhardt spoke aloud. 

"God, who blessed the five barley loaves and the two fishes before Hisdisciples in the wilderness, bless this table and that which is set onit, in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. "

"Oh, you do say your prayers!" remarked Isel in a tone of satisfaction, as the guests began their supper. "But I confess I'd sooner say minewhile the fish isn't getting cold. "

"We do, indeed, " answered Gerhardt gravely. 

"Oh, by the way, tell me if you've ever come across an English travellercalled Manning Brown? My husband took the cross, getting on for threeyears now, and I've never heard another word about him since. Thoughtyou might have chanced on him somewhere or other. "

"Whither went he, and which way did he take?"

"Bless you, I don't know! He went to foreign parts: and foreign partsare all one to me. "

Gerhardt looked rather amused. 

"We come from Almayne, " he said; "some of us in past years dwelt inProvence, Toulouse, and Gascony. "

"Don't tell me!" said Isel, holding up her hands. "It's all so muchgibberish. Have you met with my man?--that's all I want to know. "

"I have not, " replied Gerhardt. "I will ask my friends, and see if anyof them have done so. "

Supper over, a second surprise followed. Again Gerhardt offered hisspecial blessing--"God, who has given us bodily food, grant us Hisspiritual life; and may God be with us, and we always with Him!" Thenthey once more knelt and silently prayed. Gerhardt drew his wife andsister into a corner of the house, and opening his book, read a shortportion, after which they engaged in low-toned conversation. 

Derette, with the baby in her arms, had drawn near the group. She wasnot at all bashful. 

"I wish I could understand you, " she said. "What are you talkingabout?"

Gerhardt lifted his cap before answering. 

"About our blessed Lord Christ, my maiden, " he said. 

Derette nodded, with an air of satisfaction at the wide extent of herknowledge. "I know. He's holy Mary's Son. "

"Ay, and He is our Saviour, " added Flemild. 

"Is He thy Saviour, little one?" asked Gerhardt. 

"I don't know what you mean, " was the answer. 

"O Derette! you know well enough that our Lord is called the Saviour!"corrected her sister in rather a shocked tone. 

"I know that, but I don't know what it means, " persisted the childsturdily. 

"Come, be quiet!" said her mother. "I never did see such a child forwanting to get to the bottom of things. --Well, Romund! Folks that wantsupper should come in time for it. All's done and put by now. "

"I have had my supper at the Lodge, " responded a tall young man oftwenty-two, who had just entered. "Who are those people?"

His mother gave the required explanation. Romund looked ratherdoubtfully at the guests. Gerhardt, seeing that this was the master ofthe house, at least under present circumstances, rose, and respectfullyraising his cap, apologised for their presence. 

"What can you do?" inquired Romund shortly. 

"My trade is weaving, " replied Gerhardt, "but I can stack wood or cutit, put up shelves, milk cows, or attend to a garden. I shall be gladto do any thing in my power. "

"You may nail up the vine over the back door, " said Romund, "and I daresay my mother can find you some shelves and hooks to put up. The womencan cook and sew. You may stay for a few days, at any rate. "

Gerhardt expressed his thanks, and Romund, disappearing outside the backdoor, returned with some pieces of wood and tools, which he laid down onthe form. He was trying to carve a wooden box with a pattern of oakleaves, but he had not progressed far, and his attempts were not of thefirst order. Haimet noticed Gerhardt's interested glance cast on hisbrother's work. 

"Is that any thing in your line?" he asked with a smile. 

"I have done a little in that way, " replied Gerhardt modestly. "May Iexamine it?" he asked of Romund. 

The young carver nodded, and Gerhardt took up the box. 

"This is an easy pattern, " he said. 

"Easy, do you call it?" replied Romund. "It is the hardest I have doneyet. Those little round inside bits are so difficult to manage. "

"May I try?" asked Gerhardt. 

It was not very willingly that Romund gave permission, for he almostexpected the spoiling of his work: but the carving-tool had not mademore than a few cuts in the German's fingers, before Romund saw that hisguest was a master in the art. The work so laborious and difficult tohim seemed to do itself when Gerhardt took hold of it. 

"Why, you are a first-class hand at it!" he cried. 

Gerhardt smiled. "I have done the like before, in my own country, " hesaid. 

"Will you teach me your way of working?" asked Romund eagerly. "I neverhad any body to teach me. I should be as glad as could be to learn ofone that really knew. "

"Gladly, " said Gerhardt. "It will give me pleasure to do any thing forthe friends who have been so kind to me. "

"Derette, it is your bedtime, " came from the other corner--not by anymeans to Derette's gratification. "Give the baby to its mother, and beoff. "

Very unwillingly Derette obeyed: but Gerhardt, looking up, requestedIsel's permission for his wife and sister to retire with the child. They had had a long journey that day, and were quite worn out. Iselreadily assented, and Derette with great satisfaction saw them accompanyher up the ladder. 

The houses of the common people at that time were extremely poor. Thisfamily were small gentlefolks after a fashion, and looked down upon thetradesmen by whom they were surrounded as greatly their inferiors: yetthey dwelt in two rooms, one above the other, with a ladder as the onlymeans of communication. Their best bed, on which Isel and Flemildslept, was a rough wooden box filled with straw, on the top of whichwere a bed and a mattress, covered by coarse quilts and a rug ofrabbit-skin. Derette and the boys lay on sacks filled with chaff, withwoollen rugs over them. 

The baby was already asleep, and Agnes laid it gently on one of thewoollen rugs, while she and Ermine, to Derette's amazement, knelt andprayed for some time. Derette herself took scarcely five minutes to herprayers. Why should she require more, when her notion of prayer was notto make request for what she wanted to One who could give it to her, butto gabble over one Creed, six Paternosters, and the doxology, with asmuch rapidity as she could persuade her lips to utter the words? Then, in another five minutes, after a few rapid motions, Derette drew thewoollen rug over her, and very quickly knew nothing more, for that nightat least. 

The city of Oxford, as then inhabited, was considerably smaller than itis now. The walls ran, roughly speaking, on the north, from the Castleto Holywell Street, on the east a little lower than the end of MertonStreet, thence on the south to the other side of the Castle. Beyond thewalls the houses extended northwards somewhat further than to BeaumontStreet, and southwards about half-way to Friar Bacon's Tower. Theoldest church in the city is Saint Peter's in the East, which wasoriginally built in the reign of Alfred; the University sermons used tobe delivered in the stone pulpit of this church. 

There was a royal palace in Oxford, built by Henry First, who styled itle Beau Mont; it stood in Stockwell Street, nearly on the site of thepresent workhouse. It had not been visited by royalty since 1157, whena baby was born in it, destined to become a mighty man of valour, and tobe known to all ages as King Richard Coeur-de-Lion. In 1317 King EdwardSecond bestowed it on the White Friars, and all that now remains of itis a small portion of the wall built into the workhouse. 

The really great man of the city was the Earl of Oxford, at that timeAubrey de Vere, the first holder of the title. He had been married to alady who was a near relative of King Stephen, but his second and presentCountess, though of good family, came from a lower grade. 

Modern ideas of a castle are often inaccurate. It was not always asingle fortified mansion, but consisted quite as frequently of anembattled wall surrounding several houses, and usually including achurch. The Castle of Oxford was of the latter type, the Church ofSaint George being on its western side. The keep of a castle wasoccupied by the garrison, though it generally contained two or threespecial chambers for the use of the owner, should necessity oblige himand his family to take refuge there in a last extremity. The entrancewas dexterously contrived, particularly when the fortress consisted of asingle house, to present as much difficulty as possible to a besieger. It was always at some height in the wall, and was reached by a winding, or rather rambling, stairway leading from the drawbridge, and oftenrunning round a considerable part of the wall. One or more gates in thecourse of this stair could be closed at pleasure. A large and imposingportal admitted the visitor to a small tower occupied by the guards, through which the real entrance was approached. This stood in thethickness of the outer wall, and was protected by another pair of gatesand a portcullis, just inside which was the porter's lodge. On theground-floor the soldiers were lodged; on the midmost were the state andfamily apartments, while the uppermost accommodated the householdservants and attendants. A special tower was usually reserved for theladies of the family, and was often accompanied by a tiny garden. Inthe partition wall a well was dug, which could be reached on everyfloor; and below the vestibule was a dungeon. The great banqueting-hallwas the general sitting-room to which every one in the castle hadaccess; and here it was common for family, servants, and guard to taketogether their two principal meals--dinner at nine a. M. , supper at fouror five o'clock. The only distinction observed was that the board andtrestles for the family and guests were set up on the dais, for thehousehold and garrison below. The tables were arranged in the form of ahorse-shoe, the diners sitting on the outer or larger side, while theservants waited on the inner. The ladies had, beside this, their ownprivate sitting-room, always attached to the bedchamber, and known asthe "bower, " to which strangers were rarely admitted. Here they sat andsang, gossiped, and worked their endless embroidery. The days werescarcely yet over when English needlework bore the palm in Europe andeven in the East, while the first illuminators were the monks ofIreland. Ladies were the spinners, weavers, surgeons, and readers ofthe day; they were great at interpreting dreams, and dearly lovedflowers. The gentlemen looked upon reading as an occupation quite aseffeminate as sewing, war and hunting being the two main employments ofthe lords of creation, and gambling the chief amusement. Priests andmonks were the exceptions to this rule, until Henry First introduced ataste for somewhat more liberal education. Even more respectful toletters was his grandson Henry Second, who had a fancy for resemblinghis grandfather in every thing; yet he allowed the education of his sonsto be thoroughly neglected. 

The popular idea that the University of Oxford is older than King Alfredis scarcely borne out by modern research. That there was some kind ofschool there in Alfred's day is certain: but nothing like a universityarose before the time of Henry First, and the impetus which founded itcame from outside. A Frenchman with a Scotch education, and a JewishRabbi, are the two men to whom more than any others must be traced theexistence of the University of Oxford. 

Theodore d'Etampes, a secular priest, and apparently a chaplain of QueenMargaret of Scotland, arrived at Oxford about the year 1116, where hetaught classes of scholars from sixty to a hundred in number. But everything which we call science came there with the Jews, who settled underthe shadow of Saint Frideswide shortly after the Conquest. Hebrew, astronomy, astrology, geometry, and mathematics, were taught by them, attheir hostels of Lombard Hall, Moses Hall, and Jacob Hall; while law, theology, and the "humanities, " engaged the attention of the Christianlecturers. Cardinal Pullus, Robert de Cricklade, and the Lombard juristVacario, each in his turn made Oxford famous, until King Stephen closedthe mouth of "the Master" of civil law, and burned at once the law-booksand the Jews. Henry Second revived and protected the schools, in thechurchyard outside the west door of Saint Mary's Church; the scriveners, binders, illuminators, and parchmenters, occupying Schools Street, whichran thence towards the city wall. 

The special glory of Oxford, at that time, was not the University, butthe shrine of Saint Frideswide. This had existed from the eighthcentury, when the royal maiden whom it celebrated, after declining tofulfil a contract of matrimony which her father had made for her (as shewas much too holy to be married), had added insult to injury bymiraculously inflicting blindness on her disappointed lover when heattempted to pursue her. She had, however, the grace to restore hissight on due apologies being made. Becoming Prioress of the conventwhich she founded, she died therein on October 14th, 740, which day wasafterwards held as a gaudy day. Possibly because her indignant loverwas a king, it was held ominous for any monarch to enter the Chapel ofSaint Frideswide in her convent church. King John, who was assuperstitious on some points as he was profane on others, never dared topass the threshold. 

His father, being gifted with more common sense, was present at thetranslation of the saint in 1180. The bones of Saint Frideswide stillsleep in Christ Church; but at the Reformation they were purposelymingled with those of Katherine Vermilia, wife of Peter Martyr, and onthe grave where the two were interred was carved the inscription, "Herelieth Religion with Superstition. " Of course the object of this was toprevent any further worship of the relics, as it would be impossible todiscern the bones of the saint from those of the heretic. It is notimprobable that both were good women according to their light; but thesaint was assuredly far the less enlightened. To common sense, apartfrom tradition and sentiment, it is difficult to understand why acertain group of persons, who lived in an age when education was verylimited, superstition and prejudice very rife, spirituality almostdormant, and a taste for childish follies and useless hair-splitting thecommonest things in literature, should be singled out for specialreverence as "saints, " or under the honourable name of "the Fathers, " bedeemed higher authorities in respect to the interpretation of Holy Writthan the far more intelligent and often far more spiritual writers oflater date. If this curious hero-worship were confined to thegeneration immediately following the Apostles, it would be a little moreintelligible; as such men might possibly have derived some of theirideas from apostolic oral teaching. But to those who know the historyof the early ages of Christianity, and are not blinded by prejudice, itis simply amazing that the authority of such men as Basil, Cyprian, andJerome, should be held to override that of the spiritual giants of thePuritan era, and of those who have deeply and reverently studiedScripture in our own times. To appeal to the views held by such men asdecisive of the burning questions of the day, is like referring mattersof grave import to the judgment of little children, instead ofconsulting men of ripe experience. We know what followed a similarblunder on the part of King Rehoboam. Yet how often is it repeated! Itwould seem that not only is "no prophet accepted in his own country, "but also in his own day. 

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Note 1. Saint Martin's Well stood in the junction of the "four-ways"from which Carfax takes its name. 

Note 2. Penniless Bench, which ran along the east end of Carfax Church, was the original of all "penniless benches. " It was not always occupiedby idle vagrants, for sometimes the scholars of the University used tocongregate there, as well as the Corporation of the city. 

Note 3. All Christians believed this at that date. 

CHAPTER TWO. 

VALIANT FOR THE FAITH. 

 "As labourers in Thy vineyard, Send us out, Christ, to be, Content to bear the burden Of weariness for Thee. 

 "We ask no other wages When Thou shalt call us Home, But to have shared the travail Which makes Thy kingdom come. "

It is popularly supposed that surnames only came into existence with thereign of King John. This is not quite an accurate assertion. Theyexisted from the Conquest, but were chiefly personal, and apart from thegreat feudal families, only began at that date to consolidate andcrystallise into hereditary names. So far as common people wereconcerned, in the reign of Henry the Second, a man's surname was usuallyrestricted to himself. He was named either from one of his parents, asJohn William-son, or John Fitz-mildred; from his habitation, as John bythe Brook; from his calling, as John the Tanner; from some peculiarityin his costume, as John Whitehood, --in his person, as John Fairhair, --inhis mind, as John Lovegood, --in his tastes, as John Milk-sop, --or in hishabits, as John Drinkdregs. If he removed from one place to another, hewas likely to change his name, and to become known, say at Winchester, as John de Nottingham; or if his father were a priest who was awell-known person, he would not improbably be styled JohnFiz-al-Prester. [Note 1. ] It will readily be seen that the majority ofthese names were not likely to descend to a second generation. The sonof John William-son would be Henry John-son, or Henry Alice-son; hemight or might not retain the personal name, or the trade-name; but theplace-name he probably would inherit. This explains the reason why solarge a majority of our modern surnames are place-names, whether inrespect of a town, as Nottingham, Debenham, Brentwood: or of a countrylocality, as Brook, Lane, Hill, etcetera. Now and then a series ofJohns in regular descent would fix the name of Johnson on the family; orthe son and grandson pursuing the same calling as the father, would turnthe line into Tanners. All surnames have arisen in such a manner. 

Our friends in Kepeharme Lane knew nothing of surnames otherwise thanpersonal, apart from the great territorial families of Normanimmigration, who brought their place-names with them. Manning Brown wasso termed from his complexion; his elder son, not being speciallyremarkable, was known merely as Romund Fitz-Manning; but the younger, inhis boyhood of a somewhat impetuous temper, had conferred on him theepithet of Haimet Escorceueille, or Burntown. The elder brother ofManning was dubbed Gilbert Cuntrevent, or Against-the-Wind; and his twosons, of whom one was the head porter, and another a watchman, at theCastle, were called Osbert le Porter and Stephen Esueillechien, orWatchdog, --the last term evidently a rendering of English into_dog-French_. Our forefathers were apt hands at giving nicknames. Their epithets were always direct and graphic, sometimes highlysatirical, some very unpleasant, and some very picturesque. Isel, whowas recognised as a woman of a complaining spirit, was commonly spokenof as Isel the Sweet; while her next neighbour, who lorded it over avery meek husband, received the pungent appellation of FrannaGillemichel. [Note 2. ]

The day after the arrival of the Germans, the porter's wife came down tosee her kindred. 

"What, you've got some of those queer folks here?" she said in a loudwhisper to Isel, though Gerhardt was not present, and his wife andsister could not understand a word she spoke. 

"Ay, they seem decentish folks, " was the reply, as Isel washed hereel-like lampreys for a pie--the fish which had, according to tradition, proved the death of Henry the First. 

"Oh, do they so? You mind what you are after. Osbert says he makes noaccount of them. He believes they're Jews, if not worse. "

"Couldn't be worse, " said Isel sententiously. "Nothing of the sort, Anania. They say their prayers oftener than we do. "

"Ay, but what to? Just tell me that. Old Turguia has some in herhouse, and she says they take never a bit of notice of our Lady norSaint Helen, that she has upstairs and down; they just kneel down andfall a-praying anywhere. What sort of work do you call that?"

"I don't know as I wish to call it anything in particular, withoutyou're very anxious, " replied Isel. 

"But I am anxious about it, Aunt. These folks are in your house, and ifthey are witches and such like, it's you and the girls who will suffer. "

"Well, do you think it's much matter?" asked Isel, putting aside thelampreys, and taking up a bushel basket of Kentish pearmains. "If ourLady could hear me in one corner, I reckon she could hear me inanother. "

"But to turn their backs on them!" remonstrated Anania. 

"Well, I turn mine on her, when I'm at work, many a time of a day. "

"Work--ay. But not when you're at prayer, I suppose?"

"Oh, it'll be all right at last, I hope, " said Isel a little uneasily. 

"Hope's poor fare, Aunt. But I tell you, these folks are after no good. Why, only think! five of them got taken in by those rascals of Jews--three in Benefei's house, and two at Jurnet's. _They'd_ never havetaken them in, depend on it, if they hadn't known they weren't so muchbetter than they should be. "

Agnes and Ermine understood none of these words, though they saw readilyenough that the looks Anania cast upon them were not friendly. ButDerette spoke up for her friends. 

"They're much better than you, Cousin Anania!" said that downright youngwoman. 

"Keep a civil tongue in your head, " replied Anania sharply. 

"I'd rather have a true one, " was the child's answer; "and I'm not surethey always go together. "

"Osbert says, " pursued Anania, ignoring Derette, "that he expectsthere'll be a stir when my Lord comes to hear of them. Much if theydon't get turned out, bag and baggage. Serve 'em right, too!"

"They haven't got any bags, " said literal Derette. "I don't thinkthey've any of them any clothes but what they wear. Only Gerard's got abook. "

"A book! What is it about?" cried Anania. "Is he a priest?--surelynot!"

Only a priest or monk, in her eyes, could have any business with a book. 

"Oh no, he's no priest; he's a weaver. "

"Then what on earth is he doing with a book? You get hold of it, Aunt!I'll warrant you it's some sort of wickedness--safe to be! Black spellsto turn you all into ugly toads, or some such naughty stuff--take myword for it!"

"I'd rather not, Cousin Anania, for you haven't seen it, so your wordisn't much good, " said Derette calmly. 

"It's not like to do us much good when we do see it, " observed Isel, "because it will be in their own language, no doubt. "

"But if it's a witch-book, it's like to have horoscopes and all mannerof things in it!" said Anania, returning to the charge. 

"Then it is not, for I have seen it, " said Flemild. "It is in a foreignlanguage; but all in it beside words is only red lines ruled round thepages. "

"He read me a piece out of it, " added Derette; "and it was a prettystory about our Lady, and how she carried our Lord away when He was ababy, that the wicked King should not get hold of Him. It wasn't bad atall, Cousin Anania. You are bad, to say such things when you don't knowthey are true. "

"Hush, child!" said her mother. 

"I'll hush, " responded Derette, marching off to Agnes and the baby: "butit's true, for all that. "

"That girl wants teaching manners, " commented Anania. "I really thinkit my duty, Aunt, to tell you that nearly every body that knows you istalking of that child's forward manners and want of respect for herbetters. You don't hear such remarks made, but I do. She will beinsufferable if the thing is not stopped. "

"Oh, well, stop it, then!" said Isel wearily, "only leave me in peace. I'm just that tired!--"

"I beg your pardon, Aunt! Derette is not my child. I have no right tocorrect her. If I had--"

Anania left it to be understood that the consequences would not be toher little cousin's taste. 

"She'll get along well enough, I dare say. I haven't time to botherwith her, " said Isel. 

"She will just be a bye-word in the whole town, Aunt. You don't knowhow people talk. I've heard it said that you are too idle to take anypains with the child. "

"Idle?--me!" cried poor Isel. "I'm up long before you, and I don't geta wink of sleep till the whole town's been snoring for an hour or more:and every minute of the time as full as it can be crammed. I'll tellyou what, Anania, I don't believe you know what work means. If you'djust change with me for a week, you'd have an idea or two more in yourhead at the end of it. "

"I see, Aunt, you are vexed at what I told you, " replied Anania in atone of superior virtue. "I am thankful to say I have not my house inthe mess yours is, and my children are decently behaved. I thought itonly kind to let you know the remarks that are being made: but ofcourse, if you prefer to be left ignorant, I don't need to stay. Goodmorrow! Pray don't disturb yourself, Flemild--I can let myself out, asyou are all so busy. You'll be sorry some day you did not take advice. But I never obtrude my advice; if people don't want it, I shall nottrouble them with it. It's a pity, that's all. "

"Oh deary, deary!" cried poor Isel, as Anania sailed away with her headheld rather higher than usual. "Why ever did she come to plague me, when I've got my hands as full already!--And what on earth does shemean, calling me names, and Derette too? The child's good enough--onlya bit thoughtless, as children always are. I do wonder why folks can'tlet a body alone!"

For three days the Germans rested peacefully in their new quarters. Atthe end of that time, Gerhardt called on all his little company, anddesired them to meet him early on the following morning on a piece ofvacant ground, a few miles from the city. They met as agreed, eighteenmen and eleven women, of all ages, from young Conrad whose moustache waslittle more than down, to old Berthold who carried the weight ofthreescore and fifteen years. 

"My friends, " said Gerhardt, "let us speak to our God, before we sayanything to each other. "

All knelt, and Gerhardt poured forth a fervent prayer that God would bewith them and aid them in the work which they had undertaken; that Hewould supply them with bread to eat, and raiment to put on; that Hewould keep the door of their lips, that they should speak neither guile, discourtesy, nor error, yet open their mouths that with all boldnessthey might preach His Word; that none of them might be ashamed toconfess the faith of Christ crucified, nor seek to hide the offence ofthe cross for the sake of pleasing men. A whole-hearted Amen was theresponse from the group around him. 

They rose, and Gerhardt repeated by heart three Psalms--the fifteenth, the forty-sixth, and the ninetieth--not in Latin, but in sonorousGerman, many of his compatriots taking up the words and repeating themwith him, in a style which made it plain that they were very familiar. Then Gerhardt spoke. 

"I will but shortly remind you, my friends, " he said, "of the reason forwhich we are here. Hundreds of years ago, it pleased God to send to usGermans a good English pastor, who name was Winfrid, when we were poorheathens, serving stocks and stones. He came with intent to deliver usfrom that gloomy bondage, and to convert us to the faith of Christ. Godso blessed his efforts that as their consequence, Germany is Christianat this day; and he, leaving his English name of Winfrid, thePeace-Conqueror (though a truer name he could never have had), is knownamong us as Boniface, the doer of good deeds. Since his day, fourhundred years have passed, and the Church of Christ throughout the worldhas woefully departed from the pure faith. We are come out, like theApostles, a little company, --like them, poor and unlearned, --but rich inthe knowledge of God, and of Jesus our Lord; we are come to tread intheir steps, to do the work they did, and to call the world back to thepure truth of the earliest days of Christendom. And we come here, because it is here that our first duty is due. We come to give back toEngland the precious jewel of the true faith which she gave to us fourhundred years ago. Let every one of us clearly understand for what weare to be ready. We tread in our Master's steps, and our Master was notflattered and complimented by the world. He came bringing salvation, and the world would none of it, nor of Him. So, if we find the worldhates us, let us be neither surprised nor afraid, but remember that ithated Him, and that as He was, so are we in this world. Let us beprepared to go with Him, if need be, both into prison and to death. Ifwe suffer with Him, we shall reign. Brethren, if we seek to reign, wemust make account first to suffer. "

"We are ready!" cried at least a dozen voices. 

"Will ye who are foremost now, be the foremost in that day?" askedGerhardt, looking round upon them with a rather compassionate smile. "God grant it may be so! Now, my friends, I must further remind you--not that ye know it not, but that ye may bear its importance in mind--that beyond those beliefs common to all Christians, our faith confessesthree great doctrines which ye must teach. 

"First, that Holy Scripture alone containeth all things necessary tosalvation; and nothing is to be taught as an article of faith but whatGod has revealed. 

"Secondly, the Church of God consists of all who hear and understand theWord of God. All the saved were elect of God before the foundation ofthe world; all who are justified by Christ go into life eternal. Therefore it follows that there is no Purgatory, and all masses aredamnable, especially those for the dead. And whosoever upholds freewill--namely, man's capacity to turn to God as and when he will--deniespredestination and the grace of God. Man is by nature utterly depraved;and all the evil that he doth proceeds from his own depravity. 

"Thirdly, we acknowledge one God and one Mediator--the Lord JesusChrist; and reject the invocation of saints or angels. We own twoSacraments--baptism and the Supper of the Lord; but all Churchobservances not ordained by Christ and the Apostles, we reject as idlesuperstitions and vain traditions of men. [Note 3. ]

"This is our faith. Brethren, do ye all stand banded together in thisfaith?"

Up went every right arm, some quietly, some impetuously. 

"Furthermore, " continued the leader, "as to conduct. It is incumbentupon us to honour all secular powers, with subjection, obedience, promptitude, and payment of tribute. On the Sabbath, cease ye from allworldly labours, abstain from sin, do good works, and pay your devotionsto God. Remember, to pray much is to be fervent in prayer, not to usemany words nor much time. Be orderly in all things; in attire, so faras lies in your power, avoid all appearance of either pride or squalor. We enter no trade, that we may be free from falsehood: we live by thelabour of our hands, and are content with necessaries, not seeking toamass wealth. Be ye all chaste, temperate, sober, meek: owe no mananything; give no reason for complaint. Avoid taverns and dancing, asoccasions of evil. The women among you I charge to be modest in mannersand apparel, to keep themselves free from foolish jesting and levity ofthe world, especially in respect of falsehood and oaths. Keep yourmaidens, and see that they wander not; beware of suffering them to deckand adorn themselves. `We serve the Lord Christ. ' `Watch ye, standfast in the faith, quit you like men, be strong!' Read the Scriptures, serve God in humility, be poor in spirit. Remember that Antichrist isall that opposeth Christ. `Love not the world, neither the things ofthe world. ' `Stand fast in the liberty wherewith Christ hath made usfree, ' and bear in mind that ye are sent forth as sheep in the midst ofwolves, as under-shepherds to seek for His strayed sheep. Beware thatye glorify not yourselves, but Him. 

"Berthold, Arnulph, and Guelph, ye tarry in this city with me, goingforth to preach in the surrounding villages, as the Lord shall grant usopportunity. Heinrich, Otho, Conrad, and Magnus, ye go northward toevangelise in like manner. Friedrich, Dietbold, Sighard, and Leopold, ye to the south; Albrecht, Johann, and Hermann, ye to the east; Wilhelm, Philipp, and Ludwig, ye to the west. Every man shall take with him wifeand children that hath them. The elder women among us--Cunegonde, Helena, Luitgarde, Elisabeth, and Margarethe--I especially exhort toinstruct the young women, as the Apostle bids, and to evangelise in suchmanner as women may, by modest and quiet talking with other women. Oncein the year let us meet here, to compare experiences, resolvedifficulties, and to comfort and edify one another in our work. And nowI commend you to God, and to the Word of His grace. Go ye forth, strongin the Lord, and in the power of His might, always abounding in the workof the Lord, teaching all to observe whatsoever He has commanded. Forlo! He is with us always, even unto the end of the world. "

Another fervent prayer followed the address. Then each of the littlecompany came up in turn to Gerhardt, who laid his hand upon the head ofevery one, blessing them in the name of the Lord. As each thus tookleave, he set out in the direction which he had been bidden to take, eight accompanied by their wives, and three by children. Then Gerhardt, with Agnes and Ermine, turned back into the town; Berthold, with hiswife Luitgarde, and his daughter Adelheid, followed; while Arnulph andGuelph, who were young unmarried men, went off to begin their preachingtour in the villages. 

The day afterwards, the priest of Saint Aldate's rapped at the door ofthe Walnut Tree. It was opened by Flemild, who made a low reverencewhen she saw him. With hand uplifted in blessing, and--"Christ save allhere!"--he walked into the house, where Isel received him with anequally respectful courtesy. 

"So I hear, my daughter, you have friends come to see you?"

"Well, they aren't friends exactly, " said Isel: "leastwise not yet. Maybe, in time--hope they will. "

"Whence come they, then, if they be strangers?"

"Well, " replied Isel, who generally began her sentences with thatconvenient adverb, "to tell truth, Father, it beats me to say. They'vecome over-sea, from foreign parts; but I can't get them outlandish namesround my tongue. "

"Do they speak French or English?"

"One of 'em speaks French, after a fashion, but it's a queer fashion. As to English, I haven't tried 'em. "

The Reverend Dolfin (he had no surname) considered the question. 

"They are Christians, of course?"

"That they are, Father, and good too. Why, they say their prayersseveral times a day. "

The priest did not think that item of evidence so satisfactory as Iseldid. But he had not come with any intention of ferreting out doubtfulcharacters or suspicious facts. He was no ardent heretic-hunter, but aquiet, peaceable man, as inoffensive as a priest could be. 

"Decent and well-behaved?" he asked. 

"As quiet and sensible as any living creature in this street, " Iselassured him. "The women are good workers, and none of them's a talker, and that's no small blessing!"

"Truly, thou art right there, my daughter, " said the priest, who, knowing nothing about women, was under the impression that they rarelydid any thing but talk, and perform a little desultory housework in theintervals between the paragraphs. "So far, good. I trust they willcontinue equally well-behaved, and will give no scandal to theirneighbours. "

"I'll go surety for that, " answered Isel rather warmly; "more than Iwill for their neighbours giving them none. Father, I'd give a silverpenny you'd take my niece Anania in hand; she'll be the death of me ifshe goes on. Do give her a good talking-to, and I'll thank you all thedays of my life!"

"With what does she go on?" asked the priest, resting both hands on hissilver-headed staff. 

"Words!" groaned poor Isel. "And they bain't pretty words, Father--notby no manner of means. She's for ever and the day after interferingwith every mortal thing one does. And her own house is just right-downslatternly, and her children are coming up any how. If she'd just spendthe time a-scouring as she spends a-chattering, her house 'd be thecleanest place in Oxfordshire. But as for the poor children, I'm thatsorry! Whatever they do, or don't do, they get a slap for it; and thenshe turns round on me because I don't treat mine the same. Why, there'snothing spoils children's tempers like everlasting scolding and slappingof 'em. I declare I don't know which to be sorriest for, them thatnever gets no bringing up at all, or them that's slapped from morning tonight. "

"Does her husband allow all that?"

"Bless you, Father, he's that easy a man, if she slapped _him_, he'donly laugh and give it back. It's true, when he's right put out he'lltake the whip to her; but he'll stand a deal first that he'd better not. Biggest worry I have, she is!"

"Be thankful, my daughter, if thy biggest worry be outside thine owndoor. "

"That I would, Father, if I could keep her outside, but she's alwaysa-coming in. "

The priest laughed. 

"I will speak to my brother Vincent about her, " he said. "You know theCastle is not in my parish. "

"Well, I pray you, Father, do tell Father Vincent to give it her strong. She's one o' them that won't do with it weak. It'll just run off herlike water on a duck's back. Father, do you think my poor man 'll evercome back?"

The priest grew grave when asked that question. 

"I cannot tell, my daughter. Bethink thee, that if he fall in that holyconflict, he is assured of Heaven. How long is it since his departing?"

"It's two years good, Father--going in three: and I'm glad enough heshould be sure of Heaven, but saving your presence, I want him here onearth. It's hard work for a lone woman to bring up four children, nevername boys, that's as rampageous as young colts, and about as easy tocatch. And the younger and sillier they are, the surer they are tothink they know better than their own mother. "

"That is a standing grievance, daughter, " said the priest with a smile, as he rose to take leave. "Well, I am glad to hear so good a report ofthese strangers. So long as they conduct themselves well, and come tochurch, and give no offence to any, there can be no harm in your givingthem hospitality. But remember that if they give any occasion ofscandal, your duty will be to let me know, that I may deal with them. The saints keep you!"

No occasion of scandal required that duty from Isel. Every now and thenGerhardt absented himself--for what purpose she did not know; but heleft Agnes and Ermine behind, and they never told the object of hisjourneys. At home he lived quietly enough, generally following histrade of weaving, but always ready to do any thing required by hishostess. Isel came to congratulate herself highly on the presence ofher quiet, kindly, helpful guests. In a house where the whole upperfloor formed a single bedchamber, divided only by curtains stretchedacross, and the whole ground-floor was parlour and kitchen in one, a fewinmates more or less, so long as they were pleasant and peaceable, wereof small moment. Outwardly, the Germans conducted themselves in no waypointedly different from their English hosts. They indulged in ratherlonger prayers, but this only increased the respect in which they wereheld. They went to church like other people; and if they omitted theusual reverences paid to the images, they did it so unobtrusively thatit struck and shocked no one. 

The Roman Church, in 1160, was yet far from filling the measure of heriniquity. The mass was in Latin, but transubstantiation was only a"pious opinion;" there were invocation of saints and worship of images, prayers for the dead, and holy water; but dispensations and indulgenceswere uninvented, the Inquisition was unknown, numbers of the clergy weremarried men, and that organ of tyranny and sin, termed auricularconfession, had not yet been set up to grind the consciences and tormentthe hearts of those who sought to please God according to the light theyenjoyed. Without that, it was far harder to persecute; for how could aman be indicted for the belief in his heart, if he chose to keep thedoor of his lips?

The winter passed quietly away, and Isel was--for her--well pleased withher new departure. The priest, having once satisfied himself that theforeign visitors were nominal Christians, and gave no scandal to theirneighbours, ceased to trouble himself about them. Anania continued tomake disagreeable remarks at times, but gradually even she became morecallous on the question, and nobody else ever said any thing. 

"I do wonder if Father Vincent have given her a word or two, " said Isel. "She hasn't took much of it, if he have. If she isn't at me for onething, she's at me for another. If it were to please the saints to makeOsbert the Lord King's door-keeper, so as he'd go and live at London orWindsor, I shouldn't wonder if I could get over it!"

"Ah, `the tongue can no man tame, '" observed Gerhardt with a smile. 

"I don't so much object to tongues when they've been in salt, " saidIsel. "It's fresh I don't like 'em, and with a live temper behind of'em. They don't agree with me then. "

"It is the live temper behind, or rather the evil heart, which is thething to blame. `Out of the heart proceed evil thoughts, ' which growinto evil words and deeds. Set the heart right, and the tongue willsoon follow. "

"I reckon that's a bit above either you or me, " replied Isel with asigh. 

"A man's thoughts are his own, " interposed Haimet rather warmly. "Nobody has a right to curb them. "

"No man can curb them, " said Gerhardt, "unless the thinker put a curb onhimself. He that can rule his own thoughts is king of himself: he thatnever attempts it is `a reed driven with the wind and tossed. '"

"Oh, there you fly too high for me, " said Haimet. "If my acts and wordsare inoffensive, I have a right to my thoughts. "

"Has any man a right to evil thoughts?" asked Gerhardt. 

"What, you are one of those precise folks who make conscience of theirthoughts? I call that all stuff and nonsense, " replied Haimet, throwingdown the hammer he was using. 

"If I make no conscience of my thoughts, of what am I to makeconscience?" was the answer. "Thought is the seed, act the flower. Ifyou do not wish for the flower, the surest way is not to sow the seed. Sow it, and the flower will blossom, whether you will or no. "

"That sort of thing may suit you, " said Haimet rather in an irritatedtone. "I could never get along, if I had to be always measuring mythoughts with an ell-wand in that fashion. "

"Do you prefer the consequences?" asked Gerhardt. 

"Consequences!--what consequences?"

"Rather awkward ones, sometimes. Thoughts of hatred, for instance, mayissue in murder, and that may lead to your own death. If the thoughtshad been curbed in the first instance, the miserable results would havebeen spared to all the sufferers. And `no man liveth to himself': it isvery seldom that you can bring suffering on one person only. It isalmost sure to run over to two or three more. And as the troubles ofevery one of them will run over to another two or three, like circles inthe water, the sorrow keeps ever widening, so that the consequences ofone small act or word for evil are incalculable. It takes God to reckonthem. "

"Eh, don't you, now!" said Isel with a shudder. "Makes me go all creepylike, that does. I shouldn't dare to do a thing all the days of mylife, if I looked at every thing that way. "

"Friend, " said Gerhardt gravely, "these things _are_. It does notdestroy them to look away from them. It is not given to us to choosewhether we will act, but only how we will act. In some manner, for goodor for ill, act we must. "

"I declare I won't listen to you, Gerard. I'm going creepy-crawly thisminute. Oh deary me! you do make things look just awful. "

"Rubbish!" said Haimet, driving a nail into the wall with unnecessaryvehemence. 

"It is the saying of a wise man, friends, " remarked Gerhardt, "that `hethat contemneth small things shall fall by little and little. ' And withequal wisdom he saith again, `Be not confident in a plain way. '" [Note5. ]

"But it is all nonsense to say `we must act, '" resumed Haimet. "We neednot act in any way unless we choose. How am I acting if I sit here anddo nothing?"

"Unless you are resting after work is done, you are setting an exampleof idleness or indecision. Not to do, is sometimes to do in a mosteffectual way. Not to hinder the doing of evil, when it lies in yourpower, is equivalent to doing it. "

Haimet stared at Gerhardt for a moment. 

"What a wicked lot of folks you would make us out to be!"

"So we are, " said Gerhardt with a quiet smile. 

"Oh, I see!--that's how you come by your queer notions of every man'sheart being bad. Well, you are consistent, I must admit. "

"I come by that notion, because I have seen into my own. I think I havemost thoroughly realised my own folly by noting in how many cases, if Iwere endued with the power of God, I should not do what He does: and inlike manner, I most realise my own wickedness by seeing the frequentinstances wherein my will raises itself up in opposition to the will ofGod. "

"But how is it, then, that I never see such things in myself?"

"Your eyes are shut, for one thing. Moreover, you set up your own willas the standard to be followed, without seeking to ascertain the will ofGod. Therefore you do not see the opposition between them. "

"Oh, I don't consider myself a saint or an angel. I have done foolishthings, of course, and I dare say, some things that were not exactlyright. We are all sinners, I suppose, and I am much like other people. But taking one thing with another, I think I am a very decent fellow. Ican't worry over my `depravity, ' as you do. I am not depraved. I knowseveral men much worse than I am in every way. "

"Is that the ell-wand by which God will measure you? He will not holdyou up against those men, but against the burning snow-white light ofHis own holiness. What will you look like then?"

"Is that the way you are going to be measured, too?"

"I thank God, no. Christ our Lord will be measured for me, and He hasfulfilled the whole Law. "

"And why not for me?" said Haimet fiercely. "Am I not a baptisedChristian, just as much as you?"

"Friend, you will not be asked in that day whether you were a baptisedChristian, but whether you were a believing Christian. Sins that arelaid on Christ are gone--they exist no longer. But sins that are not sodestroyed have to be borne by the sinner himself. "

"Well, I call that cowardice, " said Haimet, drawing a red herring acrossthe track, "to want to burden somebody else with your sins. Why nothave the manliness to bear them yourself?"

"If you are so manly, " answered Gerhardt with another of his quietsmiles, "will you oblige me, Haimet, by taking up the Castle, andsetting it down on Presthey?"

"What are you talking about now? How could I?"

"Much more easily than you could atone for one sin. What do you call aman who proposes to do the impossible?"

"A fool. "

"And what would you call the bondman whose master had generously paidhis debt, and who refused to accept that generosity, but insisted onworking it out himself, though the debt was more than he could dischargeby the work of a thousand years?"

"Call him what you like, " said Haimet, not wishing to go too deeply intothe question. 

"I will leave you to choose the correct epithet, " said Gerhardt, andwent on with his carving in silence. 

The carving was beginning to bring in what Isel called "a pretty penny. "Gerhardt's skill soon became known, and the Countess of Oxford employedhim to make coffers, and once sent for him to the Castle to carvewreaths on a set of oak panels. He took the work as it came, and in theintervals, or on the summer evenings, he preached on the village greensin the neighbourhood. His audiences were often small, but his doctrinesspread quietly and beneath the surface. Not one came forward to joinhim openly, but many went away with thoughts that they had never hadbefore. Looked on from the outside, Gerhardt's work seemed of no value, and blessed with no success. Yet it is possible that its inwardprogress was not little. There may have been silent souls that livedsaintly lives in that long past century, who owed their first awakeningor their gradual edification to some word of his; it may be that thesturdy resistance of England to Papal aggression in the subsequentcentury had received its impetus from his unseen hand. Who shall saythat he achieved nothing? The world wrote "unsuccessful" upon his work:did God write "blessed"? One thing at least I think he must havewritten--"Thou hast been faithful in a few things. " And while themeasure of faithfulness is not that of success, it is that of theultimate reward, in that Land where many that were first shall be last, and the last first. "They that are with" the Conqueror in the lastgreat battle, are not the successful upon earth, but the "called andchosen and faithful. "

"If any man serve Me, let him follow Me, "--and what work ever had lessthe appearance of success than that which seemed to close on Calvary?

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

Note 1. "William, son of the fat priest, " occurs on the Pipe Roll for1176, Unless "Grossus" is to be taken as a Christian name. 

Note 2. Servant or slave of Michael. The Scottish _gillie_ comes fromthe same root. 

Note 3. These are the tenets of the ancient Waldensian Church, withwhich, so far as they are known, those of the German mission agreed. (They are exactly those of the Church of England, set forth in herSixth, Ninth, Tenth, Eleventh, Seventeenth, Nineteenth, Twentieth, Twenty-Second, Twenty-Fifth, and Thirty-First Articles of Religion. )She accepted two of our three Creeds, excluding the Nicene. 

Note 4. Ecclesiasticus nineteen 1, and thirty-two 21. The WaldensianChurch regarded the Apocrypha as the Church of England does--not asinspired Scripture, but as a good book to be read "for example of lifeand instruction of manners. "

CHAPTER THREE. 

THE JEWISH MAIDEN'S VOW. 

 "To thine own self be true! And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man. "

 Shakespeare. 

"There's the Mayor sent orders for the streets to be swept clean, andall the mud carted out of the way. You'd best sweep afore your owndoor, and then maybe you'll have less rate to pay, Aunt Isel. "

It was Stephen the Watchdog who looked in over the half-door to givethis piece of information. 

"What's that for?" asked Isel, stopping in the work of mopping the brickfloor. 

"The Lady Queen comes through on her way to Woodstock. "

"To-day?" said Flemild and Derette together. 

"Or to-morrow. A running footman came in an hour ago, to say she was atAbingdon, and bid my Lord hold himself in readiness to meet her at theEast Gate. The vintners have had orders to send in two tuns of Gasconand Poitou wine; and Henry the Mason tells me a new cellar and chimneywere made last week in the Queen's chamber at Woodstock. Geoffrey theSumpter was in town yesterday, buying budgets, coffers, and bottles. Soif you girls want to see her, you had better make haste and get yourwork done, and tidy yourselves up, and be at the East Gate by noon orsoon after. "

"Get their work done! Don't you know better than that, Stephen? Awoman's work never is done. It's you lazy loons of men that stopworking and take your pleasure when night comes. Work done, indeed!"

"But, Isel, I will finish de work for you. Go you and take yourpleasure to see de Queen, meine friend. You have not much de pleasure. "

"You're a good soul, Agnes, and it was a fine day for me when I took youin last winter. But as for pleasure, it and me parted company a smartlittle while ago. Nay, let the maids go; I'll tarry at home. You cango if you will. --Stephen! are you bound elsewhere, or can you come andlook after the girls?"

"I can't, Aunt Isel; I'm on duty in the Bayly in half an hour, and whenI shall be free again you must ask my Lord or Master Mayor. "

"Never mind: the boys are safe to be there. Catch them missing a show!Now, Flemild, child, drop that washing; and leave the gavache [Note 1], Ermine, and get yourselves ready. It's only once in three or four yearsat most that you're like to see such a sight. Make haste, girls. "

There was little need to tell the girls to make haste. Flemild hastilywrung out the apron she was washing, and pinned it on the line; Erminedrew the thread from her needle--the entire household owned but one ofthose useful and costly articles--and put it carefully away; whileDerette tumbled up the ladder at imminent risk to her limbs, to flingback the lid of the great coffer at the bed-foot, and institute asearch, which left every thing in wild confusion, for her sister's bestkerchief and her own. Just as the trio were ready to start, Gerhardtcame in. 

"Saint Frideswide be our aid! wherever are them boys?" demanded Isel ofnobody in particular. 

"One on the top of the East Gate, " said Gerhardt, "and the other playingat quarter-staff in Pary's Mead. "

Pary's Mead lay between Holywell Church and the East Gate, on the northof the present Magdalen College. 

"Lack-a-daisy! but however are the girls to get down to the gate? Idaren't let 'em go by themselves. "

The girls looked blank: and two big tears filled Derette's eyes, readyto fall. 

"If all you need is an escort, friend, here am I, " said Gerhardt; "butwhy should the girls go alone? I would fain take you and Agnes too. "

"Take Agnes and welcome, " said Isel with a sigh; "but I'm too old, Ireckon, and poor company at best. "

A little friendly altercation followed, ended by Gerhardt's decidedassertion that Agnes should not go without her hostess. 

"But who's to see to Baby?" said Derette dolefully. 

"We will lock up the house, and leave Baby with old Turguia, " suggestedIsel. 

"Nay, she tramped off to see the show an hour ago. "

"Never mind! I'll stop with Baby, " said Derette with heroicself-abnegation. 

"Indeed you shall not, " said Ermine. 

A second war of amiability seemed likely to follow, when a voice said atthe door--

"Do you all want to go out? I am not going to the show. Will you trustme with the child?"

Isel turned and stared in amazement at the questioner. 

"I would not hurt it, " pleaded the Jewish maiden in a tremulous voice. "Do trust me! I know you reckon us bad people; but indeed we are not soblack as you think us. My baby brother died last summer; and my aimsare so cold and empty since. Let me have a little child in them oncemore!"

"But--you will want to see the show, " responded Isel, rather as anexcuse to decline the offered help than for any more considerate reason. 

"No--I do not care for the show. I care far more for the child. I havestood at the corner and watched you with him, so often, and have longedso to touch him, if it might be but with one finger. Won't you let me?"

Agnes was looking from the girl to Gerhardt, as if she knew not what todo. 

"Will you keep him from harm, and bring him back as soon as we return, if you take him?" asked Gerhardt. "Remember, the God in whom we bothbelieve hears and records your words. "

"Let Him do so to me and more also, " answered Countess solemnly, "if Ibring not the child to you unhurt. "

Gerhardt lifted little Rudolph from his mother's arms and placed him inthose of the dark-eyed maiden. 

"The Lord watch over thee and him!" he said. 

"Amen!" And as Countess carried away the baby close pressed to herbosom, they saw her stoop down and kiss it almost passionately. 

"Holy Virgin! what have you done, Gerard?" cried Isel in horror. "Don'tyou know there is poison in a Jew's breath? They'll as sure cast aspell upon that baby as my name's Isel. "

"No, I don't, " said Gerhardt a little drily. "I only know that some mensay so. I have placed my child in the hands of the Lord; and He, not I, has laid it in that maiden's. It may be that this little kindness is alink in the chain of Providence, whereby He designs to bring her soul toHim. Who am I, if so, that I should put my boy or myself athwart Hispurpose?"

"Well, you're mighty pious, I know, " said Isel. "Seems to me you shouldhave been a monk, by rights. However, what's done is done. Let's begoing, for there's no time to waste. "

They went a little way down Fish Street, passing the Jewish synagogue, which stood about where the northernmost tower of Christ Church is now, turned to the left along Civil School Lane--at the south end of TomQuad, coming out about Canterbury Gate--pursued their way along SaintJohn Baptist Street, now Merton Street, and turning again to the leftwhere it ended, skirted the wall till they reached the East Gate. Herea heterogeneous crowd was assembled, about the gate, and on the top wereperched a number of adventurous youths, among whom Haimet was descried. 

"Anything coming?" Gerhardt called to him. 

"Yes, a drove of pigs, " Haimet shouted back. 

The pigs came grunting in, to be sarcastically greeted by the crowd, whoimmediately styled the old sow and her progeny by the illustrious namesof Queen Eleonore and the royal children. Her Majesty was not verypopular, the rather since she lived but little in England, and was knowngreatly to prefer her native province of Aquitaine. Still, a show wasalways a show, and the British public is rarely indifferent to it. 

The pigs having grunted themselves up Cat Street--running from the eastend of Saint Mary's to Broad Street--a further half-hour of waitingensued, beguiled by rough joking on the part of the crowd. Then Haimetcalled down to his friends--

"Here comes Prester John, in his robes of estate!"

The next minute, a running footman in the royal livery--red and gold--bearing a long wand decorated at the top with coloured ribbons, sped inat the gate, and up High Street on his way to the Castle. In tenminutes more, a stir was perceptible at the west end of High Street, anddown to the gate, on richly caparisoned horses, came the Earl andCountess of Oxford, followed by a brilliant crowd of splendidly-dressedofficials. It was evident that the Queen must be close at hand. 

All eyes were now fixed on the London Road, up which the royal cavalcadewas quickly seen approaching. First marched a division of the guard ofhonour, followed by the officials of the household, on horseback; thencame the Queen in her char, followed by another bearing her ladies. Theremainder of the guard brought up the rear. 

The char was not much better than a handsomely-painted cart. It had nosprings, and travelling in it must have been a trying process. But thehorses bore superb silken housings, and the very bits were gilt. [Note2. ] Ten strong men in the royal livery walked, five on each side of thechar; and their office, which was to keep it upright in the mirytracks--roads they were not--was by no means a sinecure. 

The royal lady, seated on a Gothic chair which made the permanent seatof the char, being fixed to it, was one of the most remarkable women whohave ever reigned in England. If a passage of Scripture illustrative ofthe life and character were to be selected to append to the statue ofeach of our kings and queens, there would be little difficulty in thechoice to be made for Eleonore of Aquitaine. "Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap. " She sowed the wind, and she reaped thewhirlwind. A youth of the wildest giddiness was succeeded by a middlelife of suffering and hardship, and both ended in an old age ofdesolation. 

But when Eleonore rode in that spring noon-day at the East Gate ofOxford, the reaping-time was not yet. The headstrong giddiness was alittle toned down, but the terrible retribution had not begun. 

The Queen's contemporaries are eloquent as to her wondrous lovelinessand her marvellous accomplishments. "Beauty possessed both her mind andbody, " says one writer who lived in the days of her grandson, whileanother expatiates on her "_clairs et verds yeux_, " and a third on her"exquisite mouth, and the most splendid eyes in the world. " Her Majestywas attired with equal stateliness and simplicity, for that was not anera of superb or extravagant dress. A close gown with tight sleeves wassurmounted by a pelisse, the sleeves of which were very wide and full, and the fur trimming showed the high rank of the wearer. A long whiteveil came over her head, and fell around her, kept in its place by ajewelled fillet. The gemmed collar of gold at the neck, and the thickleather gloves (with no partitions for the fingers) heavily embroideredon the back, were also indicative of regal rank. 

The Queen's char stopped just within the gate, so that our friends hadan excellent view of her. She greeted the Earl and Countess of Oxfordwith a genial grace, which she well knew how to assume; gave her hand tobe kissed to a small selection of the highest officials, and then thechar passed on, and the sight was over. 

Isel and her friends turned homewards, not waiting for the after portionof the entertainment. There was to be a bull-baiting in the afternoonon Presthey--Christ Church Meadow--and a magnificent bonfire at night inGloucester Meadows--Jericho; but these enjoyments they left to the boys. There would be plenty of women, however, at the bull-baiting; as manyas at a Spanish _corrida_. The idea of its being a cruel pastime, oreven of cruelty being at all objectionable or demoralising, with veryfew exceptions, had not then dawned on the minds of men. 

They returned by the meadows outside the city, entering at the SouthGate. As they came up Fish Street, they could see Countess on a lowseat at her father's door, with little Rudolph on her knee, both partieslooking very well content with their position. On their reaching thecorner, she rose and came to meet them. 

"Here is the baby, " she said, smiling rather sadly. "See, I have notdone him any harm! And it has done me good. You will let me have himagain some day?--some time when you all want to go out, and it will be aconvenience to you. Farewell, my pretty bird!"

And she held out the boy to Agnes. Little Rudolph had shown signs ofpleasure at the sight of his mother; but it soon appeared that he wasnot pleased by any means at the prospect of parting with his new friend. Countess had kept him well amused, and he had no inclination to see anabrupt end put to his amusement. He struggled and at last screamed hisdisapprobation, until it became necessary for Gerhardt to interfere, andshow the young gentleman decidedly that he must not always expect tohave his own way. 

"I t'ank you"--Agnes began to say, in her best English, which was stillimperfect, though Ermine spoke it fluently now. But Countess stoppedher, rather to her surprise, by a few hurried words in her own tongue. 

"Do not thank me, " she said, with a flash of the black eyes. "It is Iwho should thank you. "

And running quickly across Fish Street, the Jewish maiden disappearedinside her father's door. 

All European nations at that date disliked and despised the hapless sonsof Israel: but the little company to whom Gerhardt and Agnes belongedwere perhaps a shade less averse to them than others. They were to someextent companions in misfortune, being themselves equally despised anddetested by many; and they were much too familiar with the Word of Godnot to recognise that His blessing still rested on the seed of AbrahamHis friend, hidden "for a little moment" by a cloud, but one day toburst into a refulgence of heavenly sunlight. When, therefore, Flemildasked Ermine, as they were laying aside their out-door garb--"Don't youhate those horrid creatures?" it was not surprising that Ermine pausedbefore replying. 

"Don't you?" repeated Flemild. 

"No, " said Ermine, "I do not think I do. "

"_Don't_ you?" echoed Flemild for the third time, and with emphasis. "Why, Ermine, they crucified our Lord. "

"So did you and I, Flemild; and He bids us love one another. "

Flemild stood struck with astonishment, her kerchief half off her head. 

"I crucified our Lord!" she exclaimed. "Ermine, what can you mean?"

"Sin crucified Him, " said Ermine quietly; "your sins and mine, was itnot? If He died not for our sins, we shall have to bear them ourselves. And did He not die for Countess too?"

"I thought He died for those who are in holy Church; and Countess is awicked heathen Jew. "

"Yes, for holy Church, which means those whom God has chosen out of theworld. How can you know that Countess is not some day to be a member ofholy Church?"

"Ermine, they are regular wicked people!"

"We are all wicked people, till God renews us by His Holy Spirit. "

"I'm not!" cried Flemild indignantly; "and I don't believe you areeither. "

"Ah, Flemild, that is because you are blind. Sin has darkened our eyes;we cannot see ourselves. "

"Ermine, do you mean to say that you see me a wicked creature like aJew?"

"By nature, I am as blind as you, Flemild. "

"`By nature'! What do you mean? _Do_ you see me so?"

"Flemild, dear friend, what if God sees it?"

Ermine had spoken very softly and tenderly, but Flemild was not in amood to appreciate the tenderness. 

"Well!" she said in a hard tone. "If we are so dreadfully wicked, Iwonder you like to associate with us. "

"But if I am equally wicked?" suggested Ermine with a smile. 

"I wonder how you can hold such an opinion of yourself. I should notlike to think myself so bad. I could not bear it. "

Flemild entertained the curious opinion--it is astonishing how manypeople unwittingly hold it--that a fact becomes annihilated by a manshutting his eyes to it. Ermine regarded her with a look of slightamusement. 

"What difference would it make if I did not think so?" she asked. 

Flemild laughed, only then realising the absurdity of her own remark. It augured well for her good sense that she could recognise theabsurdity when it was pointed out to her. 

Coming down the ladder, they found Anania seated below. 

"Well, girls! did you see the Queen?"

"Oh, we had a charming view of her, " said Flemild. 

"Folks say she's not so charming, seen a bit nearer. You know Veka, thewife of Chembel? She told me she'd heard Dame Ediva de Gathacra say theQueen's a perfect fury when she has her back up. Some of the scenesthat are to be seen by nows and thens in Westminster Palace are enoughto set your hair on end. And her extravagance! Will you believe it, Dame Ediva said, this last year she gave over twenty pounds for onerobe. How many gowns would that buy you and me, Aunt Isel?"

At the present value of money, Her Majesty's robe cost rather more than500. 

"Bless you, I don't know, " was Isel's answer. "Might be worth crackingmy head over, if I were to have one of 'em when I'd done. But there'spoor chance of that, I reckon; so I'll let it be. "

"They say she sings superbly, " said Flemild. 

"Oh, very like. Folks may well sing that can afford to give twentypound for a gown. If she'd her living to earn, and couldn't put a bitof bread in her mouth, nor in her children's, till she'd worked for it, she'd sing o' t'other side her mouth, most likely. "

"Anania, don't talk so unseemly. I'm sure you've a good enough place. "

"Oh, are you? I dress in samite, like the Queen, don't I?--and eatsturgeon and peacocks to my dinner?--and drive of a gilt char when Icome to see folks? I should just like to know why she must have all thegood things in life, and I must put up with the hard ones? I'm as gooda woman as she is, I'm sure of that. "

"Cousin Anania, " said Derette in a scandalised tone, "you should nottell us you're a good woman; you should wait till we tell you. "

"Then why didn't you tell me?" snapped Anania. 

"_I_ didn't tell you so because I don't think so, " replied Derette withseverity, "if you say such things of the Queen. "

"Much anybody cares what you think, child. Why, just look!--tuns andtuns of Gascon wine are sent to Woodstock for her: and here must I makeshift with small ale and thin mead that's half sour. She's only to askand have. "

"Well, I don't know, " said Isel. "I wouldn't give my quiet home for asup of Gascon wine--more by reason I don't like it. `Scenes atWestminster Palace' are not things I covet. My poor Manning waspeaceable enough, and took a many steps to save me, and I doubt if KingHenry does even to it. Eh dear! if I did but know what had come of mypoor man! I should have thought all them Saracens 'd have been dead andburied by now, when you think what lots of folks has gone off to kill'em. And as to `asking and having'--well, that hangs on what you askfor. There's a many folks asks for the moon, but I never heard tell asany of 'em had it. "

"Why do folks go to kill the Saracens?" demanded Derette, stillunsatisfied on that point. 

"Saints know!" said her mother, using her favourite comfortableexpletive. "I wish _he_ hadn't ha' gone--I do so!"

"It's a good work, child, " explained Anania. 

"Wouldn't it have been a good work for Father to stay at home, and savesteps for Mother?"

"I think it would, my child, " said Gerhardt; "but God knoweth best, andHe let thy father go. Sometimes what seems to us the best work is notthe work God has appointed for us. "

Had Gerhardt wished to drive away Anania, he could not have taken asurer method than by words which savoured of piety. She resembled agood many people in the present day, who find the Bread of Life very dryeating, and if they must swallow a little of it, can only be persuadedto do so by a thick coating of worldly butter. They may be coaxed tovisit the church where the finest anthem is sung, but that where thepurest Gospel is preached has no attraction for them. The porter'swife, therefore, suddenly discovered that she had plenty to do at home, and took her departure, much to the relief of the friends on whom sheinflicted herself. She had not been gone many minutes when Stephenlooked in. 

"Lads not come in yet?" said he. "Well, have you seen the grand sight?The Queen's gone again; she only stayed for supper at the Castle, andthen off to Woodstock. She'll not be there above a month, they say. She never tarries long in England at once. But the King's coming backthis autumn--so they say. "

"Who say?" asked Gerhardt. 

"Oh, every body, " said Stephen with a laugh, as he leaned over thehalf-door. 

"_Every_ body?" inquired Gerhardt drily. 

"Oh, come, you drive things too fine for me. Every body, that isanybody. "

"I thought every body was somebody. "

"Not in this country: maybe in yours, " responded Stephen, stilllaughing. "But I'm forgetting what I came for. Aunt Isel, do you wanteither a sheep or a pig?"

"Have you got 'em in that wallet on your back?"

"Not at present, but I can bring you either if you want it. "

"What's the price, and who's selling them?"

"Our neighbour Veka wants to sell three or four bacon pigs andhalf-a-dozen young porkers; Martin le bon Fermier, brother of Henry theMason, has a couple of hundred sheep to sell. "

"But what's the cost? Veka's none so cheap to deal with, though shefeeds her pigs well, I know. "

"Well, she wants two shillings a-piece for the bacons, and four for thesix porkers. "

"Ay, I knew she'd clap the money on! No, thank you; I'm not made ofgold marks, nor silver pennies neither. "

"Well, but the sheep are cheap enough; he only asks twopence halfpennyeach. "

"That's not out of the way. We might salt one or two. I'll think aboutit. Not in a hurry to a day or two, is he?"

"Oh, no; I shouldn't think so. "

"Has he any flour or beans to sell, think you? I could do with boththose, if they were reasonable. "

"Ay, he has. Beans a shilling a quarter, and flour fourteen pence aload. [Note 3. ] Very good flour, he says it is. "

"Should be, at that price. Well, I'll see: maybe I shall walk over oneof these days and chaffer with him. Any way, I'm obliged to you, Stephen, for letting me know of it. "

"Very good, Aunt Isel; Martin will be glad to see you, and I'll giveBretta a hint to be at home when you come, if you'll let me know the daybefore. "

This was a mischievous suggestion on Stephen's part, as he well knewthat Martin's wife was not much to his aunt's liking. 

"Don't, for mercy's sake!" cried Isel. "She's a tongue as long as ayard measure, and there isn't a scrap of gossip for ten miles on everyside of her that she doesn't hand on to the first comer. She'd know allI had on afore I'd been there one Paternoster, and every body else 'dknow it too, afore the day was out. "

The space of time required to repeat the Lord's Prayer--of course asfast as possible--was a measure in common use at that day. 

"Best put on your holiday clothes, then, " said Stephen with a laugh, andwhistling for his dog, which was engaged in the pointing of Countess'skitten, he turned down Fish Street on his way to the East Gate. 

Stephen's progress was arrested, as he came to the end of KepeharmeLane, by a long and picturesque procession which issued from the westerndoor of Saint Frideswide. Eight priests, fully robed, bore under acanopy the beautifully-carved coffer which held the venerated body ofthe royal saint, and they were accompanied by the officials of theCathedral, the choir chanting a litany, and a long string of nunsbringing up the rear. Saint Frideswide was on her way to the bedside ofa paralysed rich man, who had paid an immense sum for her visit, in thehope that he might be restored to the use of his faculties by a touch ofher miracle-working relics. As the procession passed up the street, adoor opened in the Jewry, and out came a young Jew named Dieulecresse[Note 4], who at once set himself to make fun of Saint Frideswide. Limping up the street as though he could scarcely stir, he suddenly drewhimself erect and walked down with a free step; clenching his hands asif they were rigid, he then flung his arms open and worked his fingersrapidly. 

"O ye men of Oxford, bring me your oblations!" he cried. "See ye notthat I am a doer of wonders, like your saint, and that my miracles arequite as good and real as hers?"

The procession passed on, taking no notice of the mockery. But when, the next day, it was known that Dieulecresse had committed suicide inthe night, the priests did not spare the publication of the fact, withthe comment that Saint Frideswide had taken vengeance on her enemy, andthat her honour was fully vindicated from his aspersions. 

"Ah!" said Gerhardt softly, "`those eighteen, on whom the tower inSiloam fell!' How ready men are to account them sinners above all menthat dwell in Jerusalem! Yet it may be that they who thus judge are theworse sinners of the two, in God's eyes, however high they stand in theworld's sight. "

"Well, I don't set up to be better than other folks, " said Stephenlightly. He had brought the news. "I reckon I shall pass muster, ifI'm as good. "

"That would not satisfy me, " said Gerhardt. "I should want to be asgood as I could be. I could not pass beyond that. But even then--"

"That's too much trouble for me, " laughed Stephen. "When you've doneyour work, hand me over the goodness you don't want. "

"I shall not have any, for it won't be enough. "

"That's a poor lookout!"

"It would be, if I had to rely on my own goodness. "

Stephen stared. "Why, whose goodness are you going to rely on?"

Gerhardt lifted his cap. "`There is none good but One, --that is, God. '"

"I reckon that's aiming a bit too high, " said Stephen, with a shake ofhis head. "Can't tell how you're going to get hold of that. "

"Nor could I, unless the Lord had first laid hold of me. `_He_ hathcovered me with the robe of righteousness'--I do not put it on myself. "

Gerhardt never made long speeches on religious topics. He said what hehad to say, generally, in one pithy sentence, and then left it to carryits own weight. 

"I say, Gerard, I've wondered more than once--"

"Well, Stephen?"

"No offence, friend?"

"Certainly not: pray say all you wish. "

"Whether you were an unfrocked priest. "

"No, I assure you. "

"Can't tell how you come by all your notions!" said Stephen, scratchinghis head. 

"Notions of all kinds have but two sources, " was the reply: "the Word ofGod, and the corruption of man's heart. "

"Come, now, that won't do!" objected Stephen. "You've built your door amile too narrow. I've a notion that grass is green, and another that mynew boots don't fit me: whence come they?"

"The first, " said Gerhardt drily, "from the Gospel of Saint Mark; thesecond from the Fourteenth Psalm. "

"The Fourteenth Psalm makes mention of my boots!"

"Not in detail. It saith, `There is none that doeth good, --no, notone. '"

"What on earth has that to do with it?"

"This: that if sin had never entered the world, both fraud and sufferingwould have tarried outside with it. "

"Well, I always did reckon Father Adam a sorry fellow, that he had nomore sense than to give in to his wife. "

"I rather think he gave in to his own inclination, at least as much. Ifhe had not wanted to taste the apple, she might have coaxed till now. "

"Hold hard there, man! You are taking the woman's side. "

"I thought I was taking the side of truth. If that be not one's own, itis quite as well to find it out. "

Stephen laughed as he turned away from the door of the Walnut Tree. 

"You're too good for me, " said he. "I'll go home before I'm infectedwith the complaint. "

"I'd stop and take it if I were you, " retorted Isel. "You're off thebetter end, I'll admit, but you'd do with a bit more, may be. "

"I'll leave it for you, Aunt Isel, " said Stephen mischievously. "Oneshouldn't want all the good things for one's self, you know. "

The Queen did not remain for even a month at Woodstock. In less thanthree weeks she returned to London, this time without passing throughOxford, and took her journey to Harfleur, the passage across the Channelcosting the usual price of 7 pounds, 10 shillings equivalent in moderntimes to 187 pounds, 10 shillings. 

Travelling seems to have been an appalling item of expense at that time. The carriage of fish from Yarmouth to London cost 9 shillings (11pounds, 5 shillings); of hay from London to Woodstock, 60 shillings (75pounds); and of the Queen's robes from Winchester to Oxford, 8 shillings(10 pounds). Yet the Royal Family were perpetually journeying; the hamswere fetched from Yorkshire, the cheeses from Wiltshire, and thepearmain apples from Kent. Exeter was famous for metal and corn;Worcester and London for wheat; Winchester for wine--there werevineyards in England then; Hertford for cattle, and Salisbury for game;York for wood; while the speciality of Oxford was knives. 

An old Jew, writing to a younger some thirty years later, in the reignof Henry Second, and giving him warning as to what he would find in thechief towns of southern England, thus describes such as he had visited:"London much displeases me; Canterbury is a collection of lost souls andidle pilgrims; Rochester and Chichester are but small villages; Oxfordscarcely (I say not satisfies, but) sustains its clerks; Exeterrefreshes men and beasts with corn; Bath, in a thick air and sulphurousvapour, lies at the gates of Gehenna!"

But if travelling were far more costly than in these days, there weremuch fewer objects on which money could be squandered. Chairs werealmost as scarce as thrones, being used for little else, and chimneyswere not more common. [Note 5. ] Diamonds were unknown; lace, velvet, and satin had no existence, samite and silk being the costly fabrics;and the regal ermine is not mentioned. Dress, as has been said, was notextravagant, save in the item of jewellery, or of very costlyembroidery; cookery was much simpler than a hundred years later. Plate, it is true, was rich and expensive, but it was only in the hands of thenobles and church dignitaries. On the other hand, fines were among thecommonest things in existence. Not only had every breach of law itsappropriate fine, but breaches of etiquette were expiated in a similarmanner. False news was hardly treated: 13 shillings 4 pence was exactedfor that [Pipe Roll, 12 Henry Third] and perjury [Ibidem, 16 ib] alike, while wounding an uncle cost a sovereign, and a priest might be slainfor the easy price of 4 shillings 9 pence [Ibidem, 27 ib]. The Prior ofNewburgh was charged three marks for excess of state; and poor Stephende Mereflet had to pay 26 shillings 8 pence for "making a stupid replyto the King's Treasurer"! [Pipe Roll, 16 Henry Third] It was reservedfor King John to carry this exaction to a ridiculous excess, by takingbribes to hold his tongue on inconvenient topics, and fining hiscourtiers for not having reminded him of points which he happened toforget. [Misae Roll, I John. ]

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Note 1. A long undergarment then worn by men and women alike. 

Note 2. "For gilding the King's bit (_frenum_), 56 shillings. " (PipeRoll, 31 Henry First. )

Note 3. Reckoned according to modern value, these prices stand aboutthus:--Bacon pig, 2 pounds, 10 shillings; porkers, 5 pounds; sheep, 5shillings 3 pence; quarter of beans, 25 shillings; load of flour, 30shillings. 

Note 4. "_Dieu L'encroisse_, " a translation of Gedaliah, and a verycommon name among the English Jews at that time. This incident reallyoccurred about twenty-five years later. 

Note 5. Some writers deny the existence of chimneys at this date; butan entry, on the Pipe Roll for 1160, of money expended on "the Queen'schamber and chimney and cellar, " leaves no doubt on the matter. 

CHAPTER FOUR. 

THE FAIR OF SAINT FRIDESWIDE. 

 "That's what I always say--if you wish a thing to be well done, You must do it yourself, you must not leave it to others. "

 Longfellow. 

The month of May was the liveliest and gayest of the year at Oxford, fornot only were the May Day games common to the whole country, but anotherspecial attraction lay in Saint Frideswide's Fair, held on GloucesterGreen early in that month. Oxford was a privileged town, in respect ofthe provision trade, the royal purveyors being forbidden to come withintwenty miles of that city. In those good old times, the King was firstserved, then the nobility, lay and clerical, then the gentry, and thepoor had to be content with what was left. It was not unusual, when areport of anything particularly nice reached the monarch--such as animport of wine, a haul of fish, or any other dainty, --for the Sheriff ofthat place to receive a mandate, bidding him seize for the royal use aportion or the whole thereof. Prices, too, were often regulated byproclamation, so that tradesmen not unfrequently found it hard to live. If a few of our discontented and idle agitators (I do not mean those whowould work and cannot) could spend a month or two in the olden time, their next speeches on Tower Hill might be somewhat differentlyflavoured. 

Saint Frideswide's Fair was a sight to see. For several days before itwas held, a multitude of carpenters were employed in putting up woodenbooths and stalls, and Gloucester Green became a very lively place. Fairs in the present day, when they are held at all, are very differentexhibitions from what they were seven hundred years ago. The stallsthen were practically shops, fully stocked with goods of solid value. There was a butcher's row, a baker's row, a silversmith's row, and amercer's row--ironmongers, saddlers, shoemakers, vintners, coopers, pelters (furriers), potters, hosiers, fishmongers, and cooks(confectioners)--all had their several streets of stalls. The Green--larger than now--became a town within a town. As the fair was held bylicence of Saint Frideswide, and was under her especial protection, theCanons of that church exacted certain dues both from the Crown and thestall-holders, which were duly paid. From the Crown they received 25shillings per annum. It was deemed a point of honour to keep the bestof everything for the fair; and those buyers who wished to obtain goodvalue for their money put off their purchases when it grew near fairtime. When the third of May came, they all turned out in holidaycostume to lay in necessaries, so far as possible, for the year--meatexcepted, which could be purchased again at the cattle fair in thefollowing September. 

There was one serious inconvenience in shopping at that time, of whichwe know nothing at the present day. With the exception of the penny andstill smaller coins (all silver) there was no money. The pound, thoughit appears on paper, was not a coin, but simply a pound weight of pence;the mark was two-thirds, and the noble (if used so early) one-third ofthat amount. When a woman went out to buy articles of any value, sherequired to carry with her an enormous weight of small silver cash. Purses were not therefore the toys we use, but large bags of heavyleather, attached to the girdle on the left side; and the aim of apickpocket was to cut the leather bag away from its metal fastening--hence the term _cut-purse_. 

Every woman in Kepeharme Lane--and it might be added, in Oxford--appeared in the street with a basket on her arm as soon as daylight hadwell dawned. The men went at their own time and convenience. For manyof them a visit to the fair was merely amusement; but the ladies were onbusiness. Even Derette followed her mother, armed with a smaller basketthan the rest. Little Rudolph was left with Countess, who preferred himto the fair; and such is the power of habit that our friends had nowbecome quite accustomed to this, and would give a nod and a smile toCountess when they met, just as they did to any other neighbour. Thisdoes not mean that they entertained an atom less of prejudice againstJews in general; they had merely got over their prejudice in the case ofthat one Jewish girl in particular. 

Isel's business was heavy enough. She wanted a pig, half an ox, twentyells of dark blue cloth, a cloak for herself and capes for herdaughters, thirty pairs of slippers--a very moderate allowance for threewomen, for slippers were laid in by the dozen pairs in common--fiftycheeses (an equally moderate reckoning) [Note 1], a load of flour, another of oatmeal, two quarters of cabbage for salting, six bushels ofbeans, five hundred herrings, a barrel of ale, two woollen rugs forbedclothes, a wooden coffer, and a hundred nails. She had alreadybought and salted two sheep from Martin, so mutton was not needed. 

"Now, Agnes, what do you want?" she asked. 

Agnes, who was following with another basket, replied that she wantedsome stuff for a dress, some flannel for Rudolph, and a few pairs ofshoes. Shoes must have worn only a very short time, considering theenormous quantity of them usually bought at once. 

"And you, Ermine?"

"Nothing but a hood, Mother Isel. "

"You're easily satisfied. Well, I'll go first after my pig. "

They turned into the Butcher's Row, where in a minute they couldscarcely hear each other speak. The whole air seemed vocal with grunts, lowing, and bleating, and, the poulterers' booths lying close behind, crowing and cackling also. 

"How much for a good bacon pig?" screamed Isel to a fat butcher, who waspolishing a knife upon a wooden block. 

"Hertford kids? I have none. "

"Bacon pig!" screamed Isel a little louder. 

"Oh! Well, look you, there's a nice one--twenty pence; there's a rarefine one--twenty-two; there's a--"

"Bless thee, man! dost thou think I'm made of money?"

"Shouldn't wonder if you'd a pot laid by somewhere, " said the butcherwith a knowing wink. He was an old acquaintance. 

"Well, I haven't, then: and what's more, I've plenty to do with the fewmarks I have. Come now, I'll give you sixteen pence for that biggestfellow. "

The butcher intimated, half in a shout and half by pantomime, that hecould not think of such a thing. 

"Well, eighteen, then. "

The butcher shook his head. 

"Nineteen! Now, that's as high as I'll go. "

"Not that one, " shouted the butcher; "I'll take nineteen for the other. "

Isel had to execute a gymnastic feat before she could answer, to saveherself from the horns of an inquisitive cow which was being driven upthe row; while a fat pig on the other side was driving Flemild nearlyout of the row altogether. 

"Well! I'll agree to that, " said Isel, when she had settled with thecow. 

A similar process having been gone through for the half ox, for whichIsel had to pay seventeen pence [Salted cow was much cheaper, being only2 shillings each. ]--a shameful price, as she assured her companions--theladies next made their way to Drapers' Row. The draper, then and forsome centuries later, was the manufacturer of cloth, not the retaildealer only: but he sold retail as well as wholesale. Isel found somecloth to her mind, but the price was not to her mind at all, beingeighteen pence per ell. 

"Gramercy, man! wouldst thou ruin me?" she demanded. 

A second battle followed with the draper, from which Isel this timeemerged victorious, having paid only 1 shilling 5 pence per ell. Theythen went to the clothier's, where she secured a cloak for a mark (13shillings 4 pence) and capes for the girls at 6 shillings 8 pence each. At the shoemaker's she laid in her slippers for 6 pence per pair, withthree pairs of boots at a shilling. The cheeses were dear, being ahalfpenny each; the load of flour cost 14 pence, and of meal 2shillings; the beans were 1 shilling 8 pence, the cabbage 1 shilling 2pence, the herrings 2 shillings. The coffer came to 5 shillings, thenails to 2 shillings 4 pence. [Note 2. ] Isel looked ruefully at herpurse. 

"We must brew at home, " she said, easily dismissing that item; "but howshall I do for the rugs?"

Rugs were costly articles. There was no woollen manufacture in England, nor was there to be such for another hundred years. A thick, serviceable coverlet, such as Isel desired, was not to be bought muchunder two pounds. 

"We must do without them, " she said, with a shake of her head. "Girls, you'll have to spread your cloaks on the bed. We must eat, but weneedn't lie warm if we can't afford it. "

"Isel, have you de one pound? Look, here is one, " said Agnes timidly, holding out her hand. 

"But you want that, my dear. "

"No, I can do widout. I will de gown up-mend dat I have now. Take youde money; I have left for de shoes and flannel. "

She did not add that the flannel would have to be cut down, as well asthe new dress resigned. 

"And I can do very well without a hood, " added Ermine quickly. "We musthelp Mother Isel all we can. "

"My dears, I don't half like taking it. "

"We have taken more from you, " said Ermine. 

Thus urged, Isel somewhat reluctantly took the money, and bought onerug, for which she beat down the clothier to two marks and a half, anddeparted triumphant, this being her best bargain for the day. It wasthen in England, as it yet is in Eastern lands, an understood thing thatall tradesmen asked extortionate prices, and must be offered less as amatter of course: a fact which helps to the comprehension of theWaldensian objection to trade as involving falsehood. 

Isel returned to Agnes the change which remained out of her pound, whichenabled her to get all the flannel she needed. Their baskets being nowwell filled, Isel and her party turned homewards, sauntering slowlythrough the fair, partly because the crowd prevented straightforwardwalking, but partly also because they wished to see as much as theycould. Haimet was to bring a hand-cart for the meat and other heavypurchases at a later hour. 

Derette, who for safety's sake was foremost of the girls, directlyfollowing her mother and Agnes, trudged along with her basket full ofslippers, and her head full of profound meditation. Had Isel known thenature of those meditations, she certainly would never have lingered atthe silversmiths' stalls in a comfortable frame of mind, pointing out toher companions various pretty things which took her fancy. But she hadnot the remotest idea of her youngest daughter's private thoughts, andshe turned away from Gloucester Green at last, quite ignorant of thefashion wherein her feelings of all sorts were about to be outraged. 

Derette was determined to obtain a dress for Agnes. She had silentlywatched the kindly manner in which the good-natured German gave up thething she really needed: for poor Agnes had but the one dress she wore, and Derette well knew that no amount of mending would carry it throughanother winter. But how was a penniless child to procure another forher? If Derette had not been a young person of original ideas and veryindependent spirit, the audacious notion which she was now entertainingwould never have visited her mind. 

This was no less than a visit to the Castle, to beg one of the cast-offgowns of the women of the household. Dresses wore long in the MiddleAges, and ladies of rank were accustomed to make presents of half-wornones to each other. Derette was not quite so presumptuous as to thinkof addressing the Countess--that, even in her eyes, seemed apreposterous impossibility; but surely one of her waiting-women might bereached. How was she to accomplish her purpose?

That she must slip away unseen was the first step to be taken. Hermother would never dream of allowing such an errand, as Derette wellknew; but she comforted herself, as others have done beside her, withthe reflection that the excellence of her motive quite compensated forthe unsatisfactory details of her conduct. Wedged as she was in themidst of the family group, and encumbered with her basket, she could nothope to get away before they reached home; but she thought she saw herchance directly afterwards, when the baskets should have been dischargedof their contents, and every body was busy inspecting, talking about, and putting away, the various purchases that had been made. 

Young girls were never permitted to go out alone at that time. It wasconsidered less dangerous in town than country, and a mere run into aneighbouring house might possibly have been allowed; but usually, whennot accompanied by some responsible person, they were sent in groups ofthree or four at once. Derette's journey must be taken alone, and itinvolved a few yards of Milk Street, as far as Saint Ebbe's, then a runto Castle Street and up to the Castle. That was the best way, for itwas both the shortest and comparatively the quietest. But Derettedetermined not to go in at the entrance gate, where she would meetOsbert and probably Anania, but to make for the Osney Gate to the left, where she hoped to fall into the kindlier hands of her cousin Stephen. The danger underlying this item was that Stephen might have gone to thefair, in which case she would have to encounter either the rough jokingof Orme, or the rough crustiness of Wandregisil, his fellow-watchmen. That must be risked. The opportunity had to be bought, and Derette madeup her mind to pay the necessary price. 

The Walnut Tree was reached, the baskets laid down, and while Agnes wasdivesting herself of her cloak, and Isel reiterating her frequentassertion that she was "that tired, " Derette snatched her chance, andevery body's back being turned for the moment, slipped out of the door, and sped up Kepeharme Lane with the speed of a fawn. Her heart beatwildly, and until she reached Milk Street, she expected every instant tobe followed and taken back. If she could only get her work done, shetold herself, the scolding and probable whipping to follow would beeasily borne. 

Owing to its peculiar municipal laws, throughout the Middle Ages, Oxfordhad the proud distinction of being the cleanest city in England. Thatis to say, it was not quite so appallingly smothered in mire and filthas others were. Down the midst of every narrow street ran a gutter, which after rain was apt to become a brook, and into which dirt of everysort was emptied by every householder. There were no causeways; andthere were frequent holes of uncertain depth, filled with thick mud. Ownerless dogs, and owned but equally free-spoken pigs, roamed thestreets at their own sweet will, and were not wont to make way for thehuman passengers; while if a cart were met in the narrow street, it wasnecessary for the pedestrian to squeeze himself into the smallestcompass possible against the wall, if he wished to preserve his limbs ingood working order. Such were the delights of taking a walk in the goodold times. It may reasonably be surmised that unnecessary walks werenot frequently taken. 

Kepeharme Lane left behind, where the topography of the holes wastolerably familiar, Derette had to walk more guardedly. After gettingpretty well splashed, and dodging a too attentive pig which was intenton charging her for venturing on his beat, Derette at last found herselfat the Osney Gate. She felt now that half her task was over. 

"Who goes there?" demanded the welcome voice of Stephen, when Deretterapped at the gate. 

"It's me, Stephen, --Derette: do let me in. "

The gate stood open in a moment, and Stephen's pleasant face appearedbehind it, with a look of something like consternation thereon. 

"Derette!--alone!--whatever is the matter?"

"Nothing, Stephen; oh, nothing's the matter. I only came alone becauseI knew Mother wouldn't let me if I asked her. "

"Hoity-toity!--that's a nice confession, young woman! And pray what areyou after, now you have come?"

"Stephen--dear, good Stephen, will you do me a favour?"

"Hold off, you coaxing sinner!"

"Oh, but I want it so much! You see, she gave it up because Motherwanted a rug, and she let her have the money--and I know it won't mendup to wear any thing like through the winter--and I do want so to gether another--a nice soft one, that will be comfortable, and--You'll helpme, won't you, Steenie?"

And Derette's small arms came coaxingly round her cousin's wrist. 

"I'm a heathen Jew if I have the shadow of a notion what I'm wanted tohelp! `A nice soft one!' Is it a kitten, or a bed-quilt, or a sack ofmeal, you're after?"

"O Stephen!--what queer things you guess! It's a gown--. "

"I don't keep gowns, young woman. "

"No, but, Steenie, you might help me to get at somebody that does. Oneof the Lady's women, you know. I'm sure you could, if you would. "

Steenie whistled. "Well, upon my word! _You'll_ not lose cakes forwant of asking for. Why don't you go to Anania?"

"You know she'd only be cross. "

"How do you know I sha'n't be cross?" asked Stephen, knitting his brows, and pouting out his lips, till he looked formidable. 

"Oh, because you never are. You'll only laugh at me, and you won't dothat in an ugly way like some people. Now, Steenie, you _will_ help meto get a gown for Agnes?"

"Agnes, is it? I thought you meant Flemild. "

"No, it's Agnes; and Ermine gave up her hood to help: but Agnes wantsthe gown worse than Ermine does a hood. You like them, you know, Steenie. "

"Who told you that, my Lady Impertinence? Dear, dear, what pests thesechildren are!"

"Now, Stephen, you know you don't think any thing of the sort, and youare going to help me this minute. "

"How am I to help, I should like to know? I can't leave my gate. "

"You can call somebody. Now do, Steenie, there's a darling cousin!--andI'll ask Mother to make you some of those little pies you like so much. I will, really. "

"You outrageous wheedler! I suppose I shall have no peace till I getrid of you. --Henry!"

A lad of about twelve years old, who was crossing the court-yard at theother side, turned and came up at the call. 

"Will you take this maid in, and get her speech of Cumina? She's verygood-natured, and if you tell her your story, Derette, I shouldn'twonder if she helps you. "

"Oh, thank you, Steenie, so much!"

Derette followed Henry, who made faces at her, but gave her no furtherannoyance, into the servants' offices at the Castle, where he turned herunceremoniously over to the first person he met--a cook in a white capand apron--with the short and not too civil information that--

"She wants Cumina. "

The cook glanced carelessly at Derette. 

"Go straight along the passage, and up the stairs to the left, " he said, and then went on about his own business. 

Never before had Derette seen a house which contained above four roomsat the utmost. She felt in utter confusion amid stairs, doors, andcorridors. But she managed to find the winding staircase at the end ofthe passage, and to mount it, wishing much that so convenient a mode ofaccess could replace the ladder in her mother's house. She went up tillshe could go no further, when she found herself on the top landing of around tower, without a human creature to be seen. There were two doors, however; and after rapping vainly at both, she ventured to open one. Itled to the leads of the tower. Derette closed this, and tried theother. She found it to open on a dark fathomless abyss, --the Castlewell [Note 3], had she known it--and shut it quickly with a sensation ofhorror. After a moment's reflection, she went down stairs to the nextlanding. 

Here there were four doors, and from one came the welcome sound of humanvoices. Derette rapped timidly on this. It was opened by a girl aboutthe age of Flemild. 

"Please, " said Derette, "I was to ask for Cumina. "

"Oh, you must go to the still-room, " answered the girl, and would haveshut the door without further parley, had not Derette intercepted herwith a request to be shown where the still-room was. 

With an impatient gesture, the girl came out, led Derette a little wayalong the corridor running from the tower, and pointed to a door on theleft hand. 

Derette's hopes rose again. She was one of those persons whom delaysand difficulties do not weary out or render timid, but rather inspire tofresh and stronger action. 

"Well, what do you want?" asked the pleasant-faced young woman whoanswered Derette's rap. "Please, is there somebody here called Cumina?"

"I rather think there is, " was the smiling answer. "Is it you?"

"Ay. Come in, and say what you wish. " Derette obeyed, and poured outher story, rather more lucidly than she had done to Stephen. Cuminalistened with a smile. 

"Well, my dear, I would give you a gown for your friend if I had it, "she said good-humouredly; "but I have just sent the only one I can spareto my mother. I wonder who there is, now--Are you afraid of folks thatspeak crossly?"

"No, " said Derette. "I only want to shake them. " Cumina laughed. "You'll do!" she said. "Come, then, I'll take you to Hagena. She's notvery pleasant-spoken, but if any body can help you, she can. The onlydoubt is whether she will. "

Derette followed Cumina through what seemed to her endless corridorsopening into further and further corridors, till at last she asked in atone of astonishment--

"How can you ever find your way?"

"Oh, you learn to do that very soon, " said Cumina, laughing, as sheopened the door of a long, low chamber. "Now, you must tread softlyhere, and speak very respectfully. "

Derette nodded acquiescence, and they went in. 

The room was lined with presses from floor to ceiling. On benches whichstood back to back in its midst, several lengths of rich silken stuffswere spread out; and on other benches near the windows sat two or threegirls busily at work. Several elder ladies were moving about the room, and one of them, a rather stout, hard-featured woman, was examining thegirls' work. Cumina went up to her. 

"If you please, Hagena, " she said, "is there any where an old gown whichit would please you to bestow on this girl, who has asked the boon?"

Hagena straightened herself up and looked at Derette. 

"Is she the child of one of my Lord's tenants?"

"No, " answered Derette. "My mother's house is her own. "

"Well, if ever I heard such assurance! Perchance, Madam, you would likea golden necklace to go with it?"

If Derette had not been on her good behaviour, Hagena would havereceived as much as she gave. But knowing that her only chance ofsuccess lay in civil and submissive manners, she shut her lips tight andmade no answer. 

"Who sent you?" pursued Hagena, who was the Countess's mistress of thehousehold, and next in authority to her. 

"Nobody. I came of myself. "

"_Ha, chetife_! I do wonder what the world's coming to! The impudenceof the creature! How on earth did she get in? Just get out again asfast as you can, and come on such an errand again if you dare! Be offwith you!"

Derette's voice trembled, but not with fear, as she turned back toCumina. To Hagena she vouchsafed no further word. 

"I did not know I was offending any body, " she said, in a manner notdevoid of childish dignity. "I was trying to do a little bit of good. I think, if you please, I had better go home. "

Derette's speech infuriated Hagena. The child had kept her manners andher dignity too, under some provocation, while the mistress of thehousehold was conscious that she had lost hers. 

"How dare--" she was beginning, when another voice made her stopsuddenly. 

"What has the child been doing? I wish to speak with her. "

Cumina hastily stopped Derette from leaving the room, and led her up tothe lady who had spoken and who had only just entered. 

"What is it, my little maid?" she said kindly. 

"I beg your pardon, " said the child. She was but a child, and her braveheart was failing her. Derette was very near tears. "I did not meanany harm. Somebody had given up having a new gown--and she wanted itvery much--to let somebody else have the money; and I thought, if Icould beg one for her--but I did not mean to be rude. Please let me gohome. "

"Thou shalt go home, little one, " answered the lady; "but wait a moment. Does any one know the child?"

Nobody knew her. 

"Stephen the Watchdog knows me, " said Derette, drawing a long breath. "He is my cousin. So is Osbert the porter. "

The lady put her arm round Derette. 

"What sort of a gown wouldst thou have, my child?"

Derette's eyes lighted up. Was she really to succeed after all?

"A nice one, please, " she said, simply, making every one smile exceptHagena, who was still too angry for amusement. "Not smart nor grand, you know, but warm and soft. Something woollen, I suppose, it shouldbe. "

The lady addressed herself to Hagena. 

"Have I any good woollen robe by the walls?"

When a dress was done with, if the materials were worth using forsomething else, it was taken to pieces; if not, it was hung up "by thewalls, " ready to give away when needed. 

Hagena had some difficulty in answering properly. 

"No, Lady; the last was given to Veka, a fortnight since. "

"Then, " was the quiet answer, which surprised all present, "it must beone of those I am wearing. Let Cumina and Dora bring such as I have. "

Derette looked up into the face of her new friend. 

"Please, are you the Lady Countess?"

"Well, I suppose I am, " replied the Countess with a smile. "Now, littlemaid, choose which thou wilt. "

Seven woollen gowns were displayed before the Countess and Derette, allnearly new--blue, green, scarlet, tawny, crimson, chocolate, andcream-colour. Derette looked up again to the Countess's face. 

"Nay, why dost thou look at me? Take thine own choice. "

The Countess was curious to see what the child's selection would be. 

"I looked to see which you liked best, " said Derette, "because Iwouldn't like to choose that. "

"True courtesy here!" remarked the Countess. "It is nothing to me, mychild. Which dost thou like?"

"I like that one, " said Derette, touching the crimson, which was a rich, soft, dark shade of the colour, "and I think Agnes would too; but Idon't want to take the best, and I am not sure which it is. "

"Fold it up, " said the Countess to Cumina, with a smile to Derette; "letit be well lapped in a kerchief; and bid Wandregisil go to the OsneyGate, so that Stephen can take the child home. "

The parcel was folded up, the Countess's hand kissed with heartfeltthanks, and the delighted Derette, under the care of Cumina, returned tothe Osney Gate with her load. 

"Well, you are a child!" exclaimed Stephen. "So Cumina has really foundyou a gown? I thought she would, if she had one to give away. "

"No, " said Derette, "it is the Countess's gown. "

"And who on earth gave you a gown of the Lady's?"

"Her own self!--and, Stephen, it is of her own wearing; she hadn't donewith it; but she gave it me, and she was so nice!--so much nicer thanall the others except Cumina. "

"Well, if ever I did!" gasped Stephen. "Derette, you are a terriblechild! I never saw your like. "

"I don't know what I've done that's terrible, " replied the child. "I'msure Agnes won't think it terrible to have that pretty gown to wear. What is terrible about it, Stephen?"

They had left the Castle a few yards behind, were over the drawbridge, and winding down the narrow descent, when a sharp call of "Ste-phen!"brought them to a standstill. 

"Oh dear, that's Cousin Anania!" exclaimed Derette. "Let me run on, Stephen, and you go back and see what she wants. "

"Nay, I must not do that, child. The Lady sent orders that I was to seeyou home. You'll have to go back with me. "

"But she'll worry so! She'll want to know all about the gown, and thenshe'll want it undone, and I'm sure she'll mess it up--and Cumina foldedit so smooth and nice:" urged Derette in a distressed tone. 

"We won't let her, " answered Stephen, quietly, as they came to theentrance gate. "Well, what's up, Anania?"

"What's Derette doing here? Who came with her? Where are you going?--and what's in that fardel?"

"Oh, is that all you're after? I'll answer those questions when I comeback. I've got to take Derette home just now. "

"You'll answer them before you go an inch further, if you please. Thatchild's always in some mischief, and you aid and abet her a deal toooften. "

"But I don't please. I am under orders, Anania, and I can't stop now. "

"At least you'll tell me what's in the fardel!" cried Anania, as Stephenturned to go on his way without loosing his hold of the parcel. 

"A gown which the Lady has given to Derette, " said Stephenmischievously, "and she sent commands that I was to escort her home withit. "

"A gown!--the Lady!--Derette!" screamed Anania. "Not one of her own?--why on earth should she give Derette a gown?"

"That's the Lady's business, not mine. "

"Yes, one of her own, " said Derette proudly. 

"But what on earth for? She hasn't given me a gown, and I am sure Iwant it more than that child--and deserve it, too. "

"Perhaps you haven't asked her, " suggested Derette, trotting afterStephen, who was already half-way across the bridge. 

"Asked her! I should hope not, indeed--I know my place, if you don't. You never mean to say you asked her?"

"I can't stop to talk, Cousin Anania. "

"But which gown is it?--tell me that!" cried Anania, in an agony ofdisappointed curiosity. 

"It's a crimson woollen one. Good morrow. "

"What! never that lovely robe she had on yesterday? Saints bless usall!" was the last scream that reached them from Anania. 

Stephen laughed merrily as Derette came up with him. 

"We have got clear of the dragon this time, " said he. 

A few minutes brought them to the Walnut Tree. 

"Haimet--Oh, it's Stephen!" cried Isel in a tone of sore distress, assoon as he appeared at the door. "Do, for mercy's sake--I'm just at mywits' end to think whatever--Oh, there she is!"

"Yes, Mother, I'm here, " said Derette demurely. 

"Yes, she's here, and no harm done, but good, I reckon, " added Stephen. "Still, I think it might be as well to look after her a bit, Aunt Isel. If she were to take it into her head to go to London to see the LadyQueen, perhaps you mightn't fancy it exactly. "

"What has she been doing?" asked Isel in consternation. 

"Only paying a visit to the Countess, " said Stephen, laughing. 

By this time Derette had undone the knots on the handkerchief, and thecrimson robe was revealed in all its beauty. 

"Agnes, " she said quietly, but with a little undertone of decidedtriumph, "this is for you. You won't have to give up your gown, thoughyou did give Mother the money. "

A robe, in the Middle Ages, meant more than a single gown, and thecrimson woollen was a robe. Under and upper tunics, a mantle, and acorset or warm under-bodice, lay before the eyes of the amazed Agnes. 

"Derette, you awful child!" exclaimed her mother almost in terror, "whathave you been after, and where did you get all that? Why, it's a newrobe, and fit for a queen!"

"Don't scold the child, " said Stephen. "She meant well, and I believeshe behaved well; she got more than she asked for, that's all. "

"Please, it isn't quite new, Mother, because the Lady wore it yesterday;but she said she hadn't one done with, so she gave me one she waswearing. "

Bit by bit the story was told, while Isel held up her hands in horrifiedastonishment, which she allowed to appear largely, and in inwardadmiration of Derette's spirit, of which she tried to prevent theappearance. She was not, however, quite able to effect her purpose. 

"_Meine Kind_!" cried Agnes, even more amazed and horrified than Isel. "Dat is not for me. It is too good. I am only poor woman. How shall Isuch beautiful thing wear?"

"But it is for you, " pleaded Derette earnestly, "and you must wear it;because, you see, if you did not, it would seem as if I had spokenfalsely to the Lady. "

"Ay, I don't see that you can do aught but take it and wear it, " saidStephen. "Great ladies like ours don't take their gifts back. "

Gerhardt had come in during the discussion. 

"Nor does the Lord, " he said, "at least not from those who receive themworthily. Take it from Him, dear, with thankfulness to the humaninstruments whom He has used. He saw thy need, and would not sufferthee to want for obeying His command. "

"But is it not too fine, Gerhardt?"

"It might be if we had chosen it, " answered Gerhardt with a smile; "butit seems as if the Lord had chosen it for thee, and that settles thematter. It is only the colour, after all. "

There was no trimming on the robe, save an edging of grey fur, --not evenembroidery: and no other kind of trimming was known at that time. Agnestimidly felt the soft, fine texture. 

"It is beautiful!" she said. 

"Oh, it is beautiful enough, in all conscience, " said Isel, "and willlast you a life-time, pretty nigh. But as to that dreadful child--"

"Now, Mother, you won't scold me, will you?" said Derette coaxingly, putting her arms round Isel's neck. "I haven't done any harm, have I?"

"Well, child, I suppose you meant well, " said Isel doubtfully, "and Idon't know but one should look at folks' intentions more than theirdeeds, in especial when there's no ill done; but--"

"Oh, come, let's forgive each other all round!" suggested Stephen. "Won't that do?"

Isel seemed to think it would, for she kissed Derette. 

"But you must never, never do such a thing again, child, in all the daysof your life!" said she. 

"Thank you, Mother, I don't want to do it again just now, " answeredDerette in a satisfied tone. 

The afternoon was not over when Anania marched into the Walnut Tree. 

"Well, Aunt Isel! I hope you are satisfied _now_!"

"With what, Anania?"

"That dreadfully wicked child. Didn't I tell you? I warned you to lookafter her. If you only would take good advice when folks take thetrouble to give it you!"

"Would you be so good as to say what you mean, Anania? I'm not at allsatisfied with dreadfully wicked children. I'm very much dissatisfiedwith them, generally. "

"I mean Derette, of course. I hope you whipped her well!"

"What for?" asked Isel, in a rather annoyed tone. 

"`What for?'" Anania lifted up her hands. "There now!--if I didn'tthink she would just go and deceive you! She can't have told you thetruth, of course, or you could never pass it by in that light way. "

"If you mean her visit to the Castle, " said Isel in a careless tone, "she told us all about it, of course, when she got back. "

"And you take it as coolly as that?"

"How did you wish me to take it? The thing is done, and all's well thatends well. I don't see that it was so much out of the way, for my part. Derette got no harm, and Agnes has a nice new gown, and nobody theworse. If anybody has a right to complain, it is the Countess; and Ican't see that she has so much, either; for she needn't have given therobe if she hadn't liked. "

"Oh, she's no business to grumble; she has lots more of every thing. She could have twenty robes made like that to-morrow, if she wantedthem. I wish I'd half as many--I know that!"

Agnes came down the ladder at that moment, carrying one of her newtunics, which she had just tried on, and was now going to alter to fitherself. 

"That's it, is it?" exclaimed Anania in an interested voice. "I thoughtit was that one. Well, you are in luck! That's one of her newestrobes, I do believe. Ah, folks that have more money than they know whatto do with, can afford to do aught they fancy. But to think of throwingaway such a thing as that on _you_!"

Neither words nor tone were flattering, but the incivility droppedharmless from the silver armour of Agnes's lowly simplicity. 

"Oh, but it shall not away be t'rown, " she said gently; "I will dem allup-make, and wear so long as they will togeder hold. I take care ofdat, so shall you see!"

Anania looked on with envious eyes. 

"How good lady must de Countess be!" added Agnes. 

"Oh, she can be good to folks sometimes, " snarled Anania. "She's justas full of whims as she can be--all those great folks are--proud andstuck-up and crammed full of caprice: but they say she's kind where she_takes_, you know. It just depends whether she takes to you. She nevertook to me, worse luck! I might have had that good robe, if she had. "

"I shouldn't think she would, " suddenly observed the smallest voice inthe company. 

"What do you mean by that, you impudent child?"

"Because, Cousin Anania, I don't think there's much in you to take to. "

Derette's prominent feeling at that moment was righteous indignation. She could not bear to hear the gentle, gracious lady, who had treatedher with such unexpected kindness, accused of being proud and full ofwhims, apparently for no better reason than because she had not "takento" Anania--a state of things which Derette thought most natural andprobable. Her sense of justice--and a child's sense of justice is oftenpainfully keen--was outraged by Anania's sentiments. 

"Well, to be sure! How high and mighty we are! That comes of visitingCountesses, I suppose. --Aunt Isel, I told you that child was gettinginsufferable. There'll be no bearing her very soon. She's as stuck-upnow as a peacock. Just look at her!"

"I don't see that she looks different from usual, " said Isel, who wasmixing the ingredients for a "bag-pudding. "

Anania made that slight click with her tongue which conveys the idea ofdespairing compassion for the pitiable incapacity of somebody toperceive patent facts. 

Isel went on with her pudding, and offered no further remark. 

"Well, I suppose I'd better be going, " said Anania--and sat still. 

Nobody contradicted her, but she made no effort to go, until Osbertstopped at the half-door and looked in. 

"Oh, you're there, are you?" he said to his wife. "I don't know whetheryou care particularly for those buttons you bought from Veka, but Selishas swallowed two, and--"

"_Those_ buttons! Graven silver, as I'm a living woman! I'll shake himwhile I can stand over him! And only one blessed dozen I had of them, and the price she charged me--The little scoundrel! Couldn't he haveswallowed the common leaden ones?"

"Weren't so attractive, probably, " said Osbert, as Anania hurried away, without any leave-taking, to bestow on her son and heir, aged six, theshaking she had promised. 

"But de little child, he shall be sick!" said Agnes, looking up from herwork with compassionate eyes. 

"Oh, I dare say it won't hurt him much, " replied Osbert coolly, "andperhaps it will teach him not to meddle. I wish it might teach hismother to stay at home and look after him, but I'm afraid that'shopeless. Good morrow!"

Little Selis seemed no worse for his feast of buttons, beyond a fit ofviolent indigestion, which achieved the wonderful feat of keeping Ananiaat home for nearly a week. 

"You've had a nice quiet time, Aunt Isel, " said Stephen. "Shall I seeif I can persuade Selis to take the rest of the dozen?"

Life went on quietly--for the twelfth century--in the little house inKepeharme Street. That means that nobody was murdered or murderouslyassaulted, the house was not burned down nor burglariously entered, andneither of the boys lost a limb, and was suffered to bleed to death, forinterference with the King's deer. In those good old times, theselittle accidents were rather frequent, the last more especially, as theawful and calmly-calculated statistics on the Pipe Rolls bear terriblewitness. 

Romund married, and went to live in the house of his bride, who was anheiress to the extent of possessing half-a-dozen houses in Saint Ebbe'sparish. Little Rudolph grew to be seven years old, a fine fearless boy, rather more than his quiet mother knew how to manage, but alwaysamenable to a word from his grave father. The Germans had settled downpeaceably in various parts of the country, some as shoemakers, some astailors, some as weavers, or had hired themselves as day-labourers tofarmers, carpenters, or bakers. Several offers of marriage had beenmade to Ermine, but hitherto, to the surprise of her friends, all hadbeen declined, her brother assenting to this unusual state of things. 

"Why, what do you mean to do, Gerard?" asked Isel of her, when the lastand wealthiest of five suitors was thus treated. "You'll never have abetter offer for the girl than Raven Soclin. He can spend sixty poundby the year and more; owns eight shops in the Bayly, and a brew-housebeside Saint Peter's at East Gate. He's no mother to plague his wife, and he's a good even-tempered lad, as wouldn't have many words with her. Deary me! but it's like throwing the fish back into the sea whenthey've come in your net! What on earth are you waiting for, I shouldjust like to know?"

"Dear Mother Isel, " answered Ermine softly, "we are waiting to see whatGod would have of me. I think He means me for something else. Let uswait and see. "

"But there is nothing else, child, " returned Isel almost irritably, "without you've a mind to be a nun; and that's what I wouldn't be, takemy word for it. Is that what you're after?"

"No, I think not, " said Ermine in the same tone. 

"Then there's nothing else for you--nothing in this world!"

"This is not the only world, " was the quiet reply. 

"It's the only one I know aught about, " said Isel, throwing her beansinto the pan; "or you either, if I'm not mistaken. You'd best be wisein time, or you'll go through the wood and take the crookedest stick youcan find. "

"I hope to be wise in time, Mother Isel; but I would rather it wereGod's time than mine. And we Germans, you know, believe inpresentiments. Methinks He has whispered to me that the way He hasappointed for my treading is another road than that. "

Ermine was standing, as she spoke, by the half-door, her eyes fixed onthe fleecy clouds which were floating across the blue summer sky. 

"Can you see it, Aunt Ermine?" cried little Rudolph, running to her. "Is it up there, in the blue--the road you are going to tread?"

"It is down below first, " answered Ermine dreamily. "Down very low, inthe dim valleys, and it is rough. But it will rise by-and-bye to theeverlasting hills, and to the sapphire blue; and it leads straight toGod's holy hill, and to His tabernacle. "

They remembered those words--seven months later. 

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

Note 1. The Pipe Rolls speak of _large_ cheeses, which cost fromthreepence to sixpence each, and the ordinary size, of which two orthree were sold for a penny. They were probably very small. 

Note 2. Modern value of above prices:--Pig, 1 pound, 19 shillings 7pence; half ox, 1 pound, 15 shillings 5 pence; cloth, 1 pound 16shillings 5 and a half pence per ell; cloak, 13 pounds 6 shillings 8pence; cape, 6 pounds, 13 shillings 4 pence; pair of slippers, 12shillings 6 pence; boots, per pair, 25 shillings; cheeses, 2 shillings 1penny each; flour and cabbage, each 1 pound 9 shillings 2 pence; mealand herrings, each 2 pounds, 10 shillings; beans, 2 pounds 1 shilling 8pence; coffer, 6 pounds, 5 shillings; nails, 2 pounds, 18 shillings 4pence; rug, 50 pounds. It will be seen that money was far cheaper thannow, and living much more expensive. 

Note 3. For the sinking of which King Henry paid 19 pounds, 19shillings 5 pence near this time. 

CHAPTER FIVE. 

WARNED. 

 "Though briars and thorns obstruct the way, Oh, what are thorns and briars to me, If Thy sweet words console and stay, If Thou but let me go with Thee?"

 "G. E. M. "

In the house of Henry the Mason, six doors from the Walnut Tree, threeof the Germans had been received--old Berthold, his wife Luitgarde, andtheir daughter Adelheid. Two years after their coming, Luitgarde haddied, and Berthold and his daughter were left alone Adelheid, though tenyears the elder, was a great friend of Ermine, and she seemed about asmuch averse to matrimony as the latter, though being less well-favoured, she had received fewer incentives to adopt it. Raven Soclin, however, did not allow his disappointment in love to affect his spirits, nor tohave much time for existence. Ermine's refusal was barely six weeks oldwhen he transferred his very transferable affections to Flemild, andRomund, the family dictator, did not allow any refusal of the offer. Infact, Flemild was fairly well satisfied with the turn matters had taken. She knew she must be either wife or nun--there was no third course openfor a woman in England at that day--and she certainly had no proclivityfor the cloister. Derette, on the other hand, had expressed herself interms of great contempt for matrimony, and of decided intention to adoptsingle life, in the only form in which it was then possible. It wastherefore arranged by Romund, and obediently sanctioned by Isel--forthat was an age of obedient mothers, so far as sons were concerned--thatFlemild should marry Raven Soclin, and Derette should become a novice atGodstowe, in the month of September shortly about to open. 

Nothing had yet been heard of Manning, the absent husband and father. Isel still cherished an unspoken hope of his return; but Romund andFlemild had given him up for dead, while the younger children had almostforgotten him. 

Another person who had passed out of their life was the Jewish maiden, Countess. She had been married the year after the arrival of theGermans, and had gone to live at Reading: married to an old Jew whom sheonly knew by name, then no unusual fate for girls of her nation. Fromlittle Rudolph, who was just beginning to talk, she had parted mostunwillingly. 

"Ah! if you would give him to me!" she had said in German to Agnes, witha smile on her lips, yet with tears in the dark eyes. "I know it couldnot be. Yet if time should come that trouble befel you, and you soughtrefuge for the child, my heart and my arms would be open. Ah, youthink, what could a poor Jewess do for you? Well, maybe so. Yet youknow the fable of the mouse that gnawed the net in which the lion wascaught. It might be, some day, that even poor Countess--"

Gerhardt laid his hand on the arm of the young Jewess, and Isel, who sawthe action, trembled for the consequences of his temerity. 

"Friend, " he said, "I would, if so were, confide my child to you soonerthan to any other outside this house, if your word were given that heshould not be taught to deride and reject the Lord that died for him. "

"You would take my word?" The dark eyes flashed fire. 

"I would take it, if you would give it. "

"And you know that no Court in this land would receive the witness of aJew! You know it?" she repeated fierily. 

"I know it, " he answered, rather sadly. 

"Yet you would take mine?"

"God would know if you spoke truth. He is the Avenger of all that havenone other. "

"He has work to do, then!" replied Countess bitterly. 

"He would not be too busy, if need were, to see to my little Rudolph. But I do not believe in the need: I think you true. "

"Gerhardt, you are the strangest Christian that I ever knew! Do youmean what you say?"

"I mean every word of it, Countess. "

"Then--you shall not repent it. " And she turned away. 

Little Rudolph fretted for a time after his nurse and playfellow. Butas the months passed on, her image grew fainter in his memory, and now, at seven years old, he scarcely remembered her except by name, Erminehaving spoken of her to him on several occasions. 

"I wonder you talk of the girl to that child!" Isel remonstrated. "Itwere better that he should forget her. "

"Pardon me, Mother Isel, but I think not so. The good Lord brought herin our way, and how do I know for what purpose? It may be for Rudolph'sgood, no less than hers; and she promised, if need arose, to have a careof him. I cannot tell what need may arise, wherein it would be mostdesirable that he should at least recall her name. "

"But don't you see, Ermine, even on your own showing, our Lord has takenher out of your way again?"

"Yes, now. But how do I know that it is for always?"

"Why, child, how can Countess, a married woman, living away at Reading, do anything to help a child at Oxford?"

"I don't know, Mother Isel. The Lord knows. If our paths never crossagain, it will not hurt Rudolph to remember that a young Jewess namedCountess was his loving friend in childhood: if they should meethereafter, it may be very needful. And--" that dreamy look came intoErmine's eyes--"something seems to whisper to me that it may be needed. Do not blame me if I act upon it. "

"Well, with all your soft, gentle ways, you have a will of your own, Iknow, " said Isel; "so you must e'en go your own way. And afterSeptember, Ermine, you'll be the only daughter left to me. Ah me!Well, it's the way of the world, and what is to be must be. I am sureit was a good wind blew you in at my door, for I should have beendreadful lonely without you when both my girls were gone. "

"But, dear Mother Isel, Flemild is not going far. "

"Not by the measuring-line, very like; but she's going far enough to beRaven's wife, and not my daughter. It makes a deal of difference, thatdoes. And Derette's going further, after the same fashion. I sha'n'tsee her, maybe, again, above a dozen times in my life. Eh dear! this isa hard world for a woman to live in. It's all work, and worry, andlosing, and giving up, and such like. "

"There is a better world, " said Ermine softly. 

"There had need be. I'm sure I deserve a bit of rest and comfort, ifever a hard-working woman did. I'll say nought about pleasure; more byreason that I'm pretty nigh too much worn out and beat down to careabout it. "

"Nay, friend, " said Gerhardt; "we sinners deserve the under-world. Theroad to the upper lieth only through the blood and righteousness of ourLord Christ. "

"I don't know why you need say that, " returned Isel with mildresentment. "I've been as decent a woman, and as good a wife andmother, as any woman betwixt Grandpont and Saint Maudlin, let the otherbe who she may, --ay, I have so, though I say it that hadn't ought. Butyou over-sea folks seem to have such a notion of everybody being bad, asI never heard before--not even from the priest. "

The Church to which Gerhardt belonged held firmly, as one of her mostvital dogmas, that strong view of human depravity which human depravityalways opposes and resents. Therefore Gerhardt did but enunciate afoundation-article of his faith when he made answer--

"`All the evil which I do proceeds from my own depravity. '"

"Come, you're laying it on a bit too thick, " said Isel, with a shake ofher head. 

"He only speaks for himself, don't you hear, Mother?" suggested Haimethumorously. 

Gerhardt smiled, and shook his head in turn. 

"Well, but if all the ill we do comes of ourselves, I don't see how youleave any room for Satan. He's busy about us, isn't he?"

"He's `a roaring lion, that goeth about, seeking whom he may devour';but he can devour no man without his own participation. "

"Why, then, you make us all out to be witches, for it's they who enterinto league with Satan. "

"Do you know, Gerard, " said Haimet suddenly, "some folks in the town aresaying that you belong to those over-sea heretics whose children areborn with black throats and four rows of teeth, and are all over hair?"

"I don't see that Rudolph resembles that description, " was the calmreply of Gerhardt. "Do you?"

"Oh, of course we know better. But there are some folks that say so, and are ready to swear it too. It would be quite as well if you stayedquiet at home for a while, and didn't go out preaching in the villagesso much. If the Bishop comes to hear of some things you've said--"

Isel and her daughters looked up in surprise. They had never imaginedthat their friend's frequent journeys were missionary tours. Haimet, who mixed far more with the outer world, was a good deal wiser on manypoints. 

"What have I said?" quietly replied Gerhardt, stopping his carving--which he still pursued in an evening--to sweep up and throw into thecorner the chips which he had made. 

"Well, I was told only last week, that you had said when you spoke atAbingdon, that `Antichrist means all that is in contrast to Christ, ' andthat there was no such thing as a consecrated priest in the world. "

"The first I did say: can you disprove it? But the second I did notsay. God forbid that I ever should!"

"Oh, well, I am glad to hear it: but I can tell you, Halenath theSacristan said he heard you. "

"I wish that old chattering magpie would hold his tongue!" exclaimedIsel, going to the door to empty the bowl in which she had been washingthe cabbages for supper. "He makes more mischief than any man withinten miles of the Four-Ways. "

"Haimet, " said Gerhardt, looking up from the lovely wreath ofstrawberry-blossom which he was carving on a box, "I must not leave youto misapprehend me as Halenath has done. I never said there was no suchthing as a consecrated priest: for Christ our Priest is one, of theOrder of Melchizedek, and by His one offering He hath perfected Hissaints for ever. But I did say that the priests of Rome were notrightly consecrated, and that the Pope's temporal power had deprived theChurch of true consecration. I will stand as firmly to that which Ihave said, as I will deny the words I have not spoken. "

Isel stood aghast, looking at him, while the spoon in her hand went downclattering on the brick floor. 

"Dear blessed saints!" seemed to be all she could say. 

"Why, whatever do you call that?" cried Haimet. "It sounds to me justas bad as the other, if it isn't worse. I should think, if anything, itwere a less heresy to say there were no consecrated priests, than to saythat holy Church herself had lost true consecration. Not that there'svery much to choose between them, after all; only that you cunningfellows can split straws into twenty bits as soon as we can look atthem. "

"Do you mean to say that the Church of England has lost trueconsecration?" gasped Isel. 

"If he means one, he means the other, " said Haimet, "because our Churchis subject to the holy Father. "

"There is one Church, and there are many Churches, " answered Gerhardt. "One--holy, unerring, indivisible, not seen of men. This is the Bride, the Lamb's wife; and they that are in her are called, and chosen, andfaithful. This is she that shall persevere, and shall overcome, andshall receive the crown of life. But on earth there are many Churches;and these may err, and may utterly fall away. Yea, there be that havedone it--that are doing it now. "

"I don't understand you a bit!" exclaimed Isel. "I always heard of theCatholic Church, that she was one and could not err; that our Lord thePope was her head, and the Church of England was a branch of her. Isn'tthat your doctrine?"

"You mean the same thing, don't you, now?" suggested Flemild, trying tomake peace. "I dare be bound, it's only words that differ. They are soqueer sometimes. Turn 'em about, and you can make them mean almostanything. "

Gerhardt smiled rather sadly, as he rose and put away his carving on oneof the broad shelves that ran round the house-place, and served the usesof tables and cupboards. 

"Words can easily be twisted, " he said, "either by ignorance or malice. But he is a coward that will deny his words as he truly meant them. Godhelp me to stand to mine!"

"Well, you'd better mind what I tell you about your preaching, "responded Haimet. "Leave preaching to the priests, can't you? It istheir business, not a weaver's. You keep to your craft. "

"Had you not once a preacher here named Pullus?" asked Gerhardt, withoutreplying to the question. 

"I think I have heard of him, " said Haimet, "but he was before my time. "

"I have been told that he preached the Word of God in this city yearsago, " said Gerhardt. 

"Whom did you say? Cardinal Pullus?" asked Isel, standing up from hercooking. "Ay, he did so! You say well, Haimet, it was before your day;you were only beginning to toddle about when he died. But I've listenedto him many a time at Saint Martin's, and on Presthey, too. He used topreach in English, so that the common folks could understand him. Manyprofessed his doctrines. I used to like to hear him, I did--when I wasyounger. He said nice words, though I couldn't call 'em back now. No, I couldn't. "

"I am sorry to hear it; I rather hoped you could, " replied Gerhardt. 

"Bless you! I never heard aught of that sort yet, that I could tell youagain, a Paternoster after I'd gone forth of the door. Words never staywith me; they run in at one ear and out at the other. Seem to do megood, by times; but I never can get 'em back again, no more than you canthe rain when it has soaked into the ground. "

"If the rain and the words bring forth good fruit, you get them back inthe best way of all, " said Gerhardt. "To remember the words in yourhead only, were as fruitless as to gather up rain-drops from the stoneor metal into which they cannot penetrate. "

"Well, I never had nought of a head-piece, " returned Isel. "I've heardmy mother tell that I had twenty wallopings ere she could make me saythe Paternoster; and I never could learn nought else save the Joy andthe Aggerum. "

"What do you mean by the `Aggerum, ' Mother?" inquired Haimet. 

"Well, isn't that what you call it? Aggerum or Adjerum, or some suchoutlandish name. It's them little words that prayers begin with. "

"`_Deus, in adjutorium_, '" said Gerhardt quietly. 

Haimet seemed exceedingly amused. He had attended the schools longenough to learn Latin sufficient to interpret the common prayers andPsalms which formed the private devotions of most educated people. Thiswas because his mother had wished him to be a priest. But having now, in his own estimation, arrived at years of discretion, he declined thecalling chosen for him, preferring as he said to go into business, andhe had accordingly been bound apprentice to a moneter, or money-changer. Poor Isel had mourned bitterly over this desertion. To her mind, as tothat of most people in her day, the priesthood was the highest callingthat could be attained by any middle-class man, while trade was a verymean and despicable occupation, far below domestic service. Sherecognised, however, that Haimet was an exception to most rules, and waslikely to take his own way despite of her. 

Isel's own lack of education was almost as unusual as Haimet'spossession of it. At that time all learning was in the hands of theclergy, the monastic orders, and the women. By the Joy, she meant theDoxology, the English version of which substituted "joy" for "glory;"while the _Adjutorium_ denoted the two responses which follow the Lord'sPrayer in the morning service, "O God, make speed to save us, " "O Lord, make haste to help us. "

"Can't you say _adjutorium_, Mother?" asked the irreverent youth. 

"No, lad, I don't think I can. I'll leave that for thee. One's as goodas t'other, for aught I see. "

Haimet exploded a second time. 

"Good evening!" said Romund's voice, and a cloaked figure, on whoseshoulders drops of rain lay glittering, came in at the door. "I thoughtyou were not gone up yet, for I saw the light under the door. Derette, I have news for you. I have just heard that Saint John's anchoritessdied yesterday, and I think, if you would wish it, that I could get theanchorhold for you. You may choose between that and Godstowe. "

Derette scarcely stood irresolute for a moment. 

"I should like the anchorhold best, Brother. Then Mother could come tome whenever she wanted me. "

"Is that the only reason?" asked Haimet, half laughing. 

"No, not quite, " said Derette, with a smile; "but it is a good one. "

"Then you make up your mind to that?" questioned Romund. 

"Yes, I have made up my mind, " replied Derette. 

"Very good: then I will make application for it. Good night! no time tostay. Mabel? Oh, she's all right. Farewell!"

And Romund shut the door and disappeared. 

"Deary me, that seems done all of a hurry like!" said Isel. "I don'thalf like such sudden, hasty sort of work. Derette, child, are you sureyou'll not be sorry?"

"No, I don't think I shall, Mother. I shall have more liberty in theanchorhold than in the nunnery. "

"More liberty, quotha!" cried Isel in amazement. "Whatever can thechild mean? More liberty, penned up in two little chambers, and neverto leave them all your life, than in a fine large place like Godstowe, with a big garden and cloisters to walk in?"

"Ah, Mother, I don't want liberty for my feet, but for my soul. Therewill be no abbess nor sisters to tease one in the anchorhold. "

"Well, and what does that mean, but never a bit of company? Just yourone maid, and tied up to her. And the child calls it `liberty'!"

"You forget, Mother, " said Haimet mischievously. "There will be theLady Derette. In the cloister they are only plain Sister. "

Every recluse had by courtesy the title of a baron. 

"As if I cared for that rubbish!" said Derette with sublime scorn. 

"Dear! I thought you were going on purpose, " retorted her brother. 

"Whom will you have for your maid, Derette?" asked her sister. 

"Ermine, if I might have her, " answered Derette with a smile. 

Gerhardt suddenly stopped the reply which Ermine was about to make. 

"No, " he said, "leave it alone to-night, dear. Lay it before the Lord, and ask of Him whether that is the road He hath prepared for thee towalk in. It might be for the best, Ermine. "

There was a rather sorrowful intonation in his voice. 

"I will wait till the morning, and do as you desire, " was Ermine'sreply. "But I could give the answer to-night, for I know what it willbe. The best way, and the prepared way, is that which leads thestraightest Home. "

It was very evident, when the morning arrived, that Gerhardt would muchhave liked Ermine to accept the lowly but safe and sheltered position ofcompanion to Derette in the anchorhold. While the hermit lived alone, but wandered about at will, the anchorite, who was never allowed toleave his cell, always had with him a companion of his own sex, throughwhom he communicated with the outer world. Visitors of the same sex, orchildren, could enter the cell freely, or the anchorite might speakthrough his window to any person. Derette, therefore, would really beless cut off from the society of her friends in the anchorhold, than shewould have been as a cloistered sister at Godstowe, where they wouldonly have been permitted to see her, at most, once in a year. Butoutside the threshold of her cell she might never step, save forimminent peril of life, as in the case of fire. She must live there, and die there, her sole occupation found in devotional exercises, hersole pleasure in her friends' visits, the few sights she could see fromher window, and through a tiny slit into the chancel of the Church ofSaint John the Baptist, which we know as the chapel of Merton College. Every anchorhold was built close to a church, so as to allow itsoccupant the privilege of seeing the performance of mass, and ofreceiving the consecrated wafer, by the protrusion of his tongue throughthe narrow slit. 

In those early days, and before the corruptions of Rome reached theirfull development, this cloistered life was not without some advantagesfor the securing of which it is not required now. In rough, wild times, when insult or cruelty to a woman was among the commonest events, it wassomething for a woman to know that by wearing a certain uniform, herperson would be regarded as so sacred that he who dared to molest herwould be a man of rare and exceptional wickedness. It was something, also, to be sure, even moderately sure, of provision for her bodilyneeds during life: something to know that if any sudden accident shoulddeprive her of the services of her only companion, the world deemed itso good a deed to serve her, that any woman whom she might summonthrough her little window would consider herself honoured and benefitedby being allowed to minister to her even in the meanest manner. Theloss of liberty was much assuaged and compensated, by being set againstsuch advantages as these. The recluse was considered the holiest ofnuns, not to say of women, and the Countess of Oxford herself would haveheld it no degradation to serve her in her need. 

Derette would dearly have liked to secure the companionship of Ermine, but she saw plainly that it was not to be. When the morning came, therefore, she was much less surprised than sorry that Ermine declinedthe offer. Gerhardt pressed it on her in vain. 

"If you command me, my brother, " said Ermine, "I will obey, for you havea right to dispose of me; but if the matter is left to my own choice, Istay with you, and your lot shall be mine. "

"But if our lot be hardship and persecution, my Ermine--cold and hunger, nakedness, and peril and sword! This might be a somewhat dull anddreary life for thee, but were it not a safe one?"

"Had the Master a safe and easy life, Brother, that His servants shouldseek it? Is the world so safe, and the way to Paradise so hard? Is itnot written, `Blessed are ye, when they shall persecute you'? MethinksI see arising, even now, that little cloud which shall ere long coverall the sky with darkness. Shall I choose my place with the `fearful'that are left without the Holy City, rather than with them that shallfollow the Lamb whithersoever He goeth?"

"It is written again, `When they persecute you in one city, flee ye intoanother, '" replied Gerhardt. 

"`_When_ they persecute you, '" repeated Ermine. "It has not come yet. "

"It may be too late, when it has come. "

"Then the way will be plain before me. "

"Well, dear, I will urge you no further, " said Gerhardt at last, drawinga heavy sigh. "I had hoped that for thee at least--The will of the Lordbe done. "

"If it were His will to preserve my life, even the persecutorsthemselves might be made the occasion of doing so. "

"True, my Ermine. It may be thou hast more faith than I. Be it as thouwilt. "

So Derette had to seek another maid. 

"I'm sure I don't know who you'll get, " said Isel. "There's Franna'sHawise, but she's a bit of a temper, "--which her hearers knew to be avery mild representation of facts: "and there's Turguia'sgrand-daughter, Canda, but you'll have to throw a bucket of water overher of a morrow, or she'll never be out of bed before sunrise on theshortest day of the year. Then there's Henry's niece, Joan--" thenpronounced as a dissyllable, Joan--"but I wouldn't have such a slovenabout me. I never see her but her shoes are down at heel, and if hergown isn't rent for a couple of hand-breadths, it's as much as you canlook for. Deary me, these girls! they're a sorry lot, the whole heap of'em! _I_ don't know where you're going to find one, Derette. "

"Put it in the Lord's hands, and He will find you one. "

"I'll tell you what, Gerard, I never heard the like of you, " answeredIsel, setting her pan swinging by its chain on the hook over the fire. "You begin and end every mortal thing with our Lord, and you're sayingyour prayers pretty nigh all day long. Are you certain sure you'venever been a monk?"

"Very certain, friend, " said Gerhardt, smiling. "Is not the existenceof Agnes answer enough to that?"

"Oh, but you might have run away, " said Isel, whose convictions on mostsubjects were of rather a hazy order. "There are monks that do, andpriests too: or if they don't forsake their Order, they don't behavelike it. Why, just look at Reinbald the Chaplain--who'd ever take himfor a priest, with his long curls and his silken robes, and ruffling uphis hair to hide the tonsure?"

"Ay, there are men who are ashamed of nothing so much as of the crosswhich their Master bore for them, " admitted Gerhardt sorrowfully. "Andat times it looks as if the lighter the cross be, the less ready theyare to carry it. There be who would face a drawn sword more willinglythan a scornful laugh. "

"Well, we none of us like to be laughed at. "

"True. But he who denies his faith through the mockery of Herod'ssoldiers, how shall he bear the scourging in Pilate's hall?"

"Well, I'm none so fond of neither of 'em, " said Isel, taking down aham. 

"It is only women who can't stand being touched, " commented Haimetrather disdainfully. "But you are out there, Gerard: it is a disgraceto be laughed at, and disgrace is ever worse to a true man than pain. "

"Why should it be disgrace, if I am in the right?" answered Gerhardt. "If I do evil, and refuse to own it, that is disgrace, if you will; butif I do well, or speak truth, and stand by it, what cause have I to beashamed?"

"But if men believe that you have done ill, is that no disgrace?"

"If they believe it on false witness, the disgrace is equally false. `Blessed are ye, when men shall persecute you, and shall say all evilagainst you, lying, for My sake. ' Those are His words who bore allshame for us. "

"They sha'n't say it of me, unless they smart for it!" cried Haimethotly. 

"Then wilt thou not be a true follower of the Lamb of God, who, when Hewas reviled, reviled not again, but committed Himself unto Him thatjudgeth righteously. "

"Saints be with you!" said Anania, lifting the latch, and intercepting aresponse from Haimet which might have been somewhat incisive. "Ideclare, I'm just killed with the heat!"

"I should have guessed you were alive, from the look of you, " returnedDerette calmly. 

"So you're going into the anchorhold, I hear?" said Anania, fanningherself with her handkerchief. 

"If Romund can obtain it for me. "

"Oh, he has; it's all settled. Didn't you know? I met Mabel in SaintFrideswide's Street [which ran close to the north of the Cathedral], andshe told me so. --Aunt Isel, I do wonder you don't look better after thatyoung woman! She'll bring Romund to his last penny before she's done. That chape [a cape or mantle] she had on must have cost as pretty a sumas would have bought a flock of sheep. I never saw such extravagance. "

"The money's her own, " responded Isel shortly. 

"It's his too. And you're his mother. You never ought to let her go onas she does. "

"Deary me, Anania, as if I hadn't enough to do!"

"Other folks can slice ham and boil cabbage. You've got no call toneglect your duty. I can tell you, Franna's that shocked you don'tspeak to the girl; and Turguia was saying only the other day, she didn'tbelieve in folks that pretended to care so much for their children, andlet other folks run 'em into all sorts of troubles for want of lookingafter a bit. I'll tell you, Aunt Isel--"

"Anania, I'll tell _you_, " cried Isel, thoroughly put out, for she washot and tired and not feeling strong, "I'll tell you this once, you're aregular plague and a mischief-maker. You'd make me quarrel with all thefriends I have in the world, if I listened to you. Sit you down andrest, if you like to be peaceable; and if you don't, just go home andgive other folks a bit of rest for once in your life. I'm just worn outwith you, and that's the honest truth. "

"Well, to be sure!" gasped the porter's wife, in high dudgeon and muchamazement. "I never did--! Dear, dear, to think of it--how ungratefulfolks can be! You give them the best advice, and try to help them allyou can, and they turn on you like a dog for it! Very well, Aunt Isel;I'll let you alone!--and if you don't rue it one of these days, whenyour fine lady daughter-in-law has brought you down to beggary for wantof a proper word, my name isn't Anania--that's all!"

"Oh, deary weary me!" moaned poor Isel, dropping herself on the form asif she could not stand for another minute. "If this ain't a queerworld, I just _don't_ know! Folks never let you have a shred of peace, and come and worrit you that bad till you scarce can tell whether you'reon your head or your heels, and you could almost find in your heart towish 'em safe in Heaven, and then if they don't set to work and abuseyou like Noah's wife [Note 1] if you don't thank 'em for it! That girlAnania 'll be the death of me one of these days, if she doesn't mend herways. Woe worth the day that Osbert brought her here to plague us!"

"I fancy he'd say Amen to that, " remarked Haimet. 

"I heard him getting it pretty hot last night. But he takes it easierthan you, Mother; however she goes on at him, he only whistles a tune. He has three tunes for her, and I always know how she's getting on bythe one I hear. So long as it's only the _Agnus_, I dare lift thelatch; but when it come to _Salve Regina_, things are going awkward. "

"I wish she wasn't my niece, I do!" said poor Isel. "Well, folks, comeand get your supper. "

Supper was over, and the trenchers scraped--for Isel lived in greatgentility, seeing that she ate from wooden trenchers, and not on platesmade of thick slices of bread--when a rap on the door heralded the visitof a very superior person. Long ago, when a young girl, Isel had beenchamberer, or bower-woman, of a lady named Mildred de Hameldun; and shestill received occasional visits from Mildred's daughter, whose name wasAliz or Elise de Norton. Next to the Countess of Oxford and her twodaughters, Aliz de Norton was the chief lady in the city. Her father, Sir Robert de Hameldun, had been Seneschal of the Castle, and herhusband, Sir Ording de Norton, was now filling a similar position. Yetthe lofty title of Lady was barely accorded to Aliz de Norton. At thattime it was of extreme rarity; less used than in Saxon days, far lessthan at a subsequent date under the later Plantagenets. The only womenwho enjoyed it as of right were queens, wives of the king's sons, countesses, and baronesses: for at this period, the sole titles known tothe peerage were those of baron and earl. Duke was still a sovereigntitle, and entirely a foreign one. The epithet of Dame or Lady was alsothe prerogative of a few abbesses, who held the rank of baroness. Verycommonly, however, it was applied to the daughters of the sovereign, toall abbesses, prioresses, and recluses, and to earls' daughters; butthis was a matter rather of courtesy than of right. Beyond the generalepithet of "my Lord, " there was no definite title of address even forthe monarch. The appropriation of such terms as Grace, Highness, Excellence, Majesty, or Serenity, belongs to a much later date. Sir, however, was always restricted to knights; and Dame was the mostrespectful form of address that could be offered to any woman, howeverexalted might be her rank. The knight was above the peer, even kingsreceiving additional honour from knighthood; but the equivalent title ofDame does not seem to have been regularly conferred on their wives tillabout 1230, though it might be given in some cases, as a matter ofcourtesy, at a rather earlier period. 

Perceiving her exalted friend, Isel went forward as quickly as was inher, to receive her with all possible cordiality, and to usher her tothe best place in the chimney-corner. Aliz greeted the familypleasantly, but with a shade of constraint towards their German guests. For a few minutes they talked conventional nothings, as is the custom ofthose who meet only occasionally. Then Aliz said--

"I came to-day, Isel, for two reasons. Have here the first: do you knowof any vacant situation for a young woman?"

Isel could do nothing in a hurry, --more especially if any mental processwas involved. 

"Well, maybe I might, " she said slowly. "Who is it, I pray you, andwhat are her qualifications?"

"It is the daughter of my waiting-woman, and grand-daughter of my oldnurse. She is a good girl--rather shy and inexperienced, but she learnsquickly. I would have taken her into my own household, but I have noroom for her. I wish to find her a good place, not a poor one. Do youknow of any?"

As Isel hesitated, Haimet took up the word. 

"Would it please you to have her an anchorhold maid?"

"Oh, if she could obtain such a situation as that, " said Aliz eagerly, "there would be no more to wish for. "

The holiness of an anchoritess was deemed to run over upon her maid, anda young woman who wore the semi-conventual garb of those persons wassafe from insult, and sure of help in time of need. 

"My youngest sister goes into Saint John's anchorhold next month, " saidHaimet, "and we have not yet procured a maid for her. "

"So that is your destiny?" said Aliz, with a smile to Derette. "Well, it is a blessed calling. "

Her manner, however, added that she had no particular desire to beblessed in that fashion. 

"That would be the very thing for Leuesa, " she pursued. "I will sendher down to talk with you. Truly, we should be very thankful to thosechoice souls to whom is given the rare virtue of such holyself-sacrifice. "

Aliz spoke the feeling of her day, which could see no bliss for a womanexcept in marriage, and set single life on a pinnacle of holiness andmisery not to be reached by ordinary men and women. The virtues ofthose self-denying people who sacrificed themselves by adopting it weresupposed to be paid into an ecclesiastical treasury, and to form a kindof set-off against the every-day shortcomings of inferior married folks. Therefore Aliz expressed her gratitude for the prospect, as affordingher an extra opportunity of doing her duty by proxy. 

Derette was in advance of her age. 

"But I am not sacrificing myself, " she said. "I am pleasing myself. Ishould not like to be a wife. "

"Oh, what a saintly creature you must be!" cried Aliz, clasping herhands in admiration. "That you can _prefer_ a holy life! It is givento few indeed to attain that height. "

"But the holy life does not consist in dwelling in one chamber, "suggested Gerhardt, "nor in refraining from matrimony. He that dwellethin God, in the secret place of the Most High--this is the man that isholy. "

"It would be well for you, Gerard, and your friends, " observed Alizfreezingly, "not to be quite so ready in offering your strange fancieson religious topics. Are you aware that the priests of the city havesent up a memorial concerning you to my Lord the Bishop, and that it hasbeen laid before King Henry?"

The strawberry which Gerhardt's tool was just then rounding was notquite so perfect a round as its neighbours. He laid the tool down, andthe hand which held the carving trembled slightly. 

"No, I did not know it, " he said in a low voice. "I thank you for thewarning. "

"I fear there may be some penance inflicted on you, " resumed Aliz, notunkindly. "The wisest course for you would be at once to submit, andnot even to attempt any excuse. "

Gerhardt looked up--a look which struck all who saw it. There was in ita little surface trouble, but under that a look of such perfect peaceand sweet acceptance of the Divine will, as they had never beforebeheld. 

"There will be no penance laid on me, " he said, "that my Father will nothelp me to bear. I have only to take the next step, whether it leadinto the home at Bethany or the judgment-hall of Pilate. The Garden ofGod lies beyond them both. "

Aliz looked at him as if he were speaking a foreign tongue. 

"Gerard, " she said, "I do hope you have no foolish ideas of braving outthe censure of the Bishop. Such action would not only be sin, but itwould be the worst policy imaginable. Holy Church is always merciful tothose who abase themselves before her, --who own their folly, and humblybow to her rebuke. But she has no mercy on rebels who persist in theirrebellion, --stubborn self-opinionated men, who in their incredible follyand presumption imagine themselves capable of correcting her. "

"No, " answered Gerhardt in that same low voice. "She has no mercy. "

"Then I hope you see how very foolish and impossible it would be for youto adopt any other course than that of instant and complete submission?"urged Aliz in a kinder tone. 

Gerhardt rose from his seat and faced her. 

"Your meaning is kind, " he said, "and conscientious also. You desirethe glory of your Church, but you also feel pity for the suffering ofthe human creatures who dissent from her, and are crushed under thewheels of her triumphal car. I thank you for that pity. In the landwhere one cup of cold water goeth not without its reward, it may be thateven a passing impulse of compassion is not forgotten before God. Itmay at least call down some earthly blessing. But for me--my way isclear before me, and I have but to go straight forward. I thank Godthat I know my duty. Doubt is worse than pain. "

"Indeed, I am thankful too, " said Aliz, as she rose to take leave. "That you should do your duty is the thing I desire. --Well, Isel, ourLady keep you! I will send Leuesa down to-morrow or the next day. "

Aliz departed, and the rest began to think of bedtime. Isel sent thegirls upstairs, then Haimet followed, and Agnes went at last. ButGerhardt sat on, his eyes fixed on the cold hearth. It was evident thathe regarded the news which he had heard as of no slight import. He roseat length, and walked to the window. It was only a wooden shutter, fastened by a button, and now closed for the night. Looking round tomake sure that all had left the lower room, he threw the casement open. But he did not see Isel, who at the moment was concealed by the redcurtain drawn half-way across the house-place, at the other end wherethe ladder went up. 

"Father!" he said, his eyes fixed on the darkened sky, "is the way toThy holy hill through this thorny path? Wheresoever Thou shalt guide, Igo with Thee. But `these are in the world!' Keep them through Thyname, and let us meet in the Garden of God, if we may not go together. O blessed Jesu Christ! the forget-me-nots which bloom around Thy crossare fairer than all the flowers of the world's gardens. "

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Note 1. In the medieval mystery plays, Noah's wife was alwaysrepresented as a scolding vixen. 

CHAPTER SIX. 

TAKEN IN THE NET. 

 "There is no time so miserable But a man may be true. "

 Shakespeare. 

"Berthold, hast thou heard the news?"

"I have, Pastor. I was coming to ask if you had heard it. "

"Ah, it was told me last night, by one that meant it kindly. I knew itwould come sooner or later. "

"What will they do, think you?" Gerhardt hesitated. It was not so easyto guess in 1165 the awful depths to which religious hatred coulddescend, as it would have been some two centuries later. They knewsomething then of the fury of the Church against open unbelievers orpolitical enemies; but persecution of Christians by Christians onaccount of nothing but their belief and the confession of it, wassomething new at that time. 

"They will impose penance on us, I suppose, " suggested old Berthold. 

"Doubtless, if we stand firm. And we must stand firm, Berthold, --everyone of us. "

"Oh, of course, " replied Berthold calmly. "They won't touch thewomen?--what think you?"

"I know not what to think. But I imagine--not. "

"Fine and scourging, perchance. Well, we can stand that. "

"We can stand any thing with God to aid us: without Him we can bearnothing. Thanks be to the Lord, that last they that trust Him willnever be called upon to do. "

"I heard there was a council of the bishops to be held upon us, "suggested Berthold a little doubtfully. 

"I hope not. That were worse for us than a summons before the King. Howbeit, the will of the Lord be done. It may be that the hotter thefurnace is heated, the more glory shall be His by the song of Hisservants in the fires. "

"Ay, there'll be four, " said old Berthold, bowing reverently. "Sureenough, Pastor, whatever we are called upon to bear, there will be Onemore than our number, and His form shall be that of the _Son_ of God. Well! the children will be safe, no question. But I am afraid thehottest corner of the furnace may be kept for you, dear Teacher. "

"Be it so, " answered Gerhardt quietly. "Let my Lord do with me what isgood in His sight; only let me bring glory to Him, and show forth Hisname among the people. "

"Ay, but it does seem strange, " was the response, "that the work shouldbe stopped, and the cause suffer, and eloquent lips be silenced, justwhen all seemed most needed! Can you understand it, Pastor?"

"No, " said Gerhardt calmly. "Why should I? He understands who has itall to do. But the cause, Berthold! The cause will not suffer. It isGod's custom to bring good out of evil--to give honey to His Samsons outof the carcases of lions, and to bring His Davids through the cave ofAdullam to the throne of Israel. It is for Him to see that the causeprospers, in His own time and way. We have only to do each our littlehandful of duty, to take the next step as He brings it before us. Sometimes the next step is a steep pull, sometimes it is only an easylevel progress. We have but to take it as it comes. Never two steps atonce; never one step, without the Lord at our right hand. Never a cryof `Lord, save me!' from a sinking soul, that the hand which holds upall the worlds is not immediately stretched forth to hold him up. "

"One can't always feel it, though, " said the old man wistfully. 

"It is enough to know it. "

"Ay, when we two stand talking together in Overee Lane [Overee Lane ranout of Grandpont Street, just below the South Gate], so it may be: butwhen the furnace door stands open, an King Nebuchadnezzar's mighty menare hauling you towards it, how then, good Pastor?"

"Berthold, what kind of a father would he be who, in carrying his childover a bridge, should hold it so carelessly that he let it slip from hisarms into the torrent beneath, and be drowned?"

"Couldn't believe such a tale, Pastor, unless the father were eitherdrunk or mad. Why, he wouldn't be a man--he'd be a monster. "

"And is that the character that thou deemest it fair and true to give toHim who laid down His life for thee?"

"Pastor!--Oh! I see now what you mean. Well--ay, of course--"

"Depend upon it, Berthold, the Lord shall see that thou hast gracesufficient for the evil day, if thy trust be laid on Him. He shall notgive thee half enough for thy need out of His royal treasure, and leavethee to make up the other half out of thy poor empty coffer. `My Godshall supply all your need, according to His riches in glory'--`that ye, always having all-sufficiency in all things, may abound to every goodwork. ' Is that too small an alner [Note 1] to hold the wealth thouwouldst have? How many things needest thou beyond `_all_ things'?"

"True enough, " said Berthold. "But I was not thinking so much ofmyself, Pastor--I've had my life: I'm two-and-fourscore this day; and ifI am called on to lay it down for the Lord, it will only be a few monthsat the furthest that I have to give Him. It wouldn't take so much tokill me, neither. An old man dies maybe easier than one in the fullvigour of life. But you, my dear Pastor!--and the young fellows amongus--Guelph, and Conrad, and Dietbold, and Wilhelm--it'll be harder workfor the young saplings to stand the blast, than for the old oak whoseboughs have bent before a thousand storms. There would most likely be along term of suffering before you, when my rest was won. "

"Then our rest would be the sweeter, " replied Gerhardt softly. "`Heknoweth the way that we take; when He hath tried us, we shall come forthas gold. ' He is faithful, who will not suffer us to be tried above thatwe are able to bear. And He can make us able to bear any thing. "

Gerhardt was just turning into Kepeharme Lane, when a voice at his elbowmade him pause and look back. 

"Did you want me, friend?"

"No, " answered a hoarse voice, in a significant tone. "You want me. "

Gerhardt smiled. "I thank you, then, for coming to my help. I almostthink I know your voice. Are you not Rubi, the brother of Countess, whomade such a pet of my little child?"

An affirmative grunt was the response. 

"Well, friend?"

"If an open pit lay just across this street, between you and the WalnutTree, what would you do?" asked the hoarse voice. 

"That would depend on how necessary it was that I should pass it, wouldit not?"

"Life this way--death that way, " said Rubi shortly. 

"And what way honour?"

"Pshaw! `All that a man hath will he give for his life. '"

"Truth: yet even life, sometimes, will a man give for glory, patriotism, or love. There is a life beyond this, friend Rubi; and for that, noprice were too high to pay. "

"Men may weigh gold, but not clouds, " answered Rubi in a rather scornfultone. 

"Yet how much gold would purchase the life-giving water that comes fromthe clouds?" was Gerhardt's ready response. 

"At how much do you value your life?" asked Rubi without answering thequestion. 

"Truly, friend, I know not how to respond to that. Do you count my lifeto be in danger, that you ask me?"

"Not if the morning light come to you in Aylesbury or Cricklade--atleast, perchance not. But if it dawn on you where you can hear the bellfrom yon tower--ay, I do. "

"I perceive your meaning. You would have me to fly. "

In the evening twilight, now fast darkening, Gerhardt could see a nod ofRubi's black head. 

"`Should such a man as I flee?' Friend, I am the leader of this band ofmy countrymen--"

"Just so. That's the reason. "

"Were I to flee, would they stand firm?" said Gerhardt thoughtfully, rather to himself than to the young Jew. 

"Firm--to what?"

"To God, " replied Gerhardt reverently, "and to His truth. "

"What does a Gentile care for truth? They want you to worship one deadman, and you prefer to worship another dead man. What's the odds toyou? Can't you mutter your Latin, and play with your beads, beforeboth, and have done with it?"

"I worship no saints, and have no beads. "

"Father Jacob! You must be a new sort of a Gentile. Never came acrossa reptile of your pattern before. Is that why Countess took to you?"

"I cannot say. It was the child, I think, that attracted her. Well, friend, I am thankful for your warning. But how come you to know?"

A smothered laugh, as hoarse as the voice, replied--

"Folks have ways and means, sometimes, that other folks can't alwaysguess. "

"If you know more than others, " said Gerhardt boldly, "suffer me toquestion you a moment. "

"Question away. I don't promise to answer. "

"Are we all to be taken and examined?"

"All. "

"Before the King?"

"And the creeping creatures called Bishops. "

"Will any thing be done to the women and children?"

"Does the lion discriminate between a kid and a goat? `Let your littleones also go with you. ' Even Pharaoh could say that--when he could nothelp allowing it. "

"I think I understand you, Friend Rubi, and I thank you. "

"You are not so badly off for brains, " said Rubi approvingly. 

"But how far to act upon your warning I know not, until I lay it beforethe Lord, and receive His guidance. "

"You--a Gentile--receive guidance from the Holy One (blessed be He)!"Rubi's tone was not precisely scornful; it seemed rather a mixture ofsurprise, curiosity, and perplexity. 

"Ay, friend, I assure you, however strange it may seem to you, the goodLord deigns to guide even us Gentiles. And why not? Is it not written, `Even them will I bring to My holy mountain, and make them joyful in Myhouse of prayer'? and, `O Thou that hearest prayer, unto Thee shall allflesh come'?"

"Those promises belong to the reign of the Messiah. He is not come yet. Do you new sort of Gentiles believe He is?"

It was a most difficult question to answer. "Yes" would probably driveRubi away in anger--perhaps with a torrent of blasphemy on his lips. "No" would be false and cowardly. 

"I believe, " said Gerhardt softly, "that He shall yet come to Zion, andturn away iniquity from Jacob. May thou and I, Rubi, be ready towelcome Him when He cometh!"

"You are better than yonder lot, " answered Rubi, with a scornful wave ofhis hand towards Carfax behind them. "Ay, I suppose the Blessed One hassome mercies even for Gentiles--decent ones such as you. Well, rememberyou've been warned. Good night!"

"Good night, Rubi, and God go with thee!"

As Gerhardt stepped into the Walnut Tree, Isel's voice greeted him fromthe top of the ladder leading to the upper chamber. 

"Who is that--Gerard or Haimet?"

"It is I, Isel, " said the German pastor. 

"Well, now, don't put out your lantern, but do, like a good man, takethis girl back to the Castle. I've been on thorns how to get her back, for I've kept her talking a bit too long, and there hasn't a creaturecome near that I could ask. It's Leuesa, that Aliz de Norton spokeabout, and we've settled she's to be Derette's maid. It's a mercyyou've come just in time!"

"The next step!" said Gerhardt to himself with a smile. "Well, this atleast is no hard one. "

The girl who came down the ladder and entrusted herself to Gerhardt'sescort, was very young-looking for an anchorhold: slim, fair, and frailin appearance, with some timidity of manner. They set out for theCastle. 

"You know the girl who is to be my mistress?" asked Leuesa. "Will shebe easy or hard to serve?"

"Very easy, I think, so long as you obey her. She has a will of herown, as you will find, if you do not. "

"Oh dear, I don't want to disobey her! But I don't like to be scoldedat from morning to night, whether I do right or wrong. "

"Derette will not treat you in that fashion. She has a good temper, andis bright and cheerful. "

"I am so glad to hear it! I get so tired--"

Leuesa suddenly broke off her sentence. 

"You look young for the work, " said Gerhardt. 

"I am older than I look. At least, people say so. I am twenty-one. "

"Dear! I should not have thought you eighteen. "

"Oh yes, I am twenty-one, " replied Leuesa, with a bright little laugh;adding with sudden gravity, "I think I am much older than that in someways. "

"Hast thou found life hard, poor child?" asked Gerhardt sympathisingly. 

"Well, one gets tired, you know, " replied the girl vaguely. "I supposeit has to be, if one's sins are to be expiated. So many sins, so manysufferings. That's what Mother says. It will be counted up some time, maybe. Only, sometimes, it does seem as if there were more sufferingsthan sins. "

"Is that thy religion, Maiden?" responded Gerhardt with a pitying smile. 

"It's about all I know. Why?--isn't it good?"

"Friend, if thou wert to suffer for ten thousand years, without amoment's intermission, thy sins could never be balanced by thysufferings. Suffering is finite; sin is infinite. It is not only whatthou hast done, or hast left undone. The sin of thy whole naturerequires atonement. _Thou_ art sin! The love of sin which is in theeis worse than any act of sin thou couldst commit. What then is to bedone with thy sins?"

Leuesa looked up with an expression of wistful simplicity in her blueeyes. 

She might be older than her years in some respects, thought Gerhardt, but there were some others in which she was a very child. 

"I don't know!" she said blankly, with a frightened accent. "Can't youtell me?"

"Thank God, I can tell thee. Thou must get rid of this load of sin, bylaying it on Him who came down from Heaven that He might bear it forthee. Tell me whom I mean. "

The flaxen head was shaken. "I can't--not certainly. Perhaps it's asaint I don't know. "

"Dost thou not know Jesu Christ?"

"Oh, of course. He's to judge us at the last day. "

"If He save thee not before He judge thee, thou wilt never be saved. Dost thou not know He is the Saviour of men?"

"Well, I've heard say so, but I never thought it meant any thing. "

"It means every thing to sinners. Now, how art thou about to come bythe salvation that Christ has wrought for thee?"

"The priest will give me some, won't he?"

"He hath it not to give thee. Thou must go straight to the LordHimself. "

"But I can't go save through the Church. And oh dear, but I should befrightened to have aught to do with Him! Except when He's a baby, andthen we've got our Lady to intercede for us. "

"Art thou, then, very much afraid of me?"

"You? Oh no! You're coming with me to take care of me--aren't you?"

"I am. But what am I doing for thee, in comparison of Him who died forthee? Afraid of the Lord that laid down His life for thine! Why, Maiden, there is nought in His heart for thee save love and pity andstrength to help. He loved thee--get it into thy mind, grave it deep inthy soul--He loved thee, and gave His life for thee. "

"Me?" Leuesa had come to a sudden stand. "You don't mean _me_?"

"I mean thee, and none other. "

"Mother always says I'm so stupid, nobody will ever care for me. Ithought--I never heard any body talk like that. I thought it was onlythe very greatest saints that could get near Him, and then only throughthe Church. "

"Thou and I are the Church, if Christ saves us. "

"Oh, what do you mean? The priests and bishops are the Church. Atleast they say so. "

"Ay, they do say so, the hirelings that foul with their feet the waterwhence the flock should drink: `we are the people, and wisdom shall diewith us!' `The Temple of the Lord are we!' But the Temple of the Lordis larger, and wider, and higher, than their poor narrow souls. Maiden, listen to me, for I speak to thee words from God. The Church of Godconsists of the elect of God from the beginning to the end of the world, by the grace of God, through the merits of Christ, gathered together bythe Holy Ghost, and fore-ordained to eternal life. They that hear andunderstand the Word of God, receiving it to their souls' health, andbeing justified by Christ--these are the Church; these go into lifeeternal. Hast thou understood me, Maiden?"

"I don't--exactly--know, " she said slowly. "I should like tounderstand. But how can I know whether I am one of them or not?"

"Of the elect of God? If thou hast chosen God rather than the world, that is the strongest evidence thou canst have that He has chosen theeout of the world. "

"But I sha'n't be in the world--just exactly. You see I'm going to livein the anchorhold. That isn't the world. "

It was not easy to teach one who spoke a different dialect from theteacher. To Gerhardt, the world was the opposite of God; to Leuesa, itwas merely the opposite of the cloister. 

"Put `sin' for `the world, ' Maiden, " said Gerhardt, "and thou wiltunderstand me better. "

"But what must I do to keep out of sin?"

"`If thou wilt love Christ and follow His teaching, '" said Gerhardt, quoting from his confession of faith, "`thou must watch, and read theScriptures. Spiritual poverty of heart must thou have, and love purity, and serve God in humility. '"

"I can't read!" exclaimed Leuesa, in a tone which showed that she wouldhave deemed it a very extraordinary thing if she could. 

"Thou canst hear. Ermine will repeat them to thee, if thou ask her--solong as we are here. "

"Osbert says you won't be for long. He thinks you are bad people; Idon't know why. "

"Nor do I, seeing we serve God--save that the enemy of God and menspreads abroad falsehoods against us. "

They had reached the little postern of the Castle. Gerhardt rapped atthe door, and after two or three repetitions, it was opened. 

"Oh, it's you, is it?" said Stephen's voice behind it. "Get you inquickly, Leuesa, for Hagena's in a terrible tantrum. She declaresyou've run away. "

"I'm late, I know, " answered Leuesa humbly; "but I could not help it, Stephen. "

"Well, you'll catch it, I can tell you; and the longer you stay, themore you'll catch: so best get it over. --Gerard, will you come in? Iwant a word with you. "

Gerhardt stepped inside the postern, and Stephen beckoned him into anouthouse, at the moment untenanted. 

"What are you going to do?"

"About what?"

"What! Don't you know you are to be haled before the Bishops? Everybody else does. "

"Yes, I have been told so. "

"Are you going to wait for them?" demanded Stephen, with several notesof astonishment in his voice. 

"I am going to wait for the Lord. "

"You'll be a fool if you do!" The tone was compassionate, though thewords were rough. 

"Never. `They shall not be ashamed that wait for Him. '"

"Do you expect Him to come down from Heaven to save you from theBishops?"

"As He pleases, " said Gerhardt quietly. 

"But, man!--if you are a man, and not a stone--don't you know that theChurch has authority from God to bind and loose--that her sentence isHis also?"

"Your Church has no jurisdiction over mine. "

"My Church, forsooth! I am speaking of the Catholic Church, which hasauthority over every Christian on earth. "

"Where is it?"

"Every where. "

"The Church that is every where consists of faithful souls, elect ofGod. That Church will not condemn me for being faithful to the Word ofGod. "

"Oh, I can't split straws like you, nor preach like a doctor of theschools either. But one thing I can do, and that is to say, Gerard, youare in danger--much more danger than the rest. Get away while you can, and leave them to meet it. They won't do half so much to them as toyou. "

"`He that is an hireling, when he seeth the wolf coming, leaveth thesheep and fleeth; and the wolf catcheth them, and scattereth the sheep. 'Is that conduct you recommend, Stephen?"

"I recommend you to get outside of Oxford as fast as you can, and takeyour womankind with you; and if you don't, you'll be sorry, that's all. Now be off, and don't forget that you've been warned. Good night!"

"I have been warned thrice, friend. But where God has need of me, thereis my post, and there am I. There are penalties for desertion in thearmy of the Lord. I thank you for your kindly meaning. Good night!"

"Poor fool!" said Stephen to himself as he fastened the postern behindGerhardt. "Yet--`penalties for desertion'--I don't know. Which is thefool, I wonder? If I could have saved _her_!"

Gerhardt went back to the Walnut Tree, where they were sitting down tothe last meal. It consisted of "fat fish, " apple turnovers, and spicedale. 

"Eh dear!" said Isel, with a sigh. "To think that this is pretty nighthe last supper you'll ever eat in this house, Derette! I could crywith the best when I think of it. "

"You can come to see me whenever you wish, Mother--much better than if Iwere at Godstowe. "

"So I can, child; but you can't come to me. "

"I can send Leuesa to say that I want to see you. "

"Well, and if so be that I've broken my leg that very morning, and amlying groaning up atop of that ladder, with never a daughter to serveme--how then? Thou gone, and Flemild gone, and not a creature near!"

"You'll have Ermine. But you are not going to break your leg, Mother, Ihope. "

"You hope! Oh ay, hope's a fine trimming, but it's poor stuff for agown. And how long shall I have Ermine? She'll go and wed somebody orother--you see if she doesn't. "

Ermine smiled and shook her head. 

"Well, then, you'll have Agnes. "

"I shall have trouble--that's what I shall have: it's the only thingsure in this world: and it's that loving it sticks to you all thetighter if you've got nothing else. There's nought else does in thisworld--without it's dogs. "

"`There's a Friend that sticketh closer than a brother, '" quotedGerhardt softly. 

"There's precious few of them, " returned Isel, who naturally did notunderstand the allusion. "You'll not find one of that sort more thanonce in a--Mercy on us! here's a soldier walking straight in!--whateverdoes the man want?"

Gerhardt's quick eyes had caught the foreign texture of the soldier'smantle--the bronzed face with its likeness to Derette--the white crossof the English Crusader. 

"He wants his wife and children, I should think, " he answered calmly;and at the same moment the soldier said--

"Isel! Wife! Dost thou not know me?"

Nobody in the room could have given a clear and connected account ofwhat happened after that. Isel cried and laughed by turns, the majorityall talked at once, and little Rudolph, divided between fear andadmiration, clung to his mother, and cast furtive glances at thenew-comer. Manning was naturally astonished to see how his family hadgrown, and much had to be explained to him--the presence of the Germans, the approaching marriage of Flemild, the past marriage of Romund, andthe profession of Derette. The first and third he accepted with bluffgood-humour. As to the second, he said he would have a talk with RavenSoclin--very likely he was all right now, though he remembered him atroublesome lad. But Derette's fate did not appear quite to please him. She had been his pet, and he had pictured her future differently andmore according to his own notion of happiness. 

"Well, she seems to like it best herself, " said Isel, "and I don't seebut you have to leave folks to be happy their own way, though the waysome folks choose is mighty queer. Father Dolfin says we must alwaysgive God the best, and if we grudge it to Him, it wipes out the merit ofthe sacrifice. "

"Ay, Father Dolfin knows how they do things up yonder, " answeredManning. "Do thy duty, and leave the priest to see thou comest safe--that's my way of thinking. "

"But suppose he fails to `see'?" suggested Gerhardt. 

Manning eyed him rather suspiciously. 

"I hope you aren't one of that new lot that talk against the priests, "said he. "I've heard something of them as I came through Almayne andGuienne: saw one fellow flogged at the market-cross, that had let histongue run too freely. And I can tell you, I'm not one of that sort. You're welcome to stay while you behave decently, as I see you've been ahelp and comfort to my women here: but one word against the priests, orone wag of your head in irreverence to the holy mass, and out you go, bag and baggage!--ay, down to that child. "

Rudolph seemed frightened by the harsh tones and loud words, and whenManning ended by striking his hand upon his thigh with a resounding slapto enforce his threat, the child began to whimper. 

"I trust, friend, you will never see any irreverence in me towards aughtto which reverence is due, " replied Gerhardt; "but if you do, fulfilyour words, and I shall not trouble you longer. "

"Well, look out!" said Manning. "I don't much like your long prayersjust now: they're a bad sign. As to Haimet's Latin grace, I supposehe's learnt that in the schools; and praying in Latin isn't so bad. Buta cross over the supper-table is plenty good enough for me. I never didbelieve in folks that are always saying their prayers, and reckoning tobe better than their neighbours. "

"I believe in being as good as I can be, " said Gerhardt with a smile. "If that should make me better than my neighbours, it would hardly be myfault, would it? But in truth, Friend Manning, I do not think myselfany better, for I know too much of the evil of mine own heart. "

"Ay, that's the lingo of the pestilent vipers in Guienne! I could findin my heart to lay a silver penny you'll turn out to be one of thatbrood. Girls, I hope you haven't caught the infection? We'll wait afew days and see--what we shall see. "

"Eh, Manning, they're the peaceablest set ever came in a house!"exclaimed Isel. "Helped me over and over, they have, and never one of'em gave me an ill word. And Gerard's made a pretty penny with weavingand wood-carving, and every farthing he's given me, save what theywanted for clothes. Do, for mercy's sake, let 'em be! Flemild married, and Derette away to the anchorhold--I shall be a lost woman withoutAgnes and Ermine! Nigh on seven years they've been here, and I haven'tbeen so comfortable in all my life afore. They may have some queernotions in their heads--that I can't say; most folks have one way oranother--but they're downright good for help and quietness. They are, so!"

"What says Father Dolfin about them?"

"Well, he don't say much of no sort, " answered Isel doubtfully, with anuneasy recollection of one or two things he had lately said. "But I saythey're as good folks as ever walked in shoe-leather, and you'll notfind their match in Oxford, let be Kepeharme Lane. "

"Well, " said Manning, "let them bide a few days: we shall see. But Ishall brook no heresy, and so I give you fair warning. No heretic, known to me, shall ever darken the doors of a soldier of the cross!"

"I pray you, hold to that!" was Gerhardt's answer. 

The next morning dawned a fair autumn day. Manning seemed somewhat moreinclined to be friendly than on the previous evening, and matters wenton pleasantly enough until the hour of dinner. They had just risen fromtable when a rap came on the door. Flemild went to open it. 

"Holy saints!" they heard her cry. 

Then the door opened, and in walked two men in red and white livery, with four golden crosses patee embroidered on the left arm. With aglance round, they addressed themselves to Manning. 

"Are you the owner of this house?"

Manning knew in a moment who his visitors were--official sumners of theBishop of Lincoln. 

"I am, " he said. "What would you have?"

One of the sumners unrolled a parchment deed. 

"We have here a writ to take the bodies of certain persons believed tobe in your house, and we bid you, in the name of holy Church, that youaid us in the execution of our office. "

Isel, terribly frightened, was muttering Ave Marias by the dozen. ToGerhardt's forehead the blood had surged in one sudden flush, and thensubsiding, left him calm and pale. 

"When holy Church bids, I am her lowly servant, " was Manning's answer. "Do your duty. "

"You say well, " replied the sumner. "I demand the body of one Gerard, astranger of Almayne, of Agnes his wife, of Rudolph their son, and ofErmine, the man's sister. "

"Of what stand they accused?"

"Of the worst that could be--heresy. "

"Then will I give them no shelter. I pray you to note, Master Sumner, that I returned but last night from over seas, whither I have followedthe cross, and have not hitherto had any opportunity to judge of thesewhom I found here. "

"You will have opportunity to clear yourself before the Council, " saidthe sumner. "Find me a rope, good woman. Is _this_ your son?" headded, appealing to Gerhardt. 

"This is my son, " answered Gerhardt, with a tremulous smile. "He isscarcely yet old enough to commit crime. "

"Eh, dear, good gentlemen, you'll never take the little child!" pleadedIsel. "Why, he is but a babe. I'll swear to you by every saint in theCalendar, if you will, to bring him up the very best of CatholicChristians, under Father Dolfin's eye. What can he have done?"

"He believes what has been taught him, probably, " said the sumnergrimly. "But I cannot help it, good wife--the boy's name is in thewrit. The only favour in my power to show is to tie him with hismother. Come now, the rope--quick!"

"No rope of mine shall tie _them_!" said Isel, with sudden determinationwhich no one had expected from her. "You may go buy your own ropes forsuch innocent lambs, for I'll not find you one!"

"But a rope of mine shall!" thundered Manning. "Sit down, silly woman, and hold thy tongue. --I beseech you, my masters, to pardon this foolishcreature; women are always making simpletons of themselves. "

"Don't put yourself out, good man, " answered the sumner with a smile ofsuperiority; "I have a wife and four daughters. "

Haimet now appeared with a rope which he handed to the sumner, whoproceeded to tie together first Gerhardt and Ermine, then Agnes andRudolph. The child was thoroughly frightened, and sobbing piteously. 

"Oh deary, deary me!" wailed poor Isel. "That ever such a day shouldcome to my house! Dame Mary, and all the blessed Saints in Heaven, havemercy on us! Haven't I always said there was nought but trouble in thisworld?"

"It's no good vexing, Mother; it has to be, " said Flemild, but therewere tears in her eyes. "I'm glad Derette's not here. "

Derette had gone to see her cousins at the Castle, --a sort of farewellvisit before entering the anchorhold. 

"Then I'm sorry, " said Isel. "She might have given those rascals a lickwith the rough side of her tongue--much if she wouldn't, too. I'd liketo have heard it, I would!"

The prisoners were marched out, with much show of righteous indignationagainst them from Manning, and stolid assistance to the sumners on thepart of Haimet. When the door was shut and all quiet again, Manningcame up to Isel. 

"Come, Wife, don't take on!" he said, in a much more gentle tone thanbefore. "We must not let ourselves be suspected, you know. Perhapsthey'll be acquitted--they seem decent, peaceable folk, and it may befound to be a false accusation. So long as holy Church does not condemnthem, we need not: but you know we must not set ourselves against herofficers, nor get ourselves suspected and into trouble. Hush, children!the fewer words the better. They may turn out to be all wrong, and thenit would be sin to pity them. We can but wait and see. "

"Saints alive! but I'm in a whole sea of trouble already!" cried Isel. "We've lost six hands for work; and good workers too; and here had Ireckoned on Ermine tarrying with me, and being like a daughter to me, when my own were gone: and what am I to do now, never speak of them?"

"There are plenty more girls in the city, " said Manning. 

"Maybe: but not another Ermine. "

"Perhaps not; but it's no good crying over spilt milk, Isel. Do thebest you can with what you have; and keep your mouth shut about what youhave not. "

Haimet was seen no more till nearly bedtime, when he came in with theinformation that all the Germans had been committed to the Castledungeon, to await the arrival of King Henry, who had summoned a Councilof Bishops to sit on the question, the Sunday after Christmas. Thatuntried prisoners should be kept nearly four months in a dark, damp, unhealthy cellar, termed a dungeon, was much too common an occurrence toexcite surprise. Isel, as usual, lamented over it, and Derette, who hadseen the prisoners marched into the Castle yard, was as warm in hersympathy as even her mother could have wished. Manning tried, notunkindly, to silence them both, and succeeded only when they had wornthemselves out. 

About ten days later, Derette made her profession, and was installed inthe anchorhold, with Leuesa as her maid. The anchorhold consisted oftwo small chambers, some ten feet square, with a doorway ofcommunication that could be closed by a curtain. The inner room, whichwas the bedchamber, was furnished with two bundles of straw, two roughwoollen rugs, a tin basin, a wooden coffer, a form, and some hooks forhanging garments at one end. The outer room was kitchen and parlour; itheld a tiny hearth for a wood-fire (no chimney), another form, a smallpair of trestles and boards to form a table, which were piled in acorner when not wanted for immediate use; sundry shelves were put uparound the walls, and from hooks in the low ceiling hung a lamp, awater-bucket, a pair of bellows, a bunch of candles, a rope of onions, astring of dried salt fish, and several bundles of medical herbs. Thescent of the apartment, as may be imagined, was somewhat less fragrantthan that of roses. In one corner stood the Virgin Mary, newly-paintedand gilt; in the opposite one, Saint John the Baptist, whom the imagerhad made with such patent whites to his eyes, set in a bronzedcomplexion, that the effect was rather startling. A very smallselection of primitive culinary utensils lay on a shelf close to thehearth. Much was not wanted, when the most sumptuous meal to be had wasboiled fish or roasted onions. 

Derette was extremely tired, and it was no cause for wonder. From earlymorning she had been kept on the strain by most exciting incidents. Herchildhood's home, though it was scarcely more than a stone's throw fromher, she was never to see again. Father or brother might not even touchher hand any more. Her mother and sister could still enter her tinyabode; but she might never go out to them, no matter what necessityrequired it. Derette was bright, and sensible, and strong: but she wastired that night. And there was no better repose to be had than sittingon a hard form, and leaning her head against the chimney-corner. 

"Shut the window, Leuesa, " she said, "and come in. I am very weary, andI must sleep a little, if I can, before compline. "

"No marvel, Lady, " replied Leuesa, doing as she was requested. "I amsure you have had a tiring day. But your profession was lovely! Inever saw a prettier scene in my life. "

"Ay, marriages and funerals are both sights for the world. Which was itmost like, thinkest thou?"

"O Lady! a marriage, of course. Has it not made you the bride of JesuChrist?"

Leuesa fancied she heard a faint sigh from the chimney-corner; butDerette gave no answer. 

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

Note 1. The alner, or alms-bag, was the largest sort of purse used inthe Middle Ages. 

CHAPTER SEVEN. 

VIA DOLOROSA. 

 "We bless Thee for the quiet rest Thy servant taketh now, We bless Thee for his blessedness, and for his crowned brow; For every weary step he trod in faithful following Thee, And for the good fight foughten well, and closed right valiantly. "

The Church of Saint Mary the Virgin was filled to overflowing, but itwas not the church we know as such now. That more ancient edifice hadbeen built in the days of Alfred, and its nave was closely packed withthe clergy of Oxford and the neighbourhood, save a circle of curulechairs reserved for the members of the Council. Into the midst of theexcited crowd of clergy--among whom were sprinkled as many laymen, chiefly of the upper class, as could find room to squeeze in--filed animposing procession of dignitaries--priests, archdeacons, bishops--allrobed in full canonicals; the Bishop of the diocese being preceded byhis crucifer. There was as yet no bishopric of Oxford, and the diocesewas that of Lincoln. It was a point of the most rigid ecclesiasticaletiquette that no prelate should have his official cross borne beforehim in the diocese of another: and the standing quarrel between the twoarchbishops on that point was acute and long lasting. The clericalprocession was closed by the Dean of Saint Mary's--John de Oxineford--awarm opponent of Becket, the exiled and absent Primate. After theclergy came a number of the chief officers of state, and lastly, KingHenry the Second, who took his seat in the highest of the curule chairs, midmost among the others. 

The first of the Plantagenets was no common man. Like most of his race, he was a born statesman; and also like most of them, he allowed his evilpassions and natural corruption such free scope that his talents weresmothered under their weight. In person he was of middle stature, somewhat thickly built, with a large round head covered by curly hair, cut square upon the forehead. Long arms ended in large hands, the careof which he entirely neglected, never wearing gloves save when hecarried a hawk. His complexion was slightly florid, his eyes small butclear and sparkling, dove-like when he was pleased, but flashing fire inhis anger. Though his voice was tremulous, yet he could be an eloquentspeaker. He rarely sat down, but commonly stood, whether at mass, council, or meals. Except on ceremonial occasions, he was extremelycareless in his attire, wearing short clothes of a homely cut, andrequiring some persuasion to renew them. He detested every thing thatcame in the way of his convenience, whether long skirts, hangingsleeves, royal mantles, or boots with folding tops. He was (for histime) a great reader, a "huge lover of the woods" and of all sylvansports, fond of travelling, a very small eater, a generous almsgiver, afaithful friend--and a good hater. The model example which he setbefore him as a statesman was that of his grandfather, Henry First. TheEmpress Maud, his mother, was above all things Norman, and was nowliving in Normandy in peaceful old age. Perhaps her stormy and eventfullife had made her _feel_ weary of storms, for she rarely emerged fromher retirement except in the character of a peacemaker. Certainly shehad learnt wisdom by adversity. Her former supercilious sternness wasgone, and a meek and quiet spirit, which earned the respect of all, hadtaken its place. She may have owed that change, and her quiet close oflife, instrumentally, in some measure to the prayers of the good QueenMaud, that sweet and saintly mother to whom Maud the Empress had in herchildhood and maturity been so complete a contrast, and whom she nowresembled in her old age. Her son was unhappily not of her later tone, but rather of the earlier, though he rarely reached those passionatedepths of pride and bitterness through which his aged mother hadstruggled into calm. He did not share her Norman proclivities, butlooked back--as the mass of his people did with him--to the old Saxonlaws of Alfred and of Athelstan, which he called the customs of hisgrandfather. In a matter of trial for heresy, or a question ofdoctrine, he was the obedient servant of Rome; but when the Pope laidofficious hands on the venerable customs of England, and strove todictate in points of state law, he found no obedient servant in Henry ofAnjou. 

This morning, being a ceremonial occasion, His Majesty's attire hadrisen to it. He wore a white silken tunic, the border richlyembroidered in gold; a crimson dalmatic covered with golden stars; amantle of blue samite, fastened on the right shoulder with a goldenfermail set with a large ruby; and red hose, crossed by golden bands allup the leg. The mantle was lined with grey fur; golden lioncelsdecorated the fronts of the black boots; and a white samite cap, adornedwith ostrich feathers, and rising out of a golden fillet, reposed on theKing's head. 

When the members of the Council had taken their seats, and the Bishop ofLichfield had offered up sundry Latin prayers which about one in ten ofthe assembled company understood, the King rose to open the Council. 

"It is not unknown to you, venerable Fathers, " he said, "for whatpurpose I have convened this Council. There have come into my kingdomcertain persons, foreigners, from the dominions of the Emperor, who havegone about the country preaching strange doctrines, and who appear tobelong to some new foreign sect. I am unwilling to do injustice, eitherby punishing them without investigation, or by dismissing them asharmless if they are contaminating the faith and morals of the people. But inasmuch as it appertains to holy Church to judge questions of thatnature, I have here summoned you, my Fathers in God, and your clergy, that you may examine these persons, and report to me how far they areinnocent or guilty of the false doctrines whereof they are suspected. Ipray you therefore so to do: and as you shall report, so shall I knowhow to deal with them. "

His Majesty reseated himself, and the Bishop of the diocese rose, todeliver a long diatribe upon the wickedness of heresy, the infallibilityof the Church, and the necessity for the amputation of diseased limbs ofthe body politic. As nobody disagreed with any of his sentiments, theharangue was scarcely necessary; but time was of small value in thetwelfth century. Two other Bishops followed, with long speeches: andthen the Council adjourned for dinner, the Earl of Oxford being theirhost. 

On re-assembling about eleven o'clock, the King commanded the prisonersto be brought up. Up they came, the company of thirty--men, women, andchildren, Gerhardt the foremost at the bar. 

"Who are thou?" he was asked. 

"I am a German named Gerhardt, born in the dominions of the Duke ofFrancia, an elector of the Empire. "

"Art thou the leader of this company?"

"I am. "

"Wherefore earnest thou to this land?"

"Long ago, in my childhood, I had read of the blessed Boniface, who, being an Englishman, travelled into Almayne to teach our people thefaith of Christ. I desired to pay back to your land something of thedebt we owed her, by bringing back to her the faith of Christ. "

"Didst thou ignorantly imagine us without it?"

"I thought, " replied Gerhardt in his quiet manner, "that you couldscarcely have too much of it. "

"What is thy calling?"

"While in this country, I have followed the weaver's craft. "

"Art thou a lettered man?"

"I am. "

"Try him, " said one of the Bishops. A Latin book was handed up toGerhardt, from which he readily construed some sentences, until theCouncil declared itself satisfied on that point. This man before them, whatever else he might be, was no mere ignorant peasant. 

"Are the rest of thy company lettered men?"

"No. They are mostly peasants. "

"Have they gone about preaching, as thou hast?"

"The men have done so. "

"And how can ignorant peasants teach abstruse doctrines?"

"I do not think they attempted that. They kept to the simpledoctrines. "

"What understandest thou by that?" Gerhardt was beginning to answer, when the Bishop of Winchester interposed with another question. He wasPrince Henry of Blois, the brother of King Stephen, and a better warriorthan a cleric. "Art thou a priest?"

"I am not. "

"Go on, " said the Bishop of Lincoln, who led the examination. "Whatmeanest thou by the faith of Christ? What dost thou believe aboutChrist?"

Gerhardt's reply on this head was so satisfactory that the Bishop ofWorcester--not long appointed--whispered to his brother of Winchester, "The man is all right!"

"Wait, " returned the more experienced and pugnacious prelate. "We havenot come to the crux yet. "

"You call yourselves Christians, then?" resumed Lincoln. 

"Certainly we are Christians, and revere the doctrines of the Apostles. "

"What say you of the remedies for sin?"

"I know of one only, which is the blood of Christ our Lord. "

"How!--are the sacraments no remedies?"

"Certainly not. "

"Is sin not remitted in baptism?"

"No. "

"Is not the blood of Christ applied to sinners in the holy Eucharist?"

"I utterly refuse such a doctrine. "

"What say you of marriage? is that a sacrament?"

"I do not believe it. "

"Ha! the man is all right, is he?" whispered old Winchester satiricallyto his young neighbour, Worcester. 

"Doth not Saint Paul term marriage `_sacramentum magnum_'?"

"He did not write in Latin. "

This was awkward. The heretic knew rather too much. 

"Are you aware that all the holy doctors are against you?"

"I am not responsible for their opinions. "

"Do you not accept the interpretation of the Church?"

What his Lordship meant by this well-sounding term was a certain bundleof ideas--some of them very illiterate, some very delicatehair-splitting, some curious even to comicality, --gathered out of thewritings of a certain number of men, who assuredly were not inspired, since they often travesty Scripture, and at times diametricallycontradict it. Having lived in the darkest times of the Church, theywere extremely ignorant and superstitious, even the best of them beingenslaved by fancies as untrue in fact as they were unspiritual in tone. It might well have been asked as the response, Where is it?--for noChurch, not even that of Rome herself, has ever put forward anauthorised commentary explanatory of holy Scripture. Her"interpretation of the Church" has to be gathered here and there byabstruse study, and so far as her lay members are concerned, ispractically received from the lips of the nearest priest. Gerhardt, however, did not take this line in replying, but preferred to answer theBishop's inaccurate use of the word Church, which Rome impudently deniesto all save her corrupt self. He replied--

"Of the true Church, which is the elect of God throughout all ages, fore-ordained to eternal life? I see no reason to refuse it. "

The Scriptural doctrine of predestination has been compared to "a redrag" offered to a bull, in respect of its effect on those--whethervotaries of idols or latitudinarianism--who are conscious that they arenot the subjects of saving grace. To none is it more offensive than toa devout servant of the Church of Rome. The Bishop took up the offenceat once. 

"You hold that heresy--that men are fore-ordained to eternal life?"

"I follow therein the Apostle Paul and Saint Austin. "

This was becoming intolerable. 

"Doth not the Apostle command his hearers to `work out their ownsalvation'?"

"Would it please my Lord to finish the verse?"

It did not please my Lord to finish the verse, as that would have put anextinguisher on his interpretation of it. 

"These heretics refuse to be corrected by Scripture!" he cried instead, as a much more satisfactory thing to say. 

Gerhardt's quiet answer was only heard by those near him--"I have notbeen so yet. "

This aggravating man must be put down. The Bishop raised his voice. 

"Speak, ye that are behind this man. Do ye accept the interpretation ofScripture taught by the Church our mother, to whom God hath committedthe teaching of all her children?"

Old Berthold replied. "We believe as we have been taught, but we do notwish to dispute. "

"Ye are obstinate in your heresy! Will ye do penance for the same?"

"No, " answered Gerhardt. 

"Let them have one more chance, " said King Henry in a low voice. "Ifthey are unsound on one point only, there might yet be hope of theirconversion. "

"They are unsound on every point, my Lord, " replied Lincoln irascibly;"but at your desire I will test them on one or two more. --Tell me, do yebelieve that the souls of the dead pass into Purgatory?"

"We do not. "

"Do you pray for the dead?"

"No. "

"Do you invocate the blessed Mary and the saints, and trust to theirmerits and intercession?"

"Never. We worship God, not men. "

At this point Winchester beckoned to Lincoln, and whispered something inhis ear. 

"I am told, " pursued the latter, addressing Gerhardt, "that you hold thepriests of holy Church not to be validly consecrated, and have so saidin public. Is it so?"

"It is so. The temporal power of the Pope has deprived the Church ofthe true consecration. You have only the shadow of sacraments, and thetraditions of men. "

"You reject the holy sacraments entirely, then?"

"Not so. We observe the Eucharist at our daily meals. Our Lord bade us`as oft as we should drink, ' to take that wine in remembrance of Him. We do His bidding. "

"Ye presume to profane the Eucharist thus!" cried Lichfield in pioushorror. "Ye administer to yourselves--"

"As Saint Basil held lawful, " interposed Gerhardt. 

"Saint Basil spoke of extraordinary occasions when no priest could behad. "

"But if it be lawful at any time to receive without priestlyconsecration, it cannot be unlawful, at every time. "

It did not occur to the Bishop to ask the pertinent question, in whatpassage of Scripture priestly consecration of the Eucharist wasrequired, --nay, in what passage any consecration at all is evermentioned. For at the original institution of the rite, our Lordconsecrated nothing, but merely gave thanks to God [Note 1], as it wascustomary for the master of the house to do at the Passover feast; andseeing that "if He were on earth, He should not be a priest. " [Note 2. ]He cannot have acted as a priest when He was on earth. We have evendistinct evidence that He declined so to act [Note 3]. And in anysubsequent allusions to this Sacrament in the New Testament [Note 4], there is no mention of either priests or consecration. It did not, however, suit the Bishop to pursue this inconvenient point. He passedat once to another item. 

"Ye dare to touch the sacred cup reserved to the priests--"

"When did Christ so reserve it? His command was, `Drink ye all of it. '"

"To the Apostles, thou foolish man!"

"Were they priests at that time?"

This was the last straw. The question could not be answered except inthe negative, for if the ordination of the Apostles be not recordedafter the Resurrection [John twenty 21-23], then there is no record oftheir having been ordained at all. To be put in a corner in this mannerwas more than a Bishop could stand. 

"How darest thou beard me thus?" he roared. "Dost thou not know whatmay follow? Is not the King here, who has the power of life and death, and is he not an obedient son of holy Church?"

The slight smile on Gerhardt's lips said, "Not very!" But his onlywords were--

"Ay, I know that ye have power. `This is your hour, and the power ofdarkness. ' We are not afraid. We have had our message of consolation. `Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness' sake; fortheirs is the kingdom of the heavens. '"

"Incredible folly!" exclaimed Lincoln. "That was said to the earlyChristians, who suffered persecution from the heathen: not to heretics, smarting under the deserved correction of the Church. How dare you somisapply it?"

"All the Lord's martyrs were not in the early Church. `We are thecircumcision, who worship God in spirit, and glory in Christ Jesus, andhave no confidence in the flesh. ' Do to us what ye will. `Whether welive, we live unto the Lord; or whether we die, we die unto the Lord. Living or dying, we are the Lord's. '"

"We solemnly adjudge you false heretics, " was the stern reply, "anddeliver you up to our Catholic Prince for punishment. Depart in peace!"

Gerhardt looked up. "`My peace I give unto you; not as the worldgiveth, give I unto you!' Be it so. We go in peace; we go to peace. Our suffering will soon be over. Already we behold Jesus our Lord atthe right hand of God, and we are ready to partake of His sufferings, that we may reign with Him. "

King Henry now rose to pronounce sentence. The condemned criminalsbefore him were to be branded on the forehead with a mark of ignominy, to be scourged, and cast forth out of the city. No man might receivethem under his roof, relieve them with food, nor administer to themconsolation of any sort. And this was the sentence of the King and ofholy Church, to the honour and laud of God, and of Mary, His mostglorious Mother!

The sentence was carried out even more barbarously than it waspronounced. The foreheads of all were branded with hot irons, they werewhipped through the city, and their clothes having been cut short to thegirdle [John twenty 21-23], they were turned into the snow-coveredfields. One of the men appointed to use the branding-irons had justlost a daughter, and moved by a momentary impulse of pity (for which heafterwards blamed himself and did penance), he passed two or three ofthe younger women--Ermine among them--with a lighter brand than therest. No such mercy was shown to the men or the elder women, nor wouldit have been to Ermine, had it not been the case that her extremefairness made her look much younger than she really was. 

Gerhardt, being regarded as the ringleader, was also branded on thechin. 

"Courage, my children!" he said to the shivering, trembling littlecompany, as they were marched down High Street. "We are countedworthy--worthy to suffer shame for Him who suffered dire shame for us. Let us praise God. "

And to the amazement, alike of the officials and the crowd ofspectators, the song was set up, and echoed into the sidestreets--"Blessed are ye, when men shall persecute you, for the Son ofMan's sake!" varied every now and then by a joyous chorus of "Glory toGod in the highest! on earth peace, goodwill towards men!"

The song was heard clearly enough in the Walnut Tree: so clearly, thatFlemild even fancied she could distinguish Ermine's voice from the rest. 

"Mother, will you go and look?" she asked, tears running down her face. 

"I'll not go near, " said Isel, in a tone of defiance very unusual withher. "I'll not get your father and you into trouble. And if I were togo, much if I didn't tear somebody a-pieces. "

"O Mother! you wouldn't touch our old friends? They've enough to bear, surely. "

"I said _somebody_! child!" was the growl in answer: and Flemild did notventure to reply. 

Fainter and fainter grew the sounds; only strengthened for a minute whenthe higher notes of the chorus supervened. Then came a great roar ofapplause from the crowd, as the East Gate was reached, and the hereticswere cast out from the priest-ridden city. But they scarcely heard thatin Kepeharme Lane. 

At the window of the anchorhold stood Derette, having sent Leuesa tobring her word what happened. She could see nothing, yet she heard thejoyous chant of "Glory to God in the highest!" as the crowd and thecondemned swept down the street just beyond her ken. Leuesa did noteven try to hide her tears when she reached the shelter of theanchorhold: before that, it would have been perilous to shed them. 

"Oh, it was dreadful, Lady! Gerard never looked at any one: he walkedfirst, and he looked as if he saw nothing but God and Heaven. Agnes Icould not see, nor the child; I suppose they were on the other side. But Ermine saw me, and she gave me a smile for you--I am sure she meantit for you--such as an angel might have given who had been a few hourson earth, and was just going back to his place before the Throne. "

Manning and Haimet, who had joined the crowd of sightseers, had notreturned when the latch of the Walnut Tree was lifted, and Anania walkedin. 

"What, both stayed at home! O Aunt Isel, you have missed such a sight!"

"Well, you've got it, then, I suppose, " muttered Isel. 

"I shall never forget it--not if I live to be a hundred. "

"Umph! Don't think I shall neither. "

"Now, didn't I tell you those foreigners were no good? Osbert alwayssaid so. I knew I was right. And I am, you see. "

"You're standing in my light, Anania--that's all I can see at present. "

Anania moved about two inches. "Oh, but it was grand to see the Councilcome out of Saint Mary's! All the doctors in their robes, and theBishops, and last the King--such a lovely shade his mantle was! It's apity the Queen was not there too; I always think a procession's halfspoiled when there are no ladies. "

"Oh, that's what you're clucking about, is it? Processions, indeed!"

"Aunt Isel, are you very cross, or what's the matter with you?"

"She's in pain, I fear, " said Flemild quickly. 

"Where's the pain? I've gathered some splendid fresh betony andholy-thistle. "

"Here!" said Isel, laying her hand on her heart. 

"Why, then, holy-thistle's just what you want. I'll send you some downby Stephen. "

"Thank you. But it'll do me no good. "

"Oh, don't you say that, now. --Flemild, I wonder you did not come to seeall the sights. You'll find you've not nearly so much time for pleasureafter you're married; don't look for it. Have you settled when it's tobe?"

"It was to have been last month, you know, but Father wanted it putoff. "

"Ay, so as he could know Raven a bit better. Well, when is it to benow?"

"March, they say. "

"You don't say it as if you enjoyed it much. "

"Maybe she takes her pleasure in different ways from you, " said Isel. "Can't see any, for my part, in going to see a lot of poor wretchesflogged and driven out into the snow. Suppose you could. "

"O Aunt!--when they were heretics?"

"No, _nor murderers neither_--without they'd murdered me, and then Ireckon I shouldn't have been there to look at 'em. "

"But the priests say they are worse than murderers--they murder men'ssouls. "

"I'm alive, for aught I know. And I don't expect to say my Paternosterany worse than I did seven years gone. "

"How do you know they haven't bewitched you?" asked Anania in a solemntone. 

"For the best of all reasons--that I'm not bewitched. "

"Aunt Isel, I'm not so sure of that. If those wretches--"

"O Anania, do let Mother be!" pleaded Flemild. "It is her pain thatspeaks, not herself. I told you she was suffering. "

"You did; but I wonder if her soul isn't worse than her body. I'll justgive Father Dolfin a hint to look to her soul and body both. They saythose creatures only bewitched one maid, and she was but a poor villeinbelonging to some doctor of the schools: and so frightened was she tosee their punishment that she was in a hurry to recant every thing theyhad taught her. Well! we shall see no more of them, that's one goodthing. I shouldn't think any of them would be alive by the end of theweek. The proclamation was strict--neither food nor shelter to begiven, nor any compassion shown. And branded as they are, every bodywill know them, you see. "

Stephen came in while his sister-in-law was speaking. 

"Come, now, haven't you had talk enough?" said he. "You've a tongue aslong as from here to Banbury Cross. You'd best be going home, Anania, for Osbert's as cross as two sticks, and he'll be there in a fewminutes. "

"Oh dear, one never has a bit of peace! I did think I could have sat awhile, and had a nice chat. "

"It won't be so nice if you keep Osbert waiting, I can tell you. "

Anania rose with evident reluctance, and gathered her mantle round her. 

"Well, good-day, Aunt Isel! I'll send you down the holy-thistle. Good-day, Flemild. Aren't you coming with me, Stephen?"

"No; I want to wait for Uncle Manning. "

"Stephen, I'm obliged to you for ever and ever! If she'd stayed anotherminute, I should have flown at her!"

"You looked as if you'd come to the end of your patience, " said Stephen, smiling, but gravely; "and truly, I don't wonder. But what's this aboutholy-thistle? Are you sick, Aunt Isel?"

Isel looked searchingly into her nephew's face. 

"You look true, " she said; "I think you might be trusted, Stephen. "

"Oh, _if_ you're grieving over _them_, don't be afraid to tell me so. Idid my best to save Gerard, but he would not be warned. I'd have caughtup the child and brought him to you, if I'd had a chance; but I washemmed in the crowd, a burly priest right afore me, and I couldn't havelaid hand on him. Poor souls! I'm sorry for them. "

"God bless thee for those words, Stephen! I'm sore for them to the verycore of my heart. If they'd been my own father's children or mine, Icouldn't feel sadder than I do. And to have to listen to those hard, cold, brutal words from that woman--. "

"I know. She is a brute. I guessed somewhat how things were going withyou, for I saw her turn in here from the end of Saint Edward's; and Ithought you mightn't be so sorry to have her sent off. Her tongue's notso musical as might be. "

Manning and Haimet came in together. The former went up to Isel, whileHaimet began a conversation with his cousin, and after a moment the twoyoung men left the house together. Then Manning spoke. 

"Wife and children, " said he, "from this day forward, no word is to beuttered in my house concerning these German people. They are heretics, so pronounced by holy Church; and after that, no compassion may be shownto them. Heretics are monsters, demons in human form, who seek the ruinof souls. Remember my words. "

Isel looked earnestly in her husband's face. 

"No, " said Manning, not unkindly, but firmly; "no excuses for them, Isel. I can quite understand that you feel sorry for those whom youhave regarded as friends for seven years: but such sorrow is now sin. You must crush and conquer it. It were rebellion against God, who hasjudged these miscreants by the lips of His Church. "

Isel broke down in a very passion of tears. 

"I can't help it, Manning; I can't help it!" she said, when she couldspeak. "It may be sin, but I must do it and do penance for it--it's nota bit of use telling me I must not. I'll try not to talk if you bid mebe silent, but you must give me a day or two to get quieted, --till everyliving creature round has done spitting venom at them. I don't promiseto hold my tongue to that ninny of an Anania--she aggravates me while itisn't in human nature to keep your tongue off her; it's all I can do tohold my hands. "

"She is very provoking, Father, " said Flemild in an unsteady voice; "shewears Mother fairly out. "

"You may both quarrel with Anania whenever you please, " replied Manningcalmly; "I've nothing to say against that. But you are not to makeexcuses for those heretics, nor to express compassion for them. Nowthose are my orders: don't let me have to give them twice. "

"No, Father; you shall not, to me, " said Flemild in a low tone. 

"I can't promise you nothing, " said Isel, wiping her eyes on her apron, "because I know I shall just go and break it as fast as it's made: butwhen I can, I'll do your bidding, Manning. And till then, you'll haveeither to thrash me or forgive me--whichever you think the properestthing to do. "

Manning walked away without saying more. 

Snow, snow everywhere!--lying several inches deep on the tracks ourforefathers called roads, drifted several feet high in corners andclefts of the rocks. Pure, white, untrodden, in the silent fields; buttrampled by many feet upon the road to Dorchester, the way taken by thehapless exiles. No voice was raised in pity, no hand outstretched forhelp; every door was shut against the heretics. Did those who in afteryears were burned at the stake on the same plea suffer more or less thanthis little band of pioneers, as one after another sank down, and diedin the white snow? The trembling hands of the survivors heaped overeach in turn the spotless coverlet, and then they passed on to their ownspeedy fate. 

The snow descended without intermission, driving pitilessly in thescarred faces of the sufferers. Had they not known that it came fromthe hand of their heavenly Father, they might have fancied that Satanwas warring against them by that means, as the utmost and the last thingthat he could do. But as the snow descended, the song ascended asunceasingly. Fainter and less full it grew to human ears, as one voiceafter another was silenced. It may be that the angels heard it richerand louder, as the choristers grew more few and weak. 

Of the little family group which we have followed, the first to give waywas Agnes. She had taken from her own shivering limbs, to wrap roundthe child, one of the mutilated garments which alone her tormentors hadleft her. As they approached Nuneham, she staggered and fell. Guelphand Adelheid ran to lift her up. 

"Oh, let me sleep!" she said. "I can sing no more. "

"Ay, let her sleep, " echoed Gerhardt in a quivering voice; "she willsuffer least so. Farewell for a moment, my true beloved! We shall meetagain ere the hour be over. "

Gerhardt held on but a little longer. Doubly branded, and more brutallyscourged than the rest, he was so ill from the first that he had to behelped along by Wilhelm and Conrad, two of the strongest in the littlecompany. How Ermine fared they knew not: they could only tell that whenthey reached Bensington, she was no longer among them. Most of thechildren sank early. Little Rudolph fared the best, for a young motherwho had lost her baby gave him such poor nourishment as she could fromher own bosom. It was just as they came out of Dorchester, that theylaid him down tenderly on a bed of leaves in a sheltered corner, tosleep out his little life. Then they passed on, still southwards--stillsinging "Glory to God in the highest!" and "Blessed are they which arepersecuted for righteousness' sake!" Oh, what exquisite music must havefloated up through the gates of pearl, and filled the heavenly places, from that poor faint song, breathed by those trembling voices that couldscarcely utter the notes!

A few hours later, and only one dark figure was left tottering throughthe snow. Old Berthold was alone. 

Snow everywhere!--and the night fell, and the frost grew keen; andBensington had not long been left behind when old Berthold lay down inthe ditch at the road-side. He had sung his last song, and could go nofurther. He could only wait for the chariot of God--for thewhite-winged angels to come silently over the white snow, and carry himHome. 

"The Lord will not forget me, though I am the last left, " he said tohimself. "His blessings are not mere empty words. `Glory to God in thehighest!'" And Berthold slept. 

"Rudolph!" The word was breathed softly, eagerly, by some moving thingclosely wrapped up, in the dense darkness of the field outsideDorchester. There was no answer. 

"Rudolph!" came eagerly again. 

The speaker, who was intently listening, fancied she heard the faintestpossible sound. Quickly, quietly, flitting from one point to another, feeling with her hands on the ground, under the bushes, by the walls, she went, till her outstretched hands touched something round and soft, and not quite so chillingly cold as every thing else seemed to be thatnight. 

"Rudolph! art thou here?"

"Yes, it's me, " said the faint childish voice. "Where am I?--and whoare you?"

"Drink, " was the answer; and a bottle of warm broth was held to theboy's blue lips. Then, when he had drunk, he was raised from theground, clasped close to a woman's warm breast, and a thick fur mantlewas hastily wrapped round them both. 

"Who are you?" repeated the child. "And where--where's Mother?"

"I am an old friend, my little child. Hast thou ever heard the name ofCountess?"

"Yes, " murmured the child feebly. He could not remember yet how orwhere he had heard it; he only knew that it was not strange to him. 

"That is well. Glory be to the Blessed that I have found thee in timeto save thee!"

They were speeding back now into the lighted town--not lighted, indeed, by out-door lamps, but by many an open door and uncovered window, andthe lanterns of passengers going up or down the street. Countesscarried the child to a stone house--only Jews built stone houses intowns at that day--and into a ground-floor room, where she laid him downon a white couch beside the fire. There were two men in the room--bothold, and with long white beards. 

"Countess! what hast thou there?" sternly asked one of the men. 

"Father Jacob!--a babe of the Goyim!" exclaimed the other. 

"Hush!" said Countess in a whisper, as she bent over the boy. "The lifeis barely in him. May the Blessed (to whom be praise!) help me to savemy darling!"

"Accursed are all the infidels!" said the man who seemed slightly theyounger of the two. "Daughter, how earnest thou by such a child, andhow darest thou give him such a name?"

Countess made no answer. She was busy feeding little Rudolph with bitsof bread sopped in warm broth. 

"Where am I?" asked the child, as sense and a degree of strengthreturned to him. "It isn't Isel's house. "

"Wife, dost thou not answer the Cohen?" said the elder man angrily. 

"The Cohen can wait for his answer; the child cannot for his life. WhenI think him safe I will answer all you choose. "

At length, after careful feeding and drying, Countess laid down thespoon, and covered the child with a warm woollen coverlet. 

"Sleep, my darling!" she said softly. "The God of Israel hush theeunder His wings!"

A few moments of perfect quiet left no doubt that little Rudolph wassound asleep. Then Countess stood up, and turned to the Rabbi. 

"Now, Cohen, I am ready. Ask me what you will. "

"Who and what is this child?"

"An exile, as we are. An orphan, cast on the great heart of theAll-Merciful. A trust which was given to me, and I mean to fulfil it. "

"That depends on the leave of thy lord. "

"It depends on nothing of the sort. I sware to the dead father of thisboy that I would protect him from all hurt. "

"Sware! Well, then--" said the elder Jew--"an oath must be fulfilled, Cohen?"

"That depends on circumstances, " returned the Rabbi in Jesuitical wise. "For instance, if Countess sware by any idol of the Goyim, it is void. If she sware by her troth, or faith, or any such thing, it may bedoubtful, and might require a synod of the Rabbins to determine it. Butif she sware by the Holy One (blessed be He!) then the oath must stand. But of course, daughter, thou wilt have the boy circumcised, and bringhim up as a proselyte of Israel. "

The expression in the eyes of Countess did not please the Rabbi. 

"Thus I sware, " she said: "`God do so to me and more also, if I bringnot the child to you unhurt!' How can I meet that man at the day ofdoom, if I have not kept mine oath--if I deliver not the boy to himunhurt, as he will deem hurting?"

"But that were to teach him the idolatries of the Goyim!" exclaimed theRabbi in horror. 

"I shall teach him no idolatry. Only what his father would have taughthim--and I know what that was. I have listened to him many a day onPresthey and Pary's Mead. "

"Countess, I shall not suffer it. Such a thing must not be done in myhouse. "

"It has to be done in mine, " said Countess doggedly. 

"I do not forbid thee to show mercy to the child. If he be, as thousayest, an orphan and an exile, and thou moreover hast accepted somefashion of trust with regard to him (however foolish it were to do so), I am willing that thou shouldst keep him a day or two, till he hasrecovered. But then shelter must be sought for him with the Goyim. "

"Do you two know, " said Countess, in a low voice of concentrateddetermination, "that this child's parents, and all of their race thatwere with them, have been scourged by the Goyim?--branded, and castforth as evil, and have died in the night and in the snow, because theywould _not_ worship idols? These are not of the brood of the priests, who hate them. The boy is mine, and shall be brought up as mine. Isware it. "

"But not for life?"

"I sware it. "

"Did the child's father know what thou hadst sworn? as if not, perchancethere may be means to release thee. "

The black eyes flashed fire. 

"I tell you, I sware unto him by Adonai, the God of Israel, and He knewit! In the lowest depths and loftiest heights of my own soul I sware, and He heard it. I repeated the vow this night, when I clasped the boyto my heart once more. God will do so to me and more also, if I bringnot the boy unhurt to his father and his mother at the Judgment Day!"

"But, my daughter, if it can be loosed?"

"What do I care for your loosing? He will not loose me. And the childshall not suffer. I will die first. "

"Let the child tarry till he has recovered: did I not say so? Then hemust go forth. "

"If you turn him forth, you turn me forth with him. "

"Nonsense!"

"You will see. I shall never leave him. My darling, my whitesnow-bird! I shall never leave the boy. "

"My daughter, " said the Rabbi softly, for he thought the oil mightsucceed where the vinegar had failed, "dost thou not see that Leo'sadvice is the best? The child must tarry with thee till he is well; noman shall prevent that. "

"Amen!" said Countess. 

"But that over, is it not far better both for him and thee that heshould go to the Goyim? We will take pains, for the reverence of thineoath, to find friends of his parents, who will have good care of him: Ipromise thee it shall be done, and Leo will assent thereto. "

Leo confirmed the words with--"Even so, Cohen!"

"But I pray thee, my daughter, remember what will be thought of thee, ifthou shouldst act as thou art proposing to do. It will certainly besupposed that thou art wavering in the faith of thy fathers, if even itbe not imagined that thou hast forsaken it. Only think of the horror ofsuch a thing!"

"I have not forsaken the faith of Abraham. "

"I am sure of that; nevertheless, it is good thou shouldst say it. "

"If the Cohen agree, " said Leo, stroking his white beard, "I am willingto make a compromise. As we have no child, and thou art so fond ofchildren, the child shall abide with thee, on condition that thou take alike oath to bring him up a proselyte of Israel: and then let him becircumcised on the eighth day after his coming here. But if not, somefriend of his parents must be found. What say you, Cohen?"

"I am willing so to have it. "

"I am not, " said Countess shortly. "As to friends of the child'sparents, there are none such, save the God for whom they died, and inwhose presence they stand to-night. I must keep mine oath. Unhurt inbody, unhurt in soul, according to their conception thereof, andaccording to my power, will I bring the boy to his father at the comingof Messiah. "

"Wife, wouldst thou have the Cohen curse thee in the face of allIsrael?"

"These rash vows!" exclaimed the Rabbi, in evident uneasiness. "Daughter, it is written in the Thorah that if any woman shall make avow, her husband may establish it or make it void, if he do so in theday that he hear it; and the Blessed One (unto whom be praise!) shallforgive her, and she shall not perform the vow. "

"The vow was made before I was Leo's wife. "

"Well, but in the day that he hath heard it, it is disallowed. "

"There is something else written in the Thorah, Cohen. `Every vow of awidow, or of her that is divorced, shall stand. '"

"Father Isaac! when didst thou read the Thorah? Women have no businessto do any such thing. "

"It is there, whether they have or not. "

"Then it was thy father's part to disallow it. "

"I told him of my vow, and he did not. "

"That is an awkward thing!" said Leo in a low tone to the Rabbi. 

"I must consult the Rabbins, " was the answer. "It may be we shall finda loophole, to release the foolish woman. Canst thou remember the exactwords of thy vow?"

"What matter the exact words? The Holy One (blessed be He!) looketh onthe heart, and He knew what I meant to promise. "

"Yet how didst thou speak?"

"I have told you. I said, `God do so to me and more also, if I bringnot the child to you unhurt!'"

"Didst thou say `God'? or did the man say it, and thy word was only`He'?" asked the Rabbi eagerly, fancying that he saw a way of escape. 

"What do I know which it was? I meant Him, and that is in His eyes asif I had said it. "

"Countess, if thou be contumacious, I cannot shelter thee, " said Leosternly. 

"My daughter, " answered the Rabbi, still suavely, though he was not farfrom anger, "I am endeavouring to find thee a way of escape. "

"I do not wish to escape. I sware, and I will do it. Oh, bid medepart!" she cried, almost fiercely, turning to Leo. "I cannot bearthis endless badgering. Give me my raiment and my jewels, and bid medepart in peace!"

There was a moment's dead silence, during which the two old men lookedfixedly at each other. Then the Rabbi said--

"It were best for thee, Leo. Isaac the son of Deuslesalt [probably atranslation of Isaiah or Joshua] hath a fair daughter, and he is richerthan either Benefei or Jurnet. She is his only child. "

"I have seen her: she is very handsome. Yet such a winter night! Wewill wait till morning, and not act rashly. "

"No: now or not at all, " said Countess firmly. 

"My daughter, " interposed the Rabbi hastily, "there is no need to berash. If Leo give thee now a writing of divorcement, thou canst notabide in his house to-night. Wait till the light dawns. Sleep maybring a better mind to thee. "

Countess vouchsafed him no answer. She turned to her husband. 

"I never wished to dwell in thy house, " she said very calmly, "but Ihave been a true and obedient wife. I ask thee now for what I think Ihave earned--my liberty. Let me go with my little child, whom I lovedearly, --go to freedom, and be at peace. I can find another shelter forto-night. And if I could not, it would not matter--for me. "

She stooped and gathered the sleeping child into her arms. 

"Speak the words, " she said. "It is the one boon that I ask of you. "

Leo rose--with a little apparent reluctance--and placed writingmaterials before the Rabbi, who with the reed-pen wrote, or ratherpainted, a few Hebrew words upon the parchment. Then Leo, handing it tohis wife, said solemnly--

"Depart in peace!"

The fatal words were spoken. Countess wrapped herself and Rudolph inthe thick fur mantle, and turned to leave the room, saying to the manwhose wife she was no longer--

"I beseech you, send my goods to my father's house. Peace be unto you!"

"Peace be to thee, daughter!" returned the Rabbi. 

Then, still carrying the child, she went out into the night and thesnow. 

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

Note 1. See Matthew 27 verses 26, 27; Mark fourteen verses 22, 23; Luketwenty-two verses 17, 20; One Corinthians eleven verse 24, when it willbe seen that "blessed" means gave thanks to God, not blessed theelements. 

Note 2. Hebrews Seven verse 14; Eight verse 4. 

Note 3. Matthew Eight verse 4. 

Note 4. Acts two verse 46; twenty-seven verse 11; One Corinthianseleven verses 20-34. 

Note 5. Diceto makes this barbarity a part of the sentence passed onthe Germans. Newbury mentions it only as inflicted. 

CHAPTER EIGHT. 

IN THE WHITE WITCH'S HUT. 

 "But all my years have seemed so long; And toil like mine is wondrous dreary; And every body thinks me strong: And I'm aweary. "

 M. A. Chaplin. 

"Heigh-Ho! It's a weary life, Gib--a weary life!"

The words came from an old woman, and were addressed to a cat. Neitherof them was an attractive-looking object. The old woman was very old, having a face all over minute wrinkles, a pair of red eyes much sunken, and the semblance of a beard under her chin. The cat, a dark tabby, looked as if he had been in the wars, and had played his part valiantly. His coat, however, was less dilapidated than the old woman's garments, which seemed to be composed mainly of disconnected rags of all coloursand shapes. She sat on a three-legged stool, beside a tiny hearth, onwhich burned a small fire of sticks. 

"Nobody cares for us, Gib: nobody! They call me a witch--the saintsknow why, save that I am old and poor. I never did hurt to any, andI've given good herb medicines to the women about; and if I do mutter afew outlandish words over them, what harm does it do? They meannothing; and they make the foolish girls fancy I know something morethan they do, and so I get a silver penny here, or a handful of eggsthere, and we make shift to live. "

She spoke aloud, though in a low voice, as those often do who livealone; and the cat rose and rubbed himself against her, with a soft"Me-ew!"

"Well, Gib! Didst thou want to remind me that so long as thou artalive, I shall have one friend left? Poor puss!" and she stroked heruncomely companion. 

"How the wind whistles! Well, it is cold to-night! There'll be nobodycoming now to consult the Wise Woman. We may as well lie down, Gib--it's the only warm place, bed is. Holy saints! what's that?"

She listened intently for a moment, and Gib, with erect tail, went tothe door and smelt under it. Then he looked back at his mistress, andsaid once more, --"Me-ew!"

"Somebody there, is there? A bit frightened, I shouldn't wonder. Comein, then--there's nought to fear, "--and she opened the crazy door of herhut. "Well, can't you come in--must I lift you up? Why, what--Mary, Mother!"

Half lifting, half dragging, for very little strength was left her, theold woman managed to pull her visitor inside. Then she bolted the door, and stooping down, with hands so gentle that they might have been aninfant's, softly drew away from a young scarred face the snow-saturatedhair. 

"Ay, I see, my dear, I see! Don't you try to speak. I can guess whatyou are, and whence you come. I heard tell what had happened. Don'tyou stir, now, but just drink a drop of this warm mallow tea--the finestthing going for one in your condition. I can't give you raiment, forI've none for myself, but we'll see to-morrow if I can't get hold o'somewhat: you've not been used to wear rags. I'll have 'em, if I steal'em. Now, don't look at me so reproachful-like! well, then, I'll beg'em, if it worries you. Oh, you're safe here, my dear! you've no needto look round to see if no villains is a-coming after you. They'll notturn up in these quarters, take my word for it. Not one o' them wouldcome near the witch's hut after nightfall. But I'm no witch, mydearie--only a poor old woman as God and the blessed saints have quiteforgot, and folks are feared of me. "

"The Lord never forgets, " the parched lips tried to say. 

"Don't He? Hasn't He forgot both you and me, now?"

"No--never!"

"Well, well, my dear! Lie still, and you shall tell me any thing youwill presently. Have another sup!--just one at once, and often--you'llsoon come round. I know some'at about herbs and such-like, if I knownought else. See, let me lay this bundle of straw under your head;isn't that more comfortable, now? Poor thing, now what are you a-cryingfor?--does your face pain you bad? I'll lay some herbs to it, and youwon't have so much as a scar there when they've done their work. Ay, Iknow some'at about herbs, I do! Deary me, for sure!--poor thing, poorthing!"

"The Lord bless you!"

"Child, you're the first that has blessed me these forty years! and Inever hear _that_ name. Folks take me for one of Sathanas' servants, and they never speak to me of--that Other. I reckon they fancy I shouldmount the broomstick and fly through the chimney, if they did. Eh me!--and time was I was a comely young maid--as young and well-favoured asyou, my dear: eh dear, dear, to think how long it is since! I would Icould pull you a bit nearer the fire; but I've spent all my strength--and that's nought much--in hauling of you in. But you're safe, at anyrate; and I'll cover you up with straw--I've got plenty of that, if Ihave not much else. Them villains, to use a young maid so!--or a wife, whichever you be. And they say I'm in league with the Devil! I nevergot so near him as they be. "

"I am a maid. "

"Well, and that's the best thing you can be. Don't you be in a hurry tochange it. Come, now, I'll set on that sup o' broth was given me at thegreen house; you'll be ready to drink it by it's hot. Well, now, it'slike old times and pleasant, having a bit o' company to speak to besideGib here. What's your name, now, I wonder?"

"Ermine. "

"Ay, ay. Well, mine's Haldane--old Haldane, the Wise Woman--I'm knownall over Oxfordshire, and Berkshire too. Miles and miles they come toconsult me. Oh, don't look alarmed, my pretty bird! you sha'n't see oneof them if you don't like. There's a sliding screen behind here that Ican draw, and do by times, when I want to fright folks into behavingthemselves; I just draw it out, and speak from behind it, in a hollowvoice, and don't they go as white!--I'll make a cosy straw bed for youbehind it, and never a soul of 'em 'll dare to look in on you--no, notthe justice himself, trust me. I know 'em: Lords, and constables, andforesters, and officers--I can make every mother's son of 'em shiver inhis shoes, till you'd think he had the ague on him. But _you_ sha'n't, my dear: you're as safe as if the angels was rocking you. Maybe they'llwant to come with you: but they'll feel strange here. When you can talka bit without hurting of you, you shall tell me how you got here. "

"I lost my way in the snow. "

"Well, no wonder! Was there many of you?"

"About thirty. "

"And all served like you?"

"Yes, except my brother: he was our leader, and they served him worse. I do not think the children were branded. "

"Children!"

"Ay, there were eight children with us. "

"One minds one's manners when one has the angels in company, or elsemaybe I should speak my mind a bit straight. And what was it for, child?"

"They said we were heretics. "

"I'll be bound they did! But what had you done?"

"My brother and some others had preached the Gospel of Christ in thevillages round, and further away. "

"What mean you by that, now?"

"The good news that men are sinners, and that Jesus died for sinners. "

"Ah! I used to know all about that once. But now--He's forgotten me. "

"No, never, never, Mother Haldane! It is thou who hast forgotten Him. He sent me to thee to-night to tell thee so. "

"Gently now, my dear! Keep still. Don't you use up your bit ofstrength for a worthless old woman, no good to any body. There ain'tnobody in the world as cares for me, child. No, there ain't nobody!"

"Mother Haldane, I think Christ cared for you on His cross; and He caresfor you now in Heaven. He wanted somebody to come and tell you so; andnobody did, so he drove me here. You'll let me tell you all about it, won't you?"

"Softly, my dear--you'll harm yourself! Ay, you shall tell me any thingyou will, my snow-bird, when you're fit to do it; but you must rest awhile first. "

There was no sleep that night for Mother Haldane. All the long winternight she sat beside Ermine, feeding her at short intervals, laying herherb poultices on the poor brow, covering up the chilled body from whichit seemed as if the shivering would never depart. More and more silentgrew the old woman as time went on, only now and then muttering acompassionate exclamation as she saw more clearly all the ill that hadbeen done. She kept up the fire all night, and made a straw bed, as shehad promised, behind the screen, where the invalid would be shelteredfrom the draught, and yet warm, the fire being just on the other side ofthe screen. To this safe refuge Ermine was able to drag herself whenthe morning broke. 

"You'll be a fine cure, dearie!" said the old woman, looking on her withsatisfaction. "You'll run like a hare yet, and be as rosy asRobin-run-by-the-hedge. "

"I wonder why I am saved, " said Ermine in a low voice. "I suppose allthe rest are with God now. I thought I should have been there too bythis time. Perhaps He has some work for me to do:--it may be that Hehas chosen you, and I am to tell you of His goodness and mercy. "

"You shall tell any thing you want, dearie. You're just like a brightangel to old Mother Haldane. I'm nigh tired of seeing frightened faces. It's good to have one face that'll look at you quiet and kind; andnobody never did that these forty years. Where be your friends, mymaid? You'll want to go to them, of course, when you're fit tojourney. "

"I have no friends but One, " said the girl softly: "and He is with menow. I shall go to Him some day, when He has done His work in me and byme. As to other earthly friends, I would not harm the few I mightmention, by letting their names be linked with mine, and they would beafraid to own me. For my childhood's friends, _they_ are all over-sea. I have no friend save God and you. "

When Ermine said, "He is with me now, " the old woman had glanced roundas if afraid of seeing some unearthly presence. At the last sentenceshe rose--for she had been kneeling by the girl--with a shake of herhead, and went outside the screen, muttering to herself. 

"Nobody but the snow-bird would ever link them two together! Folksthink I'm Sathanas' thrall. "

She put more sticks on the fire, muttering while she did so. 

"`Goodness and mercy!' Eh, deary me! There's not been much o' that forthe old witch. Folks are feared of even a white witch, and I ain't ablack 'un. Ay, feared enough. They'll give me things, for fear. Butnobody loves me--no, nobody loves me!"

With a vessel of hot broth in her hands, she came back to the nichebehind the screen. 

"Now, my dearie, drink it up. I must leave you alone a while at after. I'm going out to beg a coverlet and a bit more victuals. You're notafeared to be left? There's no need, my dear--never a whit. The worstoutlaw in all the forest would as soon face the Devil himself as lookbehind this screen. But I'll lock you in if you like that better. "

"As you will, Mother Haldane. The Lord will take care of me, in the wayHe sees best for me, and most for His glory. "

"I'll lock you in. It'll not be so hard for Him then. Some'at new, bain't it, for the like o' me to think o' helping Him?"

Ermine answered only by a smile. Let the old woman learn to come nighto God, she thought, however imperfectly; other items could be put rightin time. 

It was nearly three hours before Haldane returned, and she came so wellladen that she had some work to walk. A very old fur coverlet hung overher left arm, while on her right was a basket that had seen hard servicein its day. 

"See you here, dearie!" she said, holding them up to the gaze of herguest. "Look you at all I've got for you. I didn't steal a bit of it--I saw from your face you wouldn't like things got that way. Here's afine happing of fur to keep you warm; and I've got a full dozen of eggsgiven me, and a beef-bone to make broth, and a poke o' meal: and theypromised me a cape at the green house, if I bring 'em some herbs theywant. We shall get along grandly, you'll see. I've picked up a finelot of chestnuts, too, --but them be for me; the other things be for you. I'll set the bone on this minute; it's got a goodly bit o' meat on it. "

"You are very good to me, Mother Haldane. But you must take your shareof the good things. "

"Never a whit, my dearie! I got 'em all for you. There, now!"

She spread the fur coverlet over Ermine, wrapping her closely in it, andstood a moment to enjoy the effect. 

"Ain't that warm, now? Oh, I know where to go for good things! Trustthe Wise Woman for that! Can you sleep a while, my dear? Let me putyou on a fresh poultice, warm and comforting, and then you'll try, won'tyou? I'll not make no more noise than Gib here, without somebody comesin, and then it's as may be. "

She made her poultice, and put it on, covered Ermine well, made up thefire, and took her seat on the form, just outside the screen, whileErmine tried to sleep. But sleep was coy, and would not visit thegirl's eyes. Her state of mind was strangely quiescent and acquiescentin all that was done to her or for her. Perhaps extreme weakness had ashare in this; but she felt as if sorrow and mourning were as far fromher as was active, tumultuous joy. Calm thankfulness and satisfactionwith God's will seemed to be the prevailing tone of her mind. Neithergrief for the past nor anxiety for the future had any place in it. Hersoul was as a weaned child. 

As Haldane sat by the fire, and Ermine lay quiet but fully awake on theother side of the screen, a low tap came on the door. 

"Enter!" said Haldane in a hollow voice, quite unlike the tone she usedto Ermine: for the Wise Woman was a ventriloquist, and could produceterrifying effects thereby. 

The visitor proved to be a young woman, who brought a badly-sprainedwrist for cure. She was treated with an herb poultice, over which theold woman muttered an inaudible incantation; and having paid a bunch ofparsnips as her fee, she went away well satisfied. Next came a lame oldman, who received a bottle of lotion. The third applicant wanted acharm to make herself beautiful. She was desired to wash herself once aday in cold spring water, into which she was to put a pinch of a powderwith which the witch furnished her. While doing so, she was to saythree times over--

 "Win in, white! Wend out, black! Bring to me that I do lack. Wend out, black! Win in, white! Sweet and seemly, fair to sight. "

The young lady, whose appearance might certainly have been improved bydue application of soap and water, departed repeating her charmdiligently, having left behind her as payment a brace of rabbits. 

A short time elapsing, before any fresh rap occurred, Haldane went tolook at her patient. 

"Well, my dear, and how are you getting on? Not asleep, I see. Look atthem rabbits! I can make you broth enough now. Get my living this way, look you. And it's fair too, for I gives 'em good herbs. Fine cures Imake by times, I can tell you. "

"I wondered what you gave the last, " said Ermine. 

The old woman set her arms akimbo and laughed. 

"Eh, I get lots o' that sort. It's a good wash they want, both forhealth and comeliness; and I make 'em take it that way. The powder'snought--it's the wash does it, look you: but they'd never do it if Itold 'em so. Mum, now! there's another. "

And dropping her voice to a whisper, Haldane emerged from the screen, and desired the applicant to enter. 

It was a very handsome young woman who came in, on whose face theindulgence of evil passions--envy, jealousy, and anger--had left asstrong a mark as beauty. She crossed herself as she stepped over thethreshold. 

"Have you a charm that will win hearts?" she asked. 

"Whose heart do you desire to win?" was the reply. 

"That of Wigan the son of Egglas. "

"Has it strayed from you?"

"I have never had it. He loves Brichtiva, on the other side of thewood, and he will not look on me. I hate her. I want to beguile hisheart away from her. "

"What has she done to you?"

"Done!" cried the girl, with a flash of her eyes. "Done! She is fairand sweet, and she has won Wigan's love. That is what she has done tome. "

"And you love Wigan?"

"I care nothing for Wigan. I hate Brichtiva. I want to be revenged onher. "

"I can do nothing for you, " answered Haldane severely. "Revenge is thebusiness of the black witch, not the Wise Woman who deals in honestsimples and harmless charms. Go home and say thy prayers, Maiden, andsqueeze the black drop out of thine heart, that thou fall not into thepower of the Evil One. Depart!"

This interview quite satisfied Ermine that Haldane was no genuine witchof the black order. However dubious her principles might be in somerespects, she had evidently distinct notions of right and wrong, andwould not do what she held wicked for gain. 

Other applicants came at intervals through the day. There were manywith burns, scalds, sprains, or bruises, nearly all of which Haldanetreated with herbal poultices, or lotions; some with inward pain, towhom she gave bottles of herbal drinks. Some wanted charms for allmanner of purposes--to make a horse go, induce plants to grow, take offa spell, or keep a lover true. A few asked to have their fortunes told, and wonderful adventures were devised for them. After all the rest, when it began to grow dusk, came a man muffled up about the face, andevidently desirous to remain unknown. 

The White Witch rested her hands on the staff which she kept by her, partly for state and partly for support, and peered intently at thehalf-visible face of the new-comer. 

"Have you a charm that will keep away evil dreams?" was the questionthat was asked in a harsh voice. 

"It is needful, " replied Haldane in that hollow voice, which seemed tobe her professional tone, "that I should know what has caused them. "

"You a witch, and ask that?" was the sneering answer. 

"I ask it for your own sake, " said Haldane coldly. "Confession of sinis good for the soul. "

"When I lack shriving, I will go to a priest. Have you any such charm?"

"Answer my question, and you shall have an answer to yours. "

The visitor hesitated. He was evidently unwilling to confess. 

"You need not seek to hide from me, " resumed Haldane, "that the wrongyou hold back from confessing is a deed of blood. The only hope for youis to speak openly. "

The Silence continued unbroken for a moment, during which the man seemedto be passing through a mental conflict. At length he said, in a hoarsewhisper--

"I never cared for such things before. I have done it many a time, --notjust this, but things that were quite as--well, bad, if you will. Theynever haunted me as this does. But they were men, and these--Get rid ofthe faces for me! I must get rid of those terrible faces. "

"If your confession is to be of any avail to you, it must be complete, "said Haldane gravely. "Of whose faces do you wish to be rid?"

"It's a woman and a child, " said the man, his voice sinking lower everytime he spoke, yet it had a kind of angry ring in it, as if he appealedindignantly against some injustice. "There were several more, and whyshould these torment me? Nay, why should they haunt _me_ at all? Ionly did my duty. There be other folks they should go to--them thatmake such deeds duty. I'm not to blame--but I can't get rid of thosefaces! Take them away, and I'll give you silver--gold--only take themaway!"

The probable solution of the puzzle struck Haldane as she sat there, looking earnestly into the agitated features of her visitor. 

"You must confess all, " she said, "the names and every thing you know. I go to mix a potion which may help you. Bethink you, till I comeagain, of all the details of your sin, that you may speak honestly andopenly thereof. "

And she passed behind the screen. One glance at the white face of thegirl lying there told Haldane that her guess was true. She knelt down, and set her lips close to Ermine's ear. 

"You know the voice, " she whispered shortly. "Who is he?"

"The Bishop's sumner, who arrested us. "

"And helped to thrust you forth at the gate?"

Ermine bowed her head. Haldane rose, and quickly mixing in a cup alittle of two strong decoctions of bitter herbs, she returned to hervisitor. 

"Drink that, " she said, holding out the cup, and as he swallowed thebitter mixture, she muttered--

 "Evil eye be stricken blind! Cords about thy heart unwind! Tell the truth, and shame the fiend!"

The sumner set down the cup with a wry face. 

"Mother, I will confess all save the names, which I know not. I amsumner of my Lord of Lincoln, and I took these German heretics fourmonths gone, and bound them, and cast them into my Lord's prison. Andon Sunday, when they were tried, I guarded them through the town, andthrust them out of the East Gate. Did I do any more than my duty?There were women and little children among them, and they went toperish. They must all be dead by now, methinks, for no man would dareto have compassion on them, and the bitter cold would soon kill men soweak already with hunger. Yet they were heretics, accursed of God andmen: but their faces were like the faces of the angels that are inHeaven. Two of those faces--a mother and a little child--will neveraway from me. I know not why nor how, but they made me think of anotherwinter night, when there was no room for our Lady and her holy Childamong men on earth. Oh take away those faces! I can bear no more. "

"Did they look angrily at thee?"

"Angry! I tell you they were like the angels. I was pushing them outat the gate--I never thought of any thing but getting rid of heretics--when she turned, and the child looked up on me--such a look! I shallbehold it till I die, if you cannot rid me of it. "

"My power extends not to angels, " replied Haldane. 

"Can you do nought for me, then?" he asked in hopeless accents. "Must Ifeel for ever as Herod the King felt, when he had destroyed the holyinnocents? I am not worse than others--why should they torture me?"

"Punishment must always follow sin. "

"Sin! Is it any sin to punish a heretic? Father Dolfin saith it is ashining merit, because they are God's enemies, and destroy men's souls. I have not sinned. It must be Satan that torments me thus; it can onlybe he, since he is the father of heretics, and they go straight to him. Can't you buy him off? I 'll give you any gold to get rid of thosefaces! Save me from them if you can!"

"I cannot. I have no power in such a case as thine. Get thee to thepriest and shrive thee, thou miserable sinner, for thy help must comefrom Heaven and not from earth. "

"The priest! _Shrive_ me for obeying the Bishop, and bringing doom uponthe heretics! Nay, witch!--art thou so far gone down the black roadthat thou reckonest such good works to be sins?"

And the sumner laughed bitterly. 

"It is thy confession of sin wherewith I deal, " answered Haldanesternly. "It is thy conscience, not mine, whereon it lieth heavy. Whois it that goeth down the black road--the man that cannot rest for thehaunting of dead faces, or the poor, harmless, old woman, that bade himseek peace from the Church of God?"

"The Church would never set that matter right, " said the sumner, halfsullenly, as he rose to depart. 

"Then there is but one other hope for thee, " said a clear low voice fromsome unseen place: "get thee to Him who is the very Head of the Churchof God, and who died for thee and for all Christian men. "

The sumner crossed himself several times over, not waiting for the endof one performance before he began another. 

"Dame Mary, have mercy on us!" he cried; "was that an angel that spake?"

"An evil spirit would scarcely have given such holy counsel, " gravelyresponded Haldane. 

"Never expected to hear angels speak in a witch's hut!" said theastonished sumner. "Pray you, my Lord Angel--or my Lady Angela, if sobe--for your holy intercession for a poor sinner. "

"Better shalt thou have, " replied the voice, "if thou wilt humbly restthy trust on Christ our Lord, and seek His intercession. "

"You see well, " added Haldane, "that I am no evil thing, else would goodspirits not visit me. "

The humbled sumner laid two silver pennies in her hand, and left the hutwith some new ideas in his head. 

"Well, my dear, you've a brave heart!" said Haldane, when the sound ofhis footsteps had died away. "I marvel you dared speak. It is well hetook you for an angel; but suppose he had not, and had come round thescreen to see? When I told you the worst outlaw in the forest would notdare to look in on you, I was not speaking of _them_. They stick atnothing, commonly. "

"If he had, " said Ermine quietly, "the Lord would have known how toprotect me. Was I to leave a troubled soul with the blessed truthuntold, because harm to my earthly life might arise thereby?"

"But, my dear, you don't think he'll be the better?"

"If he be not, the guilt will not rest on my head. "

The dark deepened, and the visitors seemed to have done coming. Haldanecooked a rabbit for supper for herself and Ermine, not forgetting Gib. She had bolted the door for the night, and was fastening the woodenshutter which served for a window, when a single tap on the doorannounced a late applicant for her services. Haldane opened the tinywicket, which enabled her to speak without further unbarring when shefound it convenient. 

"Folks should come in the day, " she said. 

"Didn't dare!" answered a low whisper, apparently in the voice of ayoung man. "Can you find lost things?"

"That depends on the planets, " replied Haldane mysteriously. 

"But can't you rule the planets?"

"No; they rule me, and you too. However, come within, and I will seewhat I can do for you. "

Unbarring the door, she admitted a muffled man, whose face was almostcovered by a woollen kerchief evidently arranged for that purpose. 

"What have you lost?" asked the Wise Woman. 

"The one I loved best, " was the unexpected answer. 

"Man, woman, or child?"

"A maiden, who went forth the morrow of Saint Lucian, by the East Gateof Oxford, on the Dorchester road. If you can, tell me if she beliving, and where to seek her. "

Haldane made a pretence of scattering a powder on the dying embers ofher wood-fire. [Note 1. ]

"The charm will work quicker, " she said, "if I know the name of themaiden. "

"Ermine. "

Haldane professed to peer into the embers. 

"She is a foreigner, " she remarked. 

"Ay, you have her. "

"A maiden with fair hair, a pale soft face, blue eyes, and a clear, gentle voice. "

"That's it!--where is she?"

"She is still alive. "

"Thanks be to all the saints! Where must I go to find her?"

"The answer is, Stay where you are. "

"Stay! I cannot stay. I must find and succour her. "

"Does she return your affection?"

"That's more than I can say. I've never seen any reason to think so. "

"But you love her?"

"I would have died for her!" said the young man, with an earnest ring inhis voice. "I have perilled my life, and the priests say, my soul. Allthis day have I been searching along the Dorchester way, and have foundevery one of them but two--her, and one other. I did my best, too, tosave her and hers before the blow fell. "

"What would you do, if you found her?"

"Take her away to a safe place, if she would let me, and guard her thereat the risk of my life--at the cost, if need be. "

"The maid whom you seek, " said Haldane, after a further examination ofthe charred sticks on the hearth, "is a pious and devout maiden; hasyour life been hitherto fit to mate with such?"

"Whatever I have been, " was the reply, "I would give her no cause forregret hereafter. A man who has suffered as I have has no mind left fortrifling. She should do what she would with me. "

Haldane seemed to hesitate whether she should give further informationor not. 

"Can't you trust me?" asked the young man sorrowfully. "I have done illdeeds in my life, but one thing I can say boldly, --I never yet told alie. Oh, tell me where to go, if my love yet lives? Can't you trustme?"

"I can, " said a voice which was not Haldane's. "I can, Stephen. "

Stephen stared round the hut as if the evidence of his ears were totallyuntrustworthy. Haldane touched him on the shoulder with a smile. 

"Come!" she said. 

The next minute Stephen was kneeling beside Ermine, covering her handwith kisses, and pouring upon her all the sweetest and softest epithetswhich could be uttered. 

"They are all gone, sweet heart, " he said, in answer to her earnestqueries. "And the priests may say what they will, but I believe theyare in Heaven. "

"But that other, Stephen? You said, me and one other. One of the men, I suppose?"

"That other, " said Stephen gently, "that other, dear, is Rudolph. "

"What can have become of him?"

"He may have strayed, or run into some cottage. That I cannot find himmay mean that he is alive. "

"Or that he died early enough to be buried, " she said sadly. 

"The good Lord would look to the child, " said Haldane unexpectedly. "Heis either safe with Him, or He will tell you some day what has become ofHim. "

"You're a queer witch!" said Stephen, looking at her with some surprise. 

"I'm not a witch at all. I'm only a harmless old woman who deals inherbs and such like, but folks make me out worse than I am. And whenevery body looks on you as black, it's not so easy to keep white. Ifothers shrink from naming God to you, you get to be shy of it too. Menand women have more influence over each other than they think. Foryears and years I've felt as if my soul was locked up in the dark, andcould not get out: but this girl, that I took in because she neededbodily help, has given me better help than ever I gave her--she hasunlocked the door, and let the light in on my poor smothered soul. Now, young man, if you'll take an old woman's counsel--old women are mostlydespised, but they know a thing or two, for all that--you'll just letthe maid alone a while. She couldn't be safer than she is here; andshe'd best not venture forth of the doors till her hurts are healed, andthe noise and talk has died away. Do you love her well enough to denyyourself for her good? That's the test of real love, and there are notmany who will stand it. "

"Tell me what you would have me do, and I'll see, " answered Stephen witha smile. 

"Can you stay away for a month or two?"

"Well, that's ill hearing. But I reckon I can, if it is to do any goodto Ermine. "

"If you keep coming here, " resumed the shrewd old woman, "folks willbegin to ask why. And if they find out why, it won't be good for you orErmine either. Go home and look after your usual business, and be aslike your usual self as you can. The talk will soon be silenced if nofuel be put to it. And don't tell your own mother what you have found. "

"I've no temptation to do that, " answered Stephen gravely. "My motherhas been under the mould this many a year. "

"Well, beware of any friend who tries to ferret it out of you--ay, andof the friends who don't try. Sometimes they are the more treacherousof the two. Let me know where you live, and if you are wanted I willsend for you. Do you see this ball of grey wool? If any person putsthat into your hand, whenever and however, come here as quick as youcan. Till then, keep away. "

"Good lack! But you won't keep me long away?"

"I shall think of her, not of you, " replied Haldane shortly. "And themore you resent that, the less you love. "

After a moment's struggle with his own thoughts, Stephen said, "You'reright, Mother. I'll stay away till you send for me. "

"Those are the words of a true man, " said Haldane, "if you have strengthto abide by them. Remember, the test of love is not sweet words, butself-sacrifice; and the test of truth is not bold words, but patientendurance. "

"I'm not like to forget it. You bade me tell you where I live? I amone of the watchmen in the Castle of Oxford; but I am to be found mostdays from eleven to four on duty at the Osney Gate of the Castle. Only, I pray you to say to whomsoever you make your messenger, that mybrother's wife--he is porter at the chief portal--is not to be trusted. She has a tongue as long as the way from here to Oxford, and curiosityequal to our mother Eve's or greater. Put yon ball of wool in _her_hand, and she'd never take a wink of sleep till she knew all about it. "

"I trust no man till I have seen him, and no woman till I have seenthrough her, " said Haldane. 

"Well, she's as easy to see through as a church window. Ermine knowsher. If you must needs trust any one, my cousin Derette is safe; she isin Saint John's anchorhold. But I'd rather not say too much of otherfolks. "

"O Stephen, Mother Isel!"

"Aunt Isel would never mean you a bit of harm, dear heart, I know that. But she might let something out that she did not mean; and if a pair ofsharp ears were in the way, it would be quite as well she had not thechance. She has carried a sore heart for you all these four months, Ermine; and she cried like a baby over your casting forth. But UncleManning and Haimet were as hard as stones. Flemild cried a little too, but not like Aunt Isel. As to Anania, nothing comes amiss to her thatcan be sown to come up talk. If an earthquake were to swallow one ofher children, I do believe she'd only think what a fine thing it was fora gossip. "

"I hope she's not quite so bad as that, Stephen. "

"Hope on, sweet heart, and farewell. Here's Mother Haldane on thorns toget rid of me--that I can see. Now, Mother, what shall I pay you foryour help, for right good it has been?"

Haldane laid her hand on Stephen's, which was beginning to unfasten hispurse--a bag carried on the left side, under the girdle. 

"Pay me, " she said, "in care for Ermine. "

"There's plenty of that coin, " answered Stephen, smiling, as he withdrewhis hand. "You'll look to your half of the bargain, Mother, and trustme to remember mine. "

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

Note 1. The ordinary fire at this time was of wood. Charcoal, thesuperior class of fuel, cost from 5 shillings to 10 shillings per ton(modern value from six to twelve guineas). 

CHAPTER NINE. 

THE SECRET THAT WAS NOT TOLD. 

 "Thine eye is on Thy wandering sheep; Thou knowest where they are, and Thou wilt keep And bring them home. "

 Hetty Bowman. 

"So you've really come back at last! Well, I did wonder what you'd goneafter! Such lots of folks have asked me--old Turguia, and Franna, andAunt Isel, and Derette--leastwise Leuesa--and ever such a lot: and Icouldn't tell ne'er a one of them a single word about it. "

Anania spoke in the tone of an injured woman, defrauded of her rights bythe malice prepense of Stephen. 

"Well, " said Stephen calmly, "you may tell them all that I went after myown business; and if any of them thinks that's what a man shouldn't do, she can come and tell me so. "

"Well, to be sure! But what business could you have to carry you out ofthe town for such a time, and nobody to know a word about it? Tell methat, if you please. "

"Don't you tell her nought!" said Osbert in the chimney-corner. "If youwent to buy a new coat, she'll want to know where the money was minted, and who sheared the sheep. "

"I'll finish my pie first, I think, " answered Stephen, "for I am rathertoo hungry for talk; and I dare say she'll take no harm by that. "

He added, in mental reservation, --"And meantime I can be thinking whatto say. "

"Oh, _you_ never want to know nought!" exclaimed Anania derisively. "Turguia, she said you were gone after rabbits--as if any man in hissenses would do that in the snow: and Aunt Isel thought you were off ona holiday; and Franna was certain sure you were gone a-courting. "

Stephen laughed to himself, but made no other reply. 

"Baint you a-going to tell me, now?" demanded Anania. 

"Aunt Isel wasn't so far out, " said Stephen, helping himself to a secondwedge of pie. 

"And Franna?"

Anania was really concerned on that point. She found Stephen veryuseful, and his wages, most of which he gave her, more than paid for hisboard. If he were to marry and set up house for himself, it woulddeprive her of the means to obtain sundry fashionable frivolitieswherein her soul delighted. Stephen was quite aware of these facts, which put an amusing edge on his determination to keep the truth fromthe inquisitive gossip. 

"Franna?" he repeated. "Did you say she thought I'd gone aftersquirrels? because I've brought ne'er a one. "

"No, stupid! She said you'd gone a-courting, and I want to know who. "

"You must ask Franna that, not me. I did not say so. "

"You'll say nothing, and that's the worst of signs. When folks won'tanswer a reasonable question, ten to one they've been in some mischief. "

"I haven't finished the pie. "

"Much you'll tell me when you have!"

"Oh, I'll answer any reasonable question, " said Stephen, with a slightemphasis on the adjective. 

Osbert laughed, and Anania was more vexed than ever. 

"You're a pair!" said he. 

"Now, look you here! I'll have an answer, if I stand here whileChristmas; and you sha'n't have another bite till you've given it. Didyou go a-courting?"

As Anania had laid violent hands on the pie, which she held out of hisgrasp, and as Stephen had no desire to get into a genuine quarrel withher, he was obliged to make some reply. 

"Will you give me back the pie, if I tell you?"

"Yes, I will. "

"Then, I'd no such notion in my head. Let's have the pie. "

"When?" Anania still withheld the pie. 

"When what?"

"When hadn't you such a notion? when you set forth, or when you cameback?"

"Eat thy supper, lad, and let them buzzing things be!" said Osbert. "There'll never be no end to it, and thou mayest as well shut theportcullis first as last. "

"Them's my thoughts too, " said Stephen. 

"Then you sha'n't have another mouthful. "

"Nay, you're off your bargain. I answered the question, I'm sure. "

"You've been after some'at ill, as I'm a living woman! You'd have toldme fast enough if you hadn't. There's the pie, "--Anania set it up on ahigh shelf--"take it down if you dare!"

"I've no wish to quarrel with you, Sister. I'll go and finish my supperat Aunt Isel's--they'll give me some'at there, I know. "

"Anania, don't be such a goose!" said Osbert. 

"Don't you meddle, or you'll get what you mayn't like!" was the conjugalanswer. 

Osbert rose and took down a switch from its hook on the wall. 

"You'll get it first, my lady!" said he: and Stephen, who never had anyfancy for quarrelling, and was wont to leave the house when such notunfrequent scenes occurred, shut the door on the ill-matched pair, andwent off to Kepeharme Lane. 

"Stephen, is it? Good even, lad. I'm fain to see thee back. Art onlyjust come?"

"Long enough to eat half a supper, and for Anania to get into more thanhalf a temper, " said Stephen, laughing. "I'm come to see, Aunt, ifyou'll give me another half. "

"That I will, lad, and kindly welcome. What will thou have? I've a fatfish pie and some cold pork and beans. "

"Let's have the pork and beans, for I've been eating pie up yonder. "

"Good, and I'll put some apples down to roast. Hast thou enjoyed thyholiday?"

"Ay, middling, thank you, if it hadn't been so cold. "

"It's a desperate cold winter!" said Isel, with a sigh, which Stephenfelt certain was breathed to the memory of the Germans. "I neverremember a worse. "

"I'm afraid you feel lonely, Aunt. "

"Ay, lonely enough, the saints know!"

"Why doesn't Haimet wed, and bring you a daughter to help you? Mabel'sa bit too grand, I reckon. "

"Mabel thinks a deal of herself, that's true. Well. I don't know. One's not another, Stephen. "

"I'll not gainsay you, Aunt Isel. But mayn't `another' be better thannone? Leastwise, some others, "--as a recollection of his amiablesister-in-law crossed his mind. 

"I don't know, Stephen. Sometimes that hangs on the `one. ' You'llthink it unnatural in me, lad, but I don't miss Flemild nor Derette as Ido Ermine. "

"Bless you, dear old thing!" said Stephen in his heart. 

"O Stephen, lad, I believe you've a kind heart; you've shown it in amany little ways. Do let me speak to you of them now and again! Youruncle won't have me say a word, and sometimes I feel as if I shouldburst. I don't believe you'd tell on me, if I did, and it would relieveme like, if I could let it out to somebody. "

"Catch me at it!" said Stephen significantly. "You say what you've amind, Aunt Isel: I'm as safe as the King's Treasury. "

"Well, lad, do you think they're all gone--every one?"

"I'm afraid there's no hope for the most of them, Aunt, " said Stephen ina low voice. 

"Then you do think there might--?"

"One, perhaps, or two--ay, there _might_ be, that had got taken insomewhere. I can't say it isn't just possible. But folks would beafraid of helping them, mostly. "

"Ay, I suppose they would, " said Isel sorrowfully. 

Stephen ate in silence, sorely tempted to tell her what he knew. Hadthe danger been for himself only, and not for Ermine, he thought heshould certainly have braved it. 

"Well!" said Isel at last, as she stood by the fire, giving frequenttwirls to the string which held the apples. "Maybe the good Lord ismore merciful than men. _They_ haven't much mercy. "

"Hold you there!" said Stephen. 

"Now why shouldn't we?--we that are all sinners, and all want forgiving?We might be a bit kinder to one another, if we tried. "

"Some folks might. I'm not sure you could, Aunt Isel. "

"Eh, lad, I'm as bad a sinner as other folks. I do pray to be forgivenmany a time. "

"Maybe that's a good help to forgiving, " said Stephen. 

"So you're back from your holiday?" said Haimet, coming in, and flinginghis felt hat on one of the shelves. "Well, where did you go?"

"Oh, round-about, " replied Stephen, taking his last mouthful of beans. 

"Did you go Banbury way?"

"No, t'other way, " answered Stephen, without indicating which other way. 

"Weather sharp, wasn't it?"

"Ay, sharp enough. It's like to be a hard winter. --Well, Aunt, I'm muchobliged to you. I reckon I'd best be turning home now. "

"Weather rather sharp there too, perhaps?" suggested Haimet jocosely. 

"Ay, there's been a bit of a storm since I got back. I came here to getout of it. I'm a fair-weather-lover, as you know. "

Stephen went home by a round-about way, for he took Saint John'sanchorhold in the route. He scarcely knew why he did it; he had an ideathat the sight of Derette would be an agreeable diversion of histhoughts. Too deep down to be thoroughly realised, was a vagueassociation of her with Ermine, whose chief friend in the family she hadbeen. 

Derette came to the casement as soon as she heard from Leuesa who wasthere. 

"Good evening, Stephen!" she said cordially. "Leuesa, my maid, while Ichat a minute with my cousin, prithee tie on thine hood and run for acheese. I forgot it with the other marketing this morrow. What arecheeses now? a halfpenny each?"

"Three a penny, Lady, they were yesterday. "

"Very good; bring a pennyworth, and here is the money. "

As soon as Leuesa was out of hearing, Derette turned to Stephen with achanged expression on her face. 

"Stephen!" she said, in a low whisper, "you have been to see after_them_. Tell me what you found. "

"I never said nought o' the sort, " answered Stephen, rather staggered byhis cousin's penetration and directness. 

"Maybe your heart said it to mine. You may trust me, Stephen. I wouldrather let out my life-blood than any secret which would injure them. "

"Well, you're not far wrong, Derette. Gerard and Agnes are gone; theylie under the snow. So does Adelheid; but Berthold was not buried; Ireckon he was one of the last. I cannot find Rudolph. "

"You have told me all but the one thing my heart yearns to know. Ermine?"

Stephen made no reply. 

"You have found her!" said Derette. "Don't tell me where. It isenough, if she lives. Keep silence. "

"Some folks are hard that you'd have looked to find soft, " answeredStephen, with apparent irrelevance; "and by times folk turn as soft asbutter that you'd expect to be as hard as stones. "

Derette laid up the remark in her mind for future consideration. 

"Folks baint all bad that other folks call ill names, " he observedfurther. 

Derette gave a little nod. She was satisfied that Ermine had found arefuge, and with some unlikely person. 

"Wind's chopped round since morning, seems to me, " pursued Stephen, asif he had nothing particular to say. "Blew on my back as I came up tothe gate. "

Another nod from Derette. She understood that Ermine's refuge lay southof Oxford. 

"Have you seen Flemild?" she asked. "She has sprained her wrist sadly, and cannot use her hand. "

"Now just you tell her, " answered Stephen, with a significant wink, "I've heard say the White Witch of Bensington makes wonderful cures withmarsh-mallows poultice: maybe it would ease her. "

"I'll let her know, be sure, " said Derette: and Stephen took his leaveas Leuesa returned with her purchase. 

He had told her nothing about Ermine: he had told her every thing. Derette thanked God for the--apparently causeless--impulse to mentionher sister's accident, which had just given Stephen the opportunity toutter the last and most important item. Not the slightest doubtdisturbed her mind that Ermine was in the keeping of the White Witch ofBensington, and that Stephen was satisfied of the Wise Woman's kindtreatment and good faith. She was sorry for Gerhardt and Agnes; but shehad loved Ermine best of all. As for Rudolph, if Ermine were safe, whyshould he not be likewise? Derette's was a hopeful nature, not given tolook on the dark side of any thing which had a light one: a tone of mindwhich, as has been well said, is worth a thousand a year to itspossessor. 

Leuesa returned full of excitement. A wolf had been killed only threemiles from the city, and the Earl had paid the sportsman fourpence forits head, which was to be sent up to the King--the highest price evergiven for a wolf's head in that county. The popular idea that Edgarexterminated all the wolves in England is an error. Henry Second paidtenpence for three wolves' heads [Pipe Roll, 13 Henry Second], and HenryThird's State Papers speak of "hares, wolves, and cats, " in the royalforests [Close Roll, 38 Henry Third]. 

The days went on, and Stephen received no summons to the Wise Woman'shut. He found it very hard to keep away. If he could only have knownthat all was going on right! But weeks and months passed by, and allwas silence. Stephen almost made up his mind to brave the witch'sanger, and go without bidding. Yet there would be danger in that, forAnania, who had been piqued by his parrying of her queries, watched himas a cat watches a mouse. 

He was coming home, one evening in early summer, having been on guardall day at the East Gate, when, as he passed the end of Snydyard (nowOriel) Street, a small child of three or four years old toddled up tohim, and said--

"There! Take it. "

Stephen, who had a liking for little toddlers, held out his hand with asmile; and grew suddenly grave when there was deposited in it a ball ofgrey wool. 

"Who gave thee this?"

"Old man--down there--said, `Give it that man with the brown hat, '" wasthe answer. 

Stephen thanked the child, threw it a sweetmeat, with which his pocketwas generally provided, and ran after the old man, whom he overtook atthe end of the street. 

"What mean you by this?" he asked. 

The old man looked up blankly. 

"I know not, " said he. "I was to take it to Stephen the Watchdog, --that's all I know. "

"Tell me who gave it you, then?"

"I can't tell you--a woman I didn't know. "

"Where?"

"A bit this side o' Dorchester. "

"That'll do. Thank you. "

The ball was safely stored in Stephen's pocket, and he hastened to theCastle. At the gate he met his brother. 

"Here's a pretty mess!" said Osbert. "There's Orme of the Fen run off, because I gave him a scolding for his impudence: and it is his turn towatch to-night. I have not a minute to go after him; I don't knowwhatever to do. "

Stephen grasped the opportunity. 

"I'll go after him for you, if you'll get me leave for a couple of daysor more. I have a bit of business of my own I want to see to, and I canmanage both at once--only don't tell Anania of it, or she'll worry thelife out of me. "

Osbert laughed. 

"Make your mind easy!" said he. "Go in and get you ready, lad, and I'llsee to get you the leave. "

Stephen turned into the Castle, to fetch his cloak and make up a parcelof provisions, while Osbert went to the Earl, returning in a few minuteswith leave of absence for Stephen. To the great satisfaction of thelatter, Anania was not at home; so he plundered her larder, and set off, leaving Osbert to make his excuses, and to tell her just as much, or aslittle, as he found convenient. Stephen was sorely tempted to go firstto Bensington, but he knew that both principle and policy directed theprevious search for Orme. He found that exemplary gentleman, after anhour's search, drinking and gambling in a low ale-booth outside SouthGate; and having first pumped on him to get him sober, he sent him offto his work with a lecture. Then, going a little way down GrandpontStreet, he turned across Presthey, and coming out below Saint Edmund'sWell, took the road to Bensington. 

The journey was accomplished in much shorter time than on the previousoccasion. As Stephen came up to the Witch's hut, he heard the sound ofa low, monotonous voice; and being untroubled, at that period of theworld's history, by any idea that eavesdropping was a dishonourableemployment, he immediately applied his ear to the keyhole. To his greatsatisfaction, he recognised Ermine's voice. The words were these:--

"`I confess to Thee, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that Thou hiddestthese things from the wise and prudent, and revealedst them unto littlechildren. Even so, Father; for this was well-pleasing before Thee. Allthings are to Me delivered from My Father; and none knoweth the Son savethe Father; neither the Father doth any know, save the Son, and he towhom the Son is willing to reveal Him. Come unto Me, all ye that labourand are burdened, and I will refresh you. Take My yoke upon you, andlearn of Me, for I am meek and lowly of heart; and ye shall find restunto your souls. '"

"Did He say that, now, dearie?" asked the voice of the White Witch. "Eh, it sounds good--it does so! I'm burdened, saints knows; I'd liketo find a bit o' rest and refreshing. Life's a heavy burden, and sin'sa heavier; and there's a many things I see are sins now, that I neverdid afore you came. But how am I to know that He's willing?"

"Won't you come and see, Mother?" said Ermine softly. 

"Husht! Bide a bit, my dear: there's a little sound at the door as Idon't rightly understand. Maybe--"

In another moment the wicket opened, and Haldane's face looked out uponStephen. 

"Good evening, Mother!" said Stephen, holding up the ball of grey wool. 

"Ay, you got it, did you? Come in--you're welcome. "

"I hope I am, " replied Stephen, going forward. Ermine was no longerhidden behind the screen, but seated on the form in the chimney-corner. On her calm fair brow there was no scar visible. 

"Ay, ain't she a fine cure!" cried the old woman. "That's whitemallows, that is, and just a pinch of--Well, I'd best tell no tales. But she's a grand cure; I don't hide her up now. Nobody'd ever guessnought, from the look of her, now, would folks? What think you?"

"No, I hope they wouldn't, " answered Stephen: "leastwise they sha'n't ifI can help it. "

Haldane laid her hand on his arm impressively. 

"Stephen, you must take her away. "

"I'll take her fast enough, if she'll go, Mother; but why? I reckonedshe was as safe here as she could be anywhere. "

"She _was_, " said Haldane significantly. "She won't be, presently. Idon't tell my secrets: but the Wise Woman knows a thing or two. You'dbest take her, and waste no time: but it must not be to Oxford. There'sfolks there would know her face. "

"Ay, to be sure there are. Well, Mother, I'll do your bidding. Where'll she be safest?"

"You'd best be in London. It's the biggest place. And when a man wantsto hide, he'll do it better in a large town than a little place, whereevery body knows his neighbour's business. "

"All right!" said Stephen. "Ermine!"--and he went up to her--"will yougo with me?"

Ermine lived in an age when it was a most extraordinary occurrence for awoman to have any power to dispose of herself in marriage, and such athing was almost regarded as unnatural and improper. She held out herhand to Stephen. 

"I will go where the Lord sends me, " she said simply. "Dear MotherHaldane saved my life, and she has more right to dispose of me than anyone else. Be it so. "

"When folks are wed, they commonly have gifts made them, " said Haldanewith a smile. "I haven't much to give, and you'll think my gift a queerone: but I wish you'd take it, Ermine. It's Gib. "

"I will take Gib and welcome, and be very thankful to you, " answeredErmine in some surprise. "But, Mother Haldane, you are leaving yourselfall alone. I was afraid you would miss me, after all these weeks, andif you lose Gib too, won't you be lonely?"

"Miss you!" repeated the old woman in a tremulous voice. "Miss you, mywhite bird that flew into my old arms from the cruel storm? Sha'n't Imiss you? But it won't be for long. Ay! when one has kept company withthe angels for a while, one's pretty like to miss them when they flyback home. But you'd best take Gib. The Wise Woman knows why. Only Idon't tell all my secrets. And it won't be for long. "

Haldane had been laying fresh sticks on the embers while she spoke. Nowshe turned to Stephen. 

"She'd best have Gib, " she said. "He's like another creature since shecame. She'll take care of him. And you'll take care of her. I toldyou last time you were here as I'd do the best for her, not for you. But this is the best for both of you. And maybe the good Lord'll do thebest for me. Ermine says He's not above keeping a poor old womancompany. But whatever comes, and whatever you may hear, you bear inmind that I did my best for you. "

"Ay, that I'm sure you've done, Mother, " replied Stephen warmly. "Asfor Gib, I'll make him welcome for your sake; he looks rathercomfortable now, so I think he'll get along. "

It certainly was not too much to say that Gib was another creature. That once dilapidated-looking object, under Ermine's fostering care, haddeveloped into a sleek, civilised, respectable cat; and as he sat on herlap, purring and blinking at the wood-fire, he suggested no ideas ofdiscomfort. 

"Ay, I've done my best, " repeated the old woman with a sigh. "The Lordabove, He knows I've done it. You'd best be off with the morning light. I can't be sure--Well, I mustn't tell my secrets. "

Stephen was inclined to be amused with the Wise Woman's reiteration ofthis assertion. What fancy she had taken into her head he could notguess. It was some old-womanly whim, he supposed. If he could haveguessed her reason for thus dismissing them in haste--if he had seen inthe embers what she saw coming nearer and nearer, and now close to hervery door--wild horses would not have carried Stephen away from thewoman who had saved Ermine. 

Haldane's bidding was obeyed. The dawn had scarcely broken on thefollowing morning, when Stephen and Ermine, with Gib in the arms of thelatter, set forth on their journey to London. Haldane stood in herdoorway to watch them go. 

"Thank God!" she said, when she had entirely lost sight of them. "ThankGod, my darling is safe! I can bear anything that comes now. It isonly what such as me have to look for. And Ermine said the good Lordwouldn't fail them that trusted Him. I'm only a poor ignorant oldwoman, and He knows it; but He took the pains to make me, and He'll nothave forgot it; and Ermine says He died for me, and I'm sure He couldnever forget that, if He did it. I've done a many ill things, thoughI'm not the black witch they reckon me: no, I've had more laid to mycharge than ever I did; but for all that I'm a sinner, I'm afeared, andI should be sore afeared to meet what's coming if He wouldn't take myside. But Ermine, she said He would, if I trusted myself to Him. "

Haldane clasped her withered hands and looked heavenwards. 

"Good Lord!" she said, "I'd fain have Thee on my side, and I do trustThee. And if I'm doing it wrong way about, bethink Thee that I'm only apoor old woman, that never had no chance like, and I mean to do right, and do put things to rights for me, as Thou wouldst have 'em. Have acare of my darling, and see her safe: and see me through what's coming, if Thou wilt be so good. Worlds o' worlds, Amen. "

That conclusion was Haldane's misty idea of the proper way to end aprayer [Note 1]. Perhaps the poor petition found its way above thestars as readily as the choral services that were then being chanted inthe perfumed cathedrals throughout England. 

She went in and shut the door. She did not, as usual, shake her strawbed and fold up the rug. A spectator might have thought that she had noheart for it. She only kept up the fire; for though summer was near, itwas not over-warm in the crazy hut, and a cold east wind was blowing. For the whole of the long day she sat beside it, only now and thenrising to look out of the window, and generally returning to her seatwith a muttered exclamation of "Not yet!" The last time she did this, she pulled the faded woollen kerchief over her shoulders with a shiver. 

"Not yet! I reckon they'll wait till it's dusk. Well! all the better:they'll have more time to get safe away. "

The pronouns did not refer to the same persons, but Haldane made noattempt to specify them. 

She sat still after that, nodding at intervals, and she was almostasleep when the thing that she had feared came upon her. A low sound, like and yet unlike the noise of distant thunder, broke upon her ear. She sat up, wide awake in a moment. 

"They're coming! Good Lord, help me through! Don't let it be very badto bear, and don't let it be long!"

Ten minutes had not passed when the hut was surrounded by a crowd. Anangry crowd, armed with sticks, pitchforks, or anything that could beturned into a weapon--an abusive crowd, from whose lips words of hateand scorn were pouring, mixed with profaner language. 

"Pull the witch out! Stone her! drown her! burn her!" echoed on allsides. 

"Good Lord, don't let them burn me!" said poor old Haldane, inside thehut. "I'd rather be drowned, if Thou dost not mind. "

Did the good Lord not mind what became of the helpless old creature, who, in her ignorance and misery, was putting her trust in Him? Itlooked like it, as the mob broke open the frail door, and roughly hauledout the frailer occupant of the wretched hut. 

"Burn her!" The cry was renewed: and it came from one of the twopersons most prominent in the mob--that handsome girl to whom Haldanehad refused the revenge she coveted upon Brichtiva. 

"Nay!" said the other, who was the Bishop's sumner, "that would beirregular. Burning's for heretics. Tie her hands and feet together, and cast her into the pond: that's the proper way to serve witches. "

The rough boys among the crowd, to whom the whole scene was sport--andthough we have become more civilised in some ways as time has passed, sport has retained much of its original savagery even now--gleefullytied together Haldane's hands and feet, and carried her, thus secured, to a large deep pond about a hundred yards from her abode. 

This was the authorised test for a witch. If she sank and was drowned, she was innocent of the charge of witchcraft; if she swam on thesurface, she was guilty, and liable to the legal penalty for her crime. Either way, in nine out of ten cases, the end was death: for very fewthought of troubling themselves to save one who proved her innocenceafter this fashion. [Note 2. ]

The boys, having thus bound the poor old woman into a ball, lifted herup, and with a cry of--"One--two--three!" flung her into the pond. Atthat moment a man broke through the ring that had formed outside theprincipal actors. 

"What are you doing now? Some sort of mischief you're at, I'll bebound--you lads are always up to it. Who are you ducking? If it's thatcheat Wrangecoke, I'll not meddle, only don't--What, Mother Haldane!Shame on you! Colgrim, Walding, Oselach, Amfrid!--shame on you! What, _you_, Erenbald, that she healed of that bad leg that laid you up forthree months! And _you_, Baderun, whose child she brought backwell-nigh from the grave itself! If you are men, and not demons, comeand help me to free her!"

The speaker did not content himself with words. He had waded into thepond, and was feeling his way carefully to the spot where the victimwas. For Mother Haldane had not struggled nor even protested, butaccording to all the unwritten laws relating to witchcraft, hadtriumphantly exhibited her innocence by sinking to the bottom like astone. The two spectators whom he had last apostrophised joined him ina shamefaced manner, one muttering something about his desire to avoidsuspicion of being in league with a witch, and the other that he "didn'tmean no harm:" and among them, amid the more or less discontentedmurmurs of those around, they at last dragged out the old woman, untiedthe cords, and laid her on the grass. The life was yet in her; but itwas nearly gone. 

"Who's got a sup of anything to bring her to?" demanded her rescuer. "She's not gone; she opened her eyes then. "

The time-honoured remedies for drowning were applied. The old woman wasset on her head "to let the water run out;" and somebody in the crowdhaving produced a flask of wine, an endeavour was made to induce her toswallow. Consciousness partially returned, but Haldane did not seem torecognise any one. 

"Don't be feared, Mother, " said the man who had saved her. "I'll lookafter you. Don't you know me? I am Wigan, son of Egglas thecharcoal-burner, in the wood. "

Then Mother Haldane spoke, --slowly, with pauses, and as if in a dream. 

"Ay, He looked after me. Did all--I asked. He kept them--safe, and--didn't let it--be long. "

She added two words, which some of her hearers said were--"Good night. "A few thought them rather, "Good Lord!"

Nobody understood her meaning. Only He knew it, who had kept safe thetwo beings whom Mother Haldane loved, and had not let the hour of hertrial and suffering be long. 

And then, when the words had died away in one last sobbing sigh, Wiganthe son of Egglas stood up from the side of the dead, and spoke to thegazing and now silent multitude. 

"You can go home, " he said. "You've had your revenge. And what was itfor? How many of you were there that she had not helped and healed?Which of you did she ever turn away unhelped, save when the malady wasbeyond her power, or when one came to her for aid to do an evil thing?Men, women, lads! you've repeated the deed of Iscariot this day, foryou've betrayed innocent blood--you have slain your benefactor andfriend. Go home and ask God and the saints to forgive you--if they evercan. How they sit calm above yonder, and stand this world, is more thanI can tell. --Poor, harmless, kindly soul! may God comfort thee in Hisblessed Heaven! And for them that have harried thee, and taken thylife, and have the black brand of murder on their souls, God pardon themas He may!"

The crowd dispersed silently and slowly. Some among them, who had beenmore thoughtless than malicious, were already beginning to realise thatWigan's words were true. The sumner, however, marched away whistling atune. Then Wigan, with his shamefaced helpers, Erenbald and Baderun, and a fourth who had come near them as if he too were sorry for the evilwhich he had helped to do, inasmuch as he had not stood out to preventits being done, lifted the frail light corpse, and bore it a little wayinto the wood. There, in the soft fresh green, they dug a grave, andlaid in it the body of Mother Haldane. 

"We'd best lay a cross of witch hazel over her, " suggested Baderun. "Ifthings was all right with her, it can't do no harm; and if so be--"

"Lay what you like, " answered Wigan. "I don't believe, and never did, that she was a witch. What harm did you ever know her do to any one?"

"Nay, but Mildred o' th' Farm, over yonder, told me her black cowstopped giving milk the night Mother Haldane came up to ask for a sup o'broth, and she denied it. "

"Ay, and Hesela by the Brook--I heard her tell, " added Erenbald, "thather hens, that hadn't laid them six weeks or more, started laying likemad the day after she'd given the White Witch a gavache. What call youthat?"

"I call it stuff and nonsense, " replied Wigan sturdily, "save that bothof them got what they deserved: and so being, I reckon that God, whorewards both the righteous and the wicked, had more to do with it thanthe White Witch. "

"Eh, Wigan, but them's downright wicked words! You'd never go to say asGod Almighty takes note o' hens, and cows, and such like?"

"Who does, then? How come we to have any eggs and milk?"

"Why, man, that's natur'. "

"I heard a man on Bensington Green, one day last year, " answered Wigan, "talking of such things; and he said that `nature' was only a fool'sword for God. And said I to myself, That's reason. "

Wigan, being one of that very rare class who think for themselves, wasnot comprehended by his commissionary tours, had been to this man'sheart as a match to tinder. 

"Ay, and he said a deal more too: but it wouldn't be much use tellingyou. There--that's enough. She'll sleep quiet there. I'll just goround by her hut, and see if her cat's there--no need to leave thecreature to starve. "

"Eh, Wigan, you'd never take that thing into your house? It's herfamiliar, don't you know? They always be, them black cats--they'reworse than the witches themselves. "

"Specially when they aren't black, like this? I tell you, she wasn't awitch; and as to the cat, thou foolish man, it's nought more nor lessthan a cat. I'll take it home to Brichtiva my wife, --she's not sowhite-livered as thou. "

"Eh, Wigan, you'll be sorry one o' these days!"

"I'm as sorry now as I can be, that I didn't come up sooner: and I don'tlook to be sorry for aught else. "

Wigan went off to the empty hut. But all his coaxing calls of "Puss, puss!" proved vain. Gib was in Ermine's arms; and Ermine was travellingtowards London in a heavy carrier's waggon, with Stephen on horsebackalongside. He gave up the search at last, and went home; chargingBrichtiva that if Gib should make a call on her, she was to be carefulto extend to him an amount of hospitality which would induce him toremain. 

But Gib was never seen in the neighbourhood of Bensington again. 

"What wonder?" said Erenbald. "The thing was no cat--it was a foulfiend; and having been released from the service of its earthlymistress, had returned as a matter of course to Satan its master. "

This conclusion was so patent to every one of his neighbours that nobodydreamed of questioning it. Morally speaking, there is no blindness sohopelessly incurable as that of the man who is determined to keep hiseyes shut. Only the Great Physician can heal such a case as this, andHe has often to do it by painful means. 

"Christ save you!" said Isel, coming into the anchorhold one evening, afortnight after Stephen's disappearance. "Well, you do look quiet andpeaceful for sure! and I'm that tired!--"

"Mother, I am afraid you miss me sadly, " responded Derette, almostself-reproachfully. 

"I'm pleased enough to think you're out of it, child. Miss you? Well, I suppose I do; but I haven't scarce time to think what I miss. There'sone thing I'd miss with very great willingness, I can tell you, andthat's that horrid tease, Anania. She's been at me now every day thisweek, and she will make me tell her where Stephen is, and what he's goneafter, --and that broom knows as much as I do. She grinds the life outof me, pretty nigh: and what am I to do?"

Derette smiled sympathetically. Leuesa said--

"It does seem strange he should stay so long away. "

"Anania will have it he is never coming again. "

"I dare say she is right there, " said Derette suddenly. 

"Saints alive! what dost thou mean, child? Never coming again?"

"I shouldn't wonder, " said Derette quietly. 

"Well, I should. I should wonder more than a little, I can tell you. Whatever gives you that fancy, child?"

"I have it, Mother; why I cannot tell you. "

"I hope you are not a prophetess!"

"I don't think I am, " said Derette with a smile. 

"I think Ermine was a bit of one, poor soul! She seemed to have somenotion what was coming to her. Eh, Derette! I'd give my best gown toknow those poor things were out of Purgatory. Father Dolfin says weshouldn't pray for them: but I do--I can't help it. If I were a priest, I'd say mass for them every day I lived--ay, I would! I never couldunderstand why we must not pray for heretics. Seems to me, the morewrong they've gone, the more they want praying for. Not that _they_went far wrong--I'll not believe it. Derette, dost thou ever pray forthe poor souls?"

"Ay, Mother: every one of them. "

"Well, I'm glad to hear it. And as to them that ill-used them, let themlook to themselves. Maybe they'll not find themselves at last in such acomfortable place as they look for. The good Lord may think thatcruelty to Christian blood [Note 3]--and they were Christian blood, noman can deny--isn't so very much better than heresy after all. Hope hedoes. "

"I remember Gerard's saying, " replied Derette, "that all the heresies inthe world were only men's perversions of God's truths: and that if menwould but keep close to Holy Scripture, there would be no heresies. "

"Well, it sounds like reason, doesn't it?" answered Isel with a sigh. 

"But I remember his saying also, " pursued Derette, "that where one manfollowed reason and Scripture, ten listened to other men's voices, andten more to their own fancies. "

Dusk was approaching on the following day, when a rap came on the doorof the anchorhold, and a voice said--

"Leuesa, pray you, ask my cousin to come to the casement a moment. "

"Stephen!" cried Derette, hurrying to her little window when she heardhis voice. "So you have come back!"

"Shall I go now, Lady, for the fresh fish?" asked Leuesa, veryconveniently for Stephen, who wondered if she good-naturedly guessedthat he had a private communication to make. 

"Do, " said Derette, giving her three silver pennies. 

As soon as Leuesa was out of hearing, Stephen said--"I am only here fora few hours, Derette, and nobody knows it save my Lord, you, and mybrother. I have obtained my discharge, and return to London with thedawn. "

"Are you not meaning to come back, Stephen? Folks are saying that. "

"Folks are saying truth. I shall live in London henceforth. Butremember, Derette, that is a secret. "

"I shall not utter it, Stephen. Truly, I wish you all happiness, but Icannot help being sorry. "

There were tears in Derette's eyes. Stephen had ever been morebrotherly to her than her own brothers. It was Stephen who had beggedher off from many a punishment, had helped her over many a difficulty, had made her rush baskets and wooden boats, and had always had asweetmeat in his pocket for her in childhood. She was grieved to thinkof losing him. 

"You may well wish me happiness in my honeymoon, " he said, laughingly. 

"Are you married? Why, when--O Stephen, Stephen! is it Ermine?"

"You are a first-rate guesser, little one. Yes, I have Ermine safe; andI will keep her so, God helping me. "

"I am so glad, Steenie!" said Derette, falling into the use of the oldpet name, generally laid aside now. "Tell Ermine I am so glad to hearthat, and so sorry to lose you both: but I will pray God and the saintsto bless you as long as I live, and that will be better for you than ourmeeting, though it will not be the same thing to me. "

"`So glad, and so sorry!' It seems to me, Cousin, that's no inaptpicture of life. God keep thee!--to the day when--Ermine says--it willbe all `glad' and no `sorry. '"

"Ay, we shall meet one day. Farewell!"

The days passed, and no more was seen or heard of Stephen in Oxford. What had become of him was not known at the Walnut Tree, until oneevening when Osbert looked in about supper-time, and was invited to stayfor the meal, with the three of whom the family now consisted--Manning, Isel, and Haimet. As Isel set on the table a platter of little pies, she said--

"There, that's what poor Stephen used to like so well. Maybe you'llfancy them too, Osbert. "

"Why do you call him poor Stephen?" questioned Osbert, as heappropriated a pie. "He is not particularly poor, so far as I know. "

"Well, we've lost him like, " said Isel, with a sigh. "When folks vanishout of your sight like snow in a thaw, one cannot help feeling sorry. "

"Oh, I'm sorry for myself, more ways than one: but not so much forStephen. "

"Why, Osbert, do you know where he is, and what he's doing?"

"Will you promise not to let on to Anania, if I tell you?"

"Never a word that I can help, trust me. "

"Her knowing matters nought, except that she'll never let me be if shethinks I have half a notion about it. Well, he's gone south somewhere--I don't justly know where, but I have a guess of London way. "

"What for?"

"Dare say he had more reasons than he gave me. He told me he was goingto be married. "

"Dear saints!--who to?"

"Didn't ask him. "

Isel sat looking at Osbert in astonishment, with a piece of pietransfixed on the end of her knife. 

"You see, if I did not know, I shouldn't get so much bothered with folksasking me questions: so I thought I'd let it be. "

That Osbert's "folks" might more properly be read "Anania, " Isel knewfull well. 

"Saints love us!--but I would have got to know who was my sister-in-law, if I'd been in your place. "

"To tell the truth, Aunt, I don't care, so long as she is a decent womanwho will make Stephen comfortable; and I think he's old enough to lookout for himself. "

"But don't you know even what he was going to do?--seek another watch, or go into service, or take to trade, or what?"

"I don't know a word outside what I have just told you. Oh, he'll beall right! Stephen has nine lives, like a cat. He always falls on hisfeet. "

"But it don't seem natural like!"

Osbert laughed. "I suppose it is natural to a woman to have morecuriosity than a man. I never had much of that stuff. Anania's gotenough for both. "

"Well, I'm free to confess she has. Osbert, how do you manage her? Ican't. "

"Let her alone as long as I can, and take the mop to her when I can't, "was the answer. 

"I should think the mop isn't often out of your hand, " observed Haimetwith painful candour. 

"It wears out by times, " returned Osbert drily. 

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

Note 1. "Into the worlds of worlds" is the Primer's translation of "_insaecula saeculorum_. "

Note 2. That witchcraft is no fable, but a real sin, which men havecommitted in past times, and may commit again, is certain from HolyScripture. But undoubtedly, in the Middle Ages, numbers of personssuffered under accusation of this crime who were entirely innocent: andthe so-called "white witches" were in reality mere herbalists anddealers in foolish but harmless charms, often consisting in a kind ofnursery rhyme and a few Biblical words. 

Note 3. The wrong of cruelty to men and women, as such, whether theywere Christians or not, had not dawned on men's minds in the twelfthcentury, nor did it till the Reformation. But much pity was oftenexpressed for the sufferings of "Christian blood, " and a very fewpersons had some compassion for animals. 

CHAPTER TEN. 

BARRIERS IN THE WAY. 

 "Christ is my readiness: who lives in Him Can scarcely be unready. "

 S. W. Partridge. 

A little way out of Dorchester, surrounded by pollard willow trees, andon a narrow slip of ground which sloped down towards the river, stood atiny mud hut, the inhabitants of which lived in great misery even forthat time. One small chamber, with a smaller lean-to, constituted thewhole dwelling. As to furniture, a modern eye, glancing round, wouldhave said there was none. There was a bundle of rags, covering a heapof straw, in one corner; and in another was a broken bench, which with alittle contrivance might have seated three persons of accommodatingtempers. A hole in the roof let out the smoke--when it chose to go; andlet in the rain and snow, which generally chose to come. On a niche inthe wall stood a single pan, an axe, and a battered tin bowl, whichcomprised all the family riches. The axe was the tool which obtainedbread--and very little of it; the pan did all the cooking; the bowlserved for pail, jug, and drinking-vessel. An iron socket let into thewall held a piece of half-burnt pinewood, which was lamp and candle tothe whole house. A handful of chips of wood, branches, and driedleaves, in one corner, represented the fuel; and a heap of snowunderneath the hole showed that its influence was not potent. 

On the heap of rags, five persons were lying, huddled close together forwarmth's sake--father, mother, and three children. How had they comeinto such a condition as this? Ah, they had not always lived thus. Only a few years ago, this man had been a prosperous silversmith atReading; his wife had been well dressed, his children well fed, hisacquaintance large, and himself generally respected. How had it comeabout that they were now in this pitiable condition? Had the man beenidle and neglectful of his business? By no means; he had been diligentand hard-working. Was he a drunken profligate? Not at all; he was, forthe age, unusually sober. Had he committed some terrible crime whichhad brought him to ruin?

The only true answer seems scarcely possible: and yet the only answerpossible is awfully true. The man was born a Jew, and had become aChristian. It was only natural that this should turn the Jewishcommunity against him; and all his acquaintances deserted him as amatter of course. But surely this very fact should have made theChristian community more friendly and helpful! Alas, the Christiancommunity, in bondage to the iron yoke of Rome, hated him more as a Jewthan they welcomed him as a Christian. Rome has always been the haterand opponent of Israel. The law of England at that time was actuallythis: that if a Jew became converted to Christianity, he forfeitedeverything he possessed to the Crown, and had to begin the world again. This had been the lot of poor David ben Mossi, and his wife Ruth, whoseconversion had taken place under Gerhardt's preaching. They were toohonest to hide the change in their convictions, though to reveal itmeant worldly ruin. They applied for baptism, and by so doing literallygave up all for Christ--home, goods, gain, and occupation, not to speakof friends. David obtained work as a woodcutter, which brought them injust enough to keep life in them and rags about them; and he built withhis own hands, aided by his faithful Ruth, the mud hovel, wherein theyfound the only shelter that this cold world had for them. They had leftReading, preferring solitude to averted looks and abusive tongues; andnot a creature in Dorchester came near them. Alike as Jews and as poorpeople, they were not worth cultivating. 

David had retained his name, being one used also by Christians; but Ruthhad been required to change hers. She had chosen the name of Christian, as the most truthful and expressive that she could take. 

"And I like to feel, " she said to David, "that I have something of ourblessed Lord in my name. "

"Let us keep Him in our hearts, Wife, " was the answer: "then it will notmuch matter whether or no we have Him any where else. "

It was bitterly cold in the hovel that snowy night. The children hadcried themselves to sleep, and the parents felt as if they could easilyhave done the same. The lights were out at Dorchester, and all naturehad settled down to rest, when Christian, who could not sleep for thecold, fancied she heard a voice outside the hut. 

"David!" it seemed to say. 

But the voice, if voice there were, was faint, and Christian did notlike to rouse the husband who had lost his suffering in sleep, for whatmight have been a mere fancy. The voice spoke again. 

"Ruth!" it said this time. 

Christian hesitated no longer. 

"David! There is one without, calling on us. And it must be one weknew of old, for it calls me by my old name. Pray thee, get up, and letthe poor soul in; 'tis not a night for a dog to tarry without, neverspeak of a human creature, who must be in some trouble. "

David sat up and listened. 

"I hear nothing, Wife. I think thou must have been dreaming. "

"Nay, I have been wide awake this hour gone. I am sure some one spoke. "

"I think it's fancy, Christian. However--"

"There's no harm in making sure. "

"There's the harm of letting in a lot of snow, " said David, not suitingthe action to the word, for he had risen and was pulling on his hose. They required careful pulling, as they were so nearly in pieces thatvery little rough handling would have damaged them past repair. He wasfastening the last clasp when the voice spoke again. It was nearer now, close at the door, and it was low and trembling, as if the applicant hadhard work to speak at all. 

"For the love of the Crucified, " it said, "take in a Christian child!"

David's response was to open the door instantly. 

Something at once staggered in, and sank down on the bench:--somethingwhich looked at first sight more like a statue of white marble than ahuman being, so thick lay the snow over the wrappers which enfolded it. But when David had succeeded in unfolding the wrappers, and brushing offthe snow, they discovered that their visitor was a woman, and that inher arms a child lay clasped, either dead or sleeping. 

The moment that Christian perceived so much as this, she hastily rose, throwing her poor mantle over her, and drew near to the stranger. 

"Poor soul, you're heartily welcome, " she said, "whoever you are. Wehave little beside a roof to offer you, for we have scarcely food orraiment ourselves, nor money to buy either; but such as we have we willgive you with all our hearts. "

"May the Blessed bless you!" was the faint answer. "Don't you know me, Ruth?"

"Know you!" Christian studied the face of her unexpected guest. "Nay, I do almost believe--Countess! Is it you?"

"Ay. "

"Whatever has brought you to this? The richest Jewess in Reading! Haveyou, too, become a Christian like us?"

Countess did not give a direct answer to that direct question. 

"I am not poor now, " she said. "I can find you money for food for usall, if you will suffer me to stay here till the storm has abated, andthe roads can be travelled again. "

"That won't be this s'ennight, " interjected David. 

"But how--what?" queried Christian helplessly. 

"This brought me, " said Countess, touching the child. "I was under vowto save him. And--well, I could not do it otherwise. "

"Is he alive?" asked Christian pityingly. 

"Yes, only very fast asleep. Lay him down with your little ones, andwrap this coverlet over them all, which has sheltered us in ourjourney. "

It was a down coverlet of rich damask silk. Christian's fingers touchedit as with a feeling of strangeness, and yet familiarity--as a handlingof something long unfelt, but well-known years ago. 

"I have nothing to offer you save a crust of barley bread, " she saidhesitatingly. "I am sorry for it, but it is really all I have. "

"Then, " said Countess with a smile, "play the widow of Zarephath. Giveme thy `little cake, ' and when the light dawns, you shall have a newcruse and barrel in reward. "

"Nay, we look for no reward, " answered Christian heartily. "I am onlygrieved that it should be so little. You are spent with your journey. "

"I am most spent with the weight. I had to carry the child, and this, "she replied, touching a large square parcel, tied in a silk handkerchiefround her waist. "It is the child's property--all he has in the world. May the Blessed One be praised that I have saved them both!"

"`To them that have no might, He increaseth strength, '" quoted Christiansoftly. "Then--is not this your child?"

"Yes--now. "

"But not--?"

"By gift, not by birth. And it is the Holy One who has given him. Now, good friends, let me not keep you from sleeping. Perhaps I shall sleepmyself. We will talk more in the morning. "

It was evident when the morning arrived, that the saved child hadsuffered less than she who had saved him. Both needed care, nourishment, and rest; but Countess wanted it far more than Rudolph. Afew days sufficed to restore him to his usual lively good health; but itwas weeks ere she recovered the physical strain and mental suffering ofthat terrible night. But Countess was one of those people who nevereither "give in" or "give up. " Before any one but herself thought herhalf fit for it, she went out, not mentioning her destination, on anexpedition which occupied the greater part of a day, and returned atnight with a satisfied expression on her face. 

"I have settled every thing, " she said. "And now I will tell yousomething. Perhaps you were puzzled to know why I sought shelter withyou, instead of going to some of my wealthy acquaintances in the town?"

"I was, very much, " answered Christian hesitatingly. 

"I supposed you had some reason for it, " said David. 

"Right. I had a reason--a strong one. That I shall not tell you atpresent. But I will tell you what perhaps you have already guessed--that I have been divorced from Leo. "

"Well, I fancied you must have had a quarrel with him, or something ofthat kind, " replied Christian. 

"Oh, we are on excellent terms, " said Countess in a rather sarcastictone. "So excellent, that he even proposed himself to lend me an escortof armed retainers to convey me to London. "

"To London!" exclaimed Christian, in some surprise. "I thought youwould be going back to your father's house at Oxford. "

"Oh, no!--that would not do at all. I did think of it for a moment; notnow. London will be much better. "

"May I take the liberty to ask how you mean to live?" said David. "Ofcourse it is no business of mine, but--"

"Go on, " said Countess, when he hesitated. 

"Well, I don't quite see what you can do, without either husband orfather. Perhaps your brother Rubi is coming with you? You can't livealone, surely. "

"I could, and get along very well, too; but I suppose one must not defythe world, foolish thing as it is. No, my brother Rubi is not coming, and I don't want him either. But I want you--David and Ruth. "

David and Ruth--as Countess persisted in calling her--looked at eachother in surprise and perplexity. 

"You can take a week to think about it, " resumed Countess, in hercoolest manner, which was very cool indeed. "I shall not set forthuntil the Sabbath is over. But I do not suppose you are so deeply inlove with this hovel that you could not bring yourselves to leave itbehind. "

"What do you mean us to do or be?"

"I intend to set up a silversmith's and jeweller's shop, and I meanDavid to be the silversmith, and to train Rudolph to the business. "

This sounded practical. David's heart leaped within him, at the thoughtof returning to his old status and occupation. 

"I could do that, " he said, with a gleam in his eyes. 

"I know you could, " replied Countess. 

"And _I_?" suggested Christian wistfully. 

"You may see to the house, and keep the children out of mischief. Weshall want some cooking and cleaning, I suppose; and I hate it. "

"Do you take no servants with you?" asked Christian, in an astonishedtone. For a rich lady like Countess to travel without a fullestablishment, both of servants and furniture, was amazing to her. 

"I take the child with me, " said Countess. 

Christian wondered why the one should hinder the other; but she said nomore. 

"But--" David began, and stopped. 

"I would rather hear all the objections before I set forth, " respondedCountess calmly. 

"Countess, you must clearly understand that we cannot deny our faith. "

"Who asked you to do so?"

"Nor can we hide it. "

"That is your own affair. Do Christians clean silver worse than Jews?"

"They should not, if they are real Christians and not mere pretenders. "

"Shams--I hate shams. Don't be a sham anything. Please yourselfwhether you are a Jew or a Christian, but for goodness' sake don't be asham. "

"I hope I am not that, " said David. "If you are content with us, Countess, my wife and I will be only too happy to go with you. Thechildren--"

"Oh, you don't fancy leaving them behind? Very well--they can play withRudolph, and pull the cat's tail. "

"I shall whip them if they do, " said Christian, referring not toRudolph, but to the cat. 

"Countess, do you mean to cut yourself off from all your friends?" askedDavid, with a mixed feeling of perplexity and pity. "I cannotunderstand why you should do so. "

"`Friends!'" she replied, with an indescribable intonation. "I fancy Ishall take them all with me. Do as I bid thee, David, and trouble notthyself to understand me. "

David felt silenced, and asked no more questions. 

"Rudolph must have an English name, " said Countess abruptly. "Let himbe called Ralph henceforth. That is the English version of his ownname, and he will soon grow accustomed to it. "

"What is he to call you?" asked Christian. 

"What he pleases, " was the answer. 

What it pleased Rudolph to do was to copy the other children, and say"Mother;" but he applied the term impartially alike to Countess and toChristian, till the latter took him aside, and suggested that it wouldbe more convenient if he were to restrict the term to one of them. 

"You see, " she said, "if you call us both by one name, we shall neverknow which of us you mean. "

"Oh, it does not matter, " answered Master Rudolph with imperialunconcern. "Either of you could button me up and tie my shoes. But ifyou like, I'll call you Christie. "

"I think it would be better if you did, " responded Christian withpraiseworthy gravity. 

From the time that this matter was settled until the journey was fairlybegun, Countess showed an amount of impatience and uneasiness which itsometimes took all Christian's meekness to bear. She spent the wholeday, while the light lasted, at the little lattice, silently studying alarge square volume, which she carefully wrapped every evening in silkbrocade, and then in a woollen handkerchief, placing it under the pillowon which she slept, and which had come from Leo's house for her use. Beyond that one day's expedition, she never quitted the hut till theyleft Dorchester. Of the hardships inseparable from her temporaryposition she did not once complain; all her impatience was connectedwith some inner uncertainty or apprehension which she did not choose toreveal. Rudolph looked far more disdainfully than she on the rye-crustsand ragged garments of his companions. 

At last, on the Sunday morning--for nobody dreamed in those days of nottravelling on Sunday after mass--a small party of armed servants arrivedat the hut, leading three palfreys and four baggage-mules, beside theirown horses. Three of the mules were already loaded. Countess issuedher orders, having evidently considered and settled every thingbeforehand. Christian was to ride one palfrey, Countess the other, andDavid the third, with Rudolph in front of him. His children were to bedisposed of, in panniers, on the back of the unloaded mule, with a ladof about fifteen years, who was one of the escort, behind them. 

"Hast thou found us any convoy, Josce?" asked Countess of the man whotook direction of the escort. 

Josce doffed his cap to answer his mistress, to whom he showedconsiderable deference. 

"Deuslesalt journeys to-day as far as Wallingford, " he said, "and Simeonthe usurer, who has a strong guard, will go thence to-morrow toWindsor. "

"Good. Set forth!" said Countess. 

So they set out from the mud hovel. The snow was still deep in manyparts, but it had been trodden down in the well-worn tracks, such as wasthe high road from Oxford to London. Countess rode first of the party, ordering David to ride beside her; Christian came next, by the mulewhich bore her children; the armed escort was behind. A mile away fromthe hut they joined the imposing retinue of Deuslesalt, who was awealthy silk-merchant, and in their company the journey to Wallingfordwas accomplished. There Countess and Rudolph found shelter withDeuslesalt in the house of a rich Jew, while David, Christian, and thechildren were received as travellers in a neighbouring hospital; for anhospital, in those days, was not necessarily a place where the sick weretreated, but was more of the nature of a large almshouse, where all theinmates lived and fared in common. 

On the second day they joined the usurer's party, which was larger andstronger than that of the silk-merchant. At Windsor they found an innwhere they were all lodged; and the following day they entered London. It now appeared that Countess had in some mysterious manner madepreparation for her coming; for they rode straight to a small house atthe corner of Mark Lane, which they found plainly but comfortablyfurnished to receive them. Countess paid liberally and dismissed herescort, bade David unpack the goods she had brought, and dispose of thejewels in the strong safes built into the walls, desired Christian tolet her know if anything necessary for the house were not provided, andestablished herself comfortably at the window with her big book, andRudolph on a hassock at her feet. 

"David!" she said, looking up, when the unpacking was about half done. 

David touched his forelock in answer. 

"I wish thou wouldst buy a dog and cat. "

"Both?" demanded David, rather surprised. "They will fight. "

"Oh, the cat is for the children, " said Countess coolly; "I don't wantone. But let the dog be the biggest thou canst get. "

"I think I'd have the dog by himself, " said David. "The children willbe quite as well pleased. And if you want a big one, he is pretty sureto be good-tempered. "

So David and Rudolph went to buy a dog, and returned with an amiableshaggy monster quite as tall as the latter--white and tan, with a smileupon his lips, and a fine feathery tail, which little Helwis fell atonce to stroking. This eligible member of the family received the nameof Olaf, and was clearly made to understand that he must tolerateanything from the children, and nothing from a burglar. 

Things were settling down, and custom already beginning to come into thelittle shop, when one evening, as they sat round the fire, Countesssurprised David with a question--

"David, what did the priest to thee when thou wert baptised?"

David looked up in some astonishment. 

"Why, he baptised me, " said he simply. 

"I want to know all he did, " said Countess. 

"Don't think I could tell you if I tried. He put some oil on me, andsome spittle, --and water, of course, --and said ever so many prayers. "

"What did he say in his prayers?"

"Eh, how can I tell you? They were all in Latin. "

"The Lord does not speak French or English, then?" demanded Countesssatirically. 

"Well!" said David, scratching his head, "when you put it that way--"

"I don't see what other way to put it. But I thought they baptised withwater?"

"Oh, yes, the real baptism is with water. "

"Then what is the good of the unreal baptism, with oil and otherrubbish?"

"I cry you mercy, but you must needs ask the priest. I'm only anignorant man. "

"Dost thou think he knows?"

"The priest? Oh, of course. "

"I should like to be as sure as thou art. Can any body baptise?--ormust it be done by a priest only?"

"Oh, only--well--" David corrected himself. "Of course the properperson is a priest. But in case of necessity, it can be done by alayman. A woman, even, may do it, if a child be in danger of death. But then, there is no exorcism nor anointing; only just the baptisingwith water. "

"I should have thought that was all there need be, at any time. "

With that remark Countess dropped the subject. But a few days later sheresumed the catechising, though this time she chose Christian as herinformant. 

"What do Christians mean by baptism?"

Christian paused a moment. She had not hitherto reflected on theesoteric meaning of the ceremony to which she had been ordered to submitas the introductory rite of her new religion. 

"I suppose, " she said slowly, "it must mean--confession. "

"Confession of what?" inquired Countess. 

"Of our faith in the Lord Jesus, " replied Christian boldly. 

To Christian's surprise, Countess made no scornful answer. She sat insilence, looking from the window with eyes that saw neither the knightwho was riding past, nor the fish-woman selling salt cod to the oppositeneighbour. 

"Can faith not exist without confession?" she said in a low tone. 

"Would it not be poor faith?"

"Why?" demanded Countess, drawing her brows together, and in a tone thatwas almost fierce. 

"I should think there would be no love in it. And faith which had nolove in it would be a very mean, shabby, worthless sort of faith. "

"I don't see that, " said Countess stubbornly. "I believe that this bookis lying on the window-seat. Can't I do that without loving either thewindow-seat or the book?"

"Ah, yes, when you only believe things. But the faith which is shown inbaptism is not believing a fact; it is trusting yourself, body and soul, with a Person. "

"That makes a difference, I dare say, " replied Countess, and relapsedinto silence. 

A week later she came into the shop, where David was busy polishing upthe ornaments in stock. 

"David, " she said abruptly, "what does a Christian do when he iscompletely perplexed, and cannot tell how to act?"

"Well, I don't exactly know, " said David, looking perplexed himself. "Never was like that, so far as I know. Leastwise--No, I couldn't justsay I ever have been. "

"O happy man! Some Christians are, sometimes, I suppose?"

"I should think so. I don't know. "

"What wouldst thou do, then, if thou wert in a slough from which thousawest not the way out?"

"Why, I think--I should pray the Lord to show me the way out. I don'tsee what else I could do. "

"And if no answer came?"

"Then I should be a bit afraid it meant that I'd walked in myself, andhadn't heeded His warnings. Sometimes, I think, when folks do that, Heleaves them to flounder awhile before He helps them out. "

"That won't do this time. "

"Well, if that's not it, then maybe it would be because I wanted to getout on my own side, and wouldn't see His hand held out on the other. The Lord helps you out in His way, not yours: and that often means, upthe steeper-looking bank of the two. "

Countess was silent. David applied himself to bending the pin of abrooch, which he thought rather too straight. 

"Is it ever right to do wrong?" she said suddenly. 

"Why, no!--how could it be?" answered David, looking up. 

"You put me deeper in the slough, every word you say. I will go nofurther to-day. "

And she turned and walked away. 

"Christie, " said David to his wife that evening, "thou and I must prayfor our mistress. "

"Why, what's the matter with her?"

"I don't know. She's in some trouble; and I think it is not a littletrouble. Unless I mistake, it is trouble of a weary, wearing sort, thatshe goes round and round in, and can't see the way out. "

"But what are we to ask for, if we know nothing?"

"Dear heart! ask the Lord to put it right. He knows the way out; Hedoes not want us to tell Him. "

A fortnight elapsed before any further conversation took place. At theend of that time Ash Wednesday came, and David and Christian went tochurch as usual. The service was half over, when, to their unspeakableastonishment, they perceived Countess standing at the western door, watching every item of the ceremonies, with an expression on her facewhich was half eager, half displeased, but wholly disturbed and wearied. She seemed desirous to avoid being seen, and slipped out the instantthe mass was over. 

"Whatever brought her there?" asked Christian. 

David shook his head. 

"I expect it was either the Lord or the Devil, " he said. "Let us askHim more earnestly to bring her out of the slough on the right side. "

"Did you see me in All Hallows this morning?" asked Countess abruptly, as they sat beside the fire that night. The children were in bed, andOlaf lying on the hearth. 

"Ay, I did, " replied Christian; and her tone added--"to my surprise. "

"What are those things for there?"

"What things?"

"A number of dolls, all painted and gilt. "

"Do you mean the holy images?"

"I mean the images. I don't believe in the holiness. "

"They are images of the blessed saints. "

"What are they for?" demanded Countess, knitting her brows. 

"The priest says they are to remind us, and are helps to prayer. "

"To whose prayers?" said Countess disdainfully. "No woman in Englandprays more regularly than I; but I never wanted such rubbish as that tohelp me. "

"Oh, they don't help me, " said David. "I never pay any attention tothem; I just pray straight up. "

"I don't understand praying to God in the House of Baal. `Thou shaltnot make unto thee any graven image. '"

"But they say the Church has loosed that command now. And of course wecan't set ourselves up above the Church. "

"What on earth do you mean? Art thou God, to kill and to make alive, that thou shouldst style the keeping of His command `setting one's selfabove the Church?' The Church shall never guide me, if she speakcontrary to God. "

"But how can she, when God inspires her?"

"There is another question I want settled first. How can I believe thatGod inspires her, when I see that she contradicts His distinctcommands?"

"I suppose the priest would say that was very wicked. "

"What do I care for that popinjay? How did _you_ get over it? Had youno sensation of horror, when you were required to bow down to thosestocks and stones?"

"Well, no, " said Christian, speaking very slowly. "I believed whatGerard had taught us, and--"

"When did Gerhardt ever teach you that rubbish?"

"He never did, " answered David. "The priests taught us that. And I didfind it main hard to swallow at first. "

"Ah! I'm afraid I shall find it too hard to swallow at last. But thereis nothing of all that in this book. "

"I know nought about books. But of course the Church must know thetruth, " responded David uneasily. 

"This is the truth, " answered Countess, laying her hand upon the book. "But if this be, that is not. David--Ruth--I believe as you do in JesusChrist of Nazareth: but I believe in no gilded images nor priestly lies. I shall take my religion from His words, not from them. I should liketo be baptised, if it mean to confess Him before men; but if it onlymean to swallow the priests' fables, and to kneel before gods thatcannot hear nor save, I will have none of it. As the Lord liveth, before whom I stand, I will never bow down to the work of men's hands!"

She had risen and stood before them, a grand figure, with hands clenchedand eyes on fire. Christian shrank as if alarmed. David spoke in aregretful tone. 

"Well! I thought that way myself for a while. But they said. Icouldn't be a Christian if I did not go to church, and attend the holymass. The Church had the truth, and God had given it to her: so Ithought I might be mistaken, and I gave in. I've wondered sometimeswhether I did right. "

"If that be what baptism means--to put my soul into the hands of thatthing they call the Church, and let it mould me like wax--to defilemyself with all the idols and all the follies that I see there--I willnot be baptised. I will believe without it. And if He ask me at theDay of Doom why I did not obey His command given in Galilee, I shallsay, `Lord, I could not do it without disobeying Thy first command, given amid the thunders of Sinai. ' If men drive me to do thus, it willnot be my sin, but theirs. "

"Well, I don't know!" answered David, in evident perplexity. "I supposeyou _could_ be baptised, with nothing more--but I don't know any priestthat would do it. "

"Would you do it?"

"Oh, I daren't!"

"David, your religion is very queer. "

"What's the matter?" asked David in astonishment. 

"The other day, when I told you I was in a great slough, you did notadvise me to go and ask those gaudy images to help me out of it; youspoke of nobody but the Lord. Now that we come to talk about images, you flounder about as if you did not know what to say. "

"Well, don't you see, I know one o' them two, but I've only been toldthe other. "

"Oh yes, I see. You are not the first who has had one religion forsunshiny weather, and another for rainy days; only that with you--different from most people--you wear your best robe in the storm. "

David rubbed his face upon the sleeve of his jacket, as if he wished torub some more discrimination into his brains. 

"Nay, I don't know--I hope you've no call to say that. "

"I usually say what I think. But there's no need to fret; you've timeto mend. "

Both the women noticed that for a few days after that, David was verysilent and thoughtful. When the Sunday came he excused himself fromgoing to church, much to the surprise and perplexity of his wife. Theday after he asks for a holiday, and did not return till late at night. 

As they sat round the fire on the following evening, David saidsuddenly, --"I think I've found it out. "

"What?" asked his mistress. 

"Your puzzle--and my own too. "

"Let me have the key, by all means, if you possess it. "

"Well, I have been to see the hermit of Holywell. They say he is theholiest man within reach of London, go what way you will. And he hasread me a bit out of a book that seems to settle the matter. At least Ithought so. Maybe you mightn't see it so easy. "

"It takes more than fair words to convince me. However, let me hearwhat it is. What was the book? I should like to know that first. "

"He said it was an epistle written by Paul the Apostle to somebody--Ican't just remember whom. "

"Who was he?"

"Why, he was one of the saints, wasn't he?"

"I don't know. There's no mention of him in my book. "

David looked like a man stopped unexpectedly in rapid career. "Youalways want to know so much about every thing!" he said, rubbing hisface on his sleeve, as he had a habit of doing when puzzled. "Now Inever thought to ask that. "

"But before I can act on a message from my superior, I must surelysatisfy myself as to the credentials of the messenger. However, let ushear the message. Perhaps that may tell us something. Some things bearon their faces the evidence of what they are--still more of what theyare not. "

"Well, what he read was this: `If thou shalt confess with thy mouth theLord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised Himfrom the dead, thou shalt be saved. ' And `Look you, ' saith he, `thereisn't a word here of any body else. ' `If thou shalt confess' Him--notthe saints, nor the images, nor the Church, nor the priest. `Baptism, 'saith he, `is confessing Him. ' Then he turned over some leaves, andread a bit from another place, how our Lord said, `Come unto Me, allye--'"

Countess's eyes lighted up suddenly. "That's in my book. `All ye thattravail and are heavy laden, and I will refresh you. '"

"That's it. And says he, `He does not say, "Come to the Church or thepriest, " but "Come to Me. "' `Well, ' says I, `but how can you do onewithout the other?' `You may come to the priest easy enough, and nevercome to Christ, ' saith he, `so it's like to be as easy to come to Christwithout the priest. ' `Well, but, ' says I, `priests doesn't say so. '`No, ' says he; `they don't'--quite short like. `But for all I can seein this book, ' says he, `He does. '"

"Go on!" said Countess eagerly, when David paused. 

"Well, then--I hope you'll excuse me if I said more than I should--saysI to him, `Now look here, Father: suppose you had somebody coming to youfor advice, that had been a Jew like me, and was ready to believe in ourLord, but could not put up with images and such, would you turn him awaybecause he could not believe enough, or would you baptise him?' `Iwould baptise him, ' saith he. Then he turns over the book again, andreads: `"Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved. "That is what the Apostles said to one man, ' says he: `and if it wasenough then, it is enough now. ' `But, Father, ' says I, `that soundsrather as if you thought the Church might go wrong, or had gone wrong, in putting all these things beside our Lord. ' `My son, ' saith he, `whatmeanest thou by the Church? The Holy Ghost cannot teach error. Men inthe Church may go wrong, and are continually wandering into error. Whatsaid our Lord to the rulers of the Jews, who were the priests of Hisday? "Ye do err, not knowing the Scriptures. " This book is truth: whenmen leave this book, ' saith he, `they go astray. ' `But not holyChurch?' said I. `Ah, ' saith he, `the elect may stray from the fold;how much more they that are strangers there? The only safe place forany one of us, ' he says, `is to keep close to the side of the GoodShepherd. '"

"David, where dwells that hermit?"

"By the holy well, away on the Stronde, west of Lud Gate. Any body youmeet on that road will tell you where to find him. His hut stands a bitback from the high way, on the north. "

"Very good. I'll find him. "

The next day, until nearly the hour of curfew, nothing was seen ofCountess. She took Olaf with her as guard, and they returned at thelast moment, just in time to enter the City before the gates wereclosed. David and Christian had finished their work, shut up the shop, and put the children to bed, when Olaf made his stately entrance, withhis mistress behind him. 

"Thy old hermit, " she said, addressing David, "is the first decentChristian I have found--the first that goes by his Master's words, anddoes not worry me with nonsense. "

She drew off her hood, and sat down in the chimney-corner. 

"You found him then?" answered David. "Had you much trouble?"

"I found him. Never mind the trouble. "

"Has he settled the puzzle for you, then?"

"I think I settled it for him. "

"I ask your pardon, but I don't understand you. "

"I don't suppose you do. "

"Countess, " said Christian, coming down the ladder, "I bought theherrings as you bade me; but there is no salt salmon in the marketto-day. "

"To whom are you speaking?" inquired Countess, with an expression of funabout the corners of her lips. 

"You, " replied Christian in surprise. 

"Then, perhaps you will have the goodness to call me by my Christianname, which is Sarah. "

"O Countess! have you been baptised?"

"I have. "

"By the hermit?"

"By the hermit. "

"But how?"

"How? With water. What did you expect?"

"But--all at once, without any preparation?"

"What preparation was needed? I made my confession of Christ, and hebaptised me in His name. The preparation was only to draw the water. "

"What on earth did you do for sponsors?"

"Had none. "

"Did he let you?"

A little smothered laugh came from Countess. "He had not much choice, "she said. "He did try it on. But I told him plainly, I was not goingto give in to that nonsense: that if he chose to baptise me at once, Iwas there ready, and would answer any questions and make any confessionthat he chose. But if not--not. I was not coming again. "

"And he accepted it!" said David, with a dozen notes of exclamation inhis voice. 

"Did I not tell you he was the most sensible Christian I ever found? Hesaid, `Well!--after all, truly, any thing save the simple baptism withwater was a man-made ordinance. The Ethiopian eunuch had no sponsors'--I don't know who he was, but I suppose the hermit did--`and he probablymade as true a Christian for all that' `In truth, ' said I, `theinstitution of sponsors seems good for little children--friends whopromise to see that they shall be brought up good Christians if theirparents die early; but for a woman of my age, it is simply absurd, and Iwon't have it. Let me confess Christ as my Messiah and Lord, andbaptise me with water in His name, and I am sure he will be satisfiedwith it. And if any of the saints and angels are not satisfied, theycan come down and say so, if they think it worth while. ' So--as he saw, I suppose, that _I_ was not going to do it--he gave in. "

"I hope it's all right, " said David, rather uneasily. 

"David, I wish I could put a little sense into you. You are a good man, but you are a very foolish one. `All right!' Of course it is allright. It is man, and not God, who starts at trifles like a frightenedhorse, and makes men offenders for a word. The Lord looketh on theheart. "

"Ay, but Moses (on whom be peace!) was particular enough about somedetails which look very trifling to us. "

"He was particular enough where they concerned the honour of God, orwhere they formed a part of some symbolism which the alteration wouldcause to be wrongly interpreted so as to teach untruth. But for allelse, he let them go, and so did our Lord. When Aaron explained why hehad not eaten the goat of the sin-offering, Moses was content. Nor didChrist condemn David the King, but excused him, for eating theshewbread. I am sure Moses would have baptised me this morning, withoutwaiting for sponsors or Lucca oil. This is a very silly world; I shouldhave thought the Church might have been a trifle wiser, and really itseems to have less common sense of the two. How could I have foundsponsors, I should like to know? I know nobody but you and Christian. "

"They told us, when we were baptised, that the Church did not allow ahusband and wife to be sponsors to the same person. So we could notboth have stood for you. It would have had to be Christian and Rudolph, and some other woman. "

"Rudolph! That baby! [Note 1. ] Would they have let him stand?"

"Yes--if you could not find any one else. "

"And promise to bring me up in the Catholic faith? Well, if that is notrich!--when I have got to bring him up! I will tell you what, David--ifsome benevolent saint would put a little common sense into the Church, it would be a blessing to somebody. `The Church!' I am weary of thatceaseless parrot scream. The Church stands in the way to Jesus ofNazareth, not as a door to go in, but as a wall to bar out. I wish wehad lived in earlier days, before all that rubbish had had time to grow. Now, mind you, " concluded Countess, as she rose to go to bed, "Davidand Christian, I don't mean to be bothered about this. Don't talk tome, nor to Rudolph, nor to any body else. I shall read the Book, andteach him to do it; but I shall not pray to those gilded things; and heshall not. What Gerhardt taught is enough for him and me. Andremember, if too much be said, the King's officers may come and takeevery thing away. I do not see that it is my duty to go and tell them. If they come, let them come, and God be my aid and provider! Otherwise, we had better keep quiet. "

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Note 1. That little children were at times allowed to be sponsors inthe Middle Ages, is proved by the instance of John Earl of Kent in 1330, whose brother and sister, the former probably under ten years of age, and the latter aged only eighteen months, stood sponsors for him. (_Prob. Aet. Johannis Com. Kant. _, 23 Edward Third, 76. )

CHAPTER ELEVEN. 

WELL MET. 

 "O God, we are but leaves upon Thy stream, Clouds in Thy sky. "

 Dinah Mulock. 

A busy place on a Monday morning was Bread Street, in the city ofLondon. As its name denotes, it was the street of the bakers; for ourancestors did not give names, as we do, without reason, for meredistinction's sake. If a town gate bore the name of York Gate, that wasequivalent to a signpost, showing that it opened on the York road. Theymade history and topography, where we only make confusion. 

The fat, flour-besprinkled baker at the Harp, in Bread Street, was infull tide of business. His shelves were occupied by the eight differentkinds of bread in common use--wassel, used only by knights and squires;cocket, the kind in ordinary use by smaller folk; maslin, a mixture ofwheat, oats, and barley; barley, rye, and brown bread, the fare oftradesmen and monks; oaten, the food of the poorest; and horse bread. There were two or three varieties finer and better than these, only usedby the nobles, which were therefore made at home, and not commonly to befound at the baker's: simnel, manchet or chet, and paynemayne or _painde main_ (a corruption of _panis dominicus_). We read also of _pain leRei_, or the King's bread, but this may be paynemayne under anothername. Even in the large towns, at that time, much of the baking wasdone at home; and the chief customers of the bakers were the cookshopsor eating houses, with such private persons as had not time orconvenience to prepare their own bread. The price of bread at this timedoes not appear to be on record; but about seventy years later, fourloaves were sold for a penny. [Note 1. ]

The cooks, who lived mainly in Eastcheap and along the water-side, ofcourse had to provide bread of various kinds, to suit their differentcustomers; and a young man, armed with a huge basket, came to have itfilled with all varieties. Another young man had entered after him, andnow stood waiting by the wall till the former should have finished hisbusiness. 

"Now then, " said the baker, turning to the man in waiting, as the othertrudged forth with his basket: "what shall I serve you with?"

"I don't want you to serve me; I want to serve you, " was the answer. 

The baker looked him over with a good-natured but doubtful expression. 

"Want to serve me, do you? Whence come you?"

"I'm an upland man. " [From the country. ]

"Got any one to speak for you?"

"A pair of eyes, a pair of hands, a fair wit, and a good will to work. "

The fat baker looked amused. "And an honest repute, eh?" said he. 

"I have it, but I can't give it you, except from my wife, and I scarcelysuppose you'll be satisfied to go to her for my character. "

"I'm not so sure of that!" laughed the baker. "If she'd speak truth, she could give you the character best worth having of any. "

"She never yet spoke any thing else, nor did I. "

"_Ha, jolife_!--you must be a fine pair. Well, now, speak the truth, and tell me why a decent, tidy-seeming young fellow like you can't get acharacter to give me. "

"Because I should have to put my wife in peril, if I went back to doit, " was the bold answer. 

"Ha, so!" Such a possibility, in those rough days, was only tooapparent to the honest baker. "Well, well! Had to run from a badmaster, eh? Ay, ay, I see. "

He did not see exactly the accurate details of the facts; but theapplicant did not contradict him. 

"Well! I could do with another hand, it's true; and I must say I likethe look of you. How long have you been a baker's man?"

"When I've been with you seven days, it'll be just a week, " was thehumorous reply. 

"What, you've all to learn? That's a poor lookout. "

"A man that has all to learn, and has a will to it, will serve youbetter than one that has less to learn, and has no will to it. "

"Come, I can't gainsay that. What have you been, then?"

"I have been watchman in a castle. "

"Oh, ho!--how long?"

"Fifteen years. "

"And what gives you a mind to be a baker?"

"Well, more notions than one. It's a clean trade, and of good repute;wholesome, for aught I know: there's no killing in it, for which Ihaven't a mind; and as folks must eat, it does not depend on fashionlike some things. Moths don't get into bread and spoil it, nor rustneither; and if you can't sell it, you can eat it yourself, and you'reno worse off, or not much. It dries and gets stale, of course, in time:but one can't have every thing; and seems to me there's as little riskin bread, and as little dirt or worry, as there is in any thing one canput one's hand to do. I'm not afraid of work, but I don't like dirt, loss, nor worry. "

The fat baker chuckled. "Good for you, my lad!--couldn't have put itbetter myself. Man was made to labour, and I like to see a man that'snot afraid of work. Keep clear of worry by all means; it eats a man'sheart out, which honest work never does. Work away, and sing at yourwork--that's my notion: and it's the way to get on and be happy. "

"I'm glad to hear it; I always do, " said the applicant. "And mind you, lad, --I don't know an unhappier thing than discontent. When you want tomeasure your happiness, don't go and set your ell-wand against himthat's got more than you have, but against him that's got less. Breadand content's a finer dinner any day than fat capon with grumble-sauce. We can't all be alike; some are up, and some down: but it isn't them atthe top of the tree that's got the softest bed to lie on, nor them thatsup on the richest pasties that most enjoy their supper. If a man wantsto be comfortable, he must keep his heart clear of envy, and put a goodwill into his work. I believe a man may come to take pleasure in anything, even the veriest drudgery, that brings a good heart to it anddoes his best to turn it out well. "

"I am sure of that, " was the response, heartily given. 

The baker was pleased with the hearty response to the neat epigrammaticapothegms wherein he delighted to unfold himself. He nodded approval. 

"I'll take you on trial for a month, " he said. "And if you've givenyourself a true character, you'll stay longer. I'll pay you--No, we'llsettle that question when I have seen how you work. "

"I'll stay as long as I can, " was the answer, as the young man turned toleave the shop. 

"Tarry a whit! What's your name, and how old are you?"

"I am one-and-thirty years of age, and my name is Stephen. "

"Good. Be here when the vesper bell begins to ring. "

Stephen went up to Cheapside, turned along it, up Lady Cicely's Lane, and out into Smithfield by one of the small posterns in the City wall. Entering a small house in Cock Lane, he went up a long ladder leading toa tiny chamber, screened-off from a garret. Here a tabby cat came tomeet him, and rubbed itself against his legs as he stooped down tocaress it, while Ermine, who sat on the solitary bench, looked upbrightly to greet him. 

"Any success, Stephen?"

"Thy prayer is heard, sweet heart. I have entered the service of abaker in Bread Street, --a good-humoured fellow who would take me at myown word. I told him I had no one to refer him to for a character butyou, --I did not think of Gib, or I might have added him. You'd speakfor me, wouldn't you, old tabby?"

Gib replied by an evidently affirmative "Me-ew!"

"I'll give you an excellent character, " said Ermine, smiling, "and sowill Gib, I am sure. "

The baker was well satisfied when his new hand reached the Harp exactlyas the vesper bell sounded its first stroke at Saint Mary-le-Bow. 

"That's right!" said he. "I like to see a man punctual. Take this dampcloth and rub the shelves. "

"Clean!" said he to himself a minute after. "Have you ever rubbedshelves before?"

"Not much, " said Stephen. 

"How much do you rub 'em?"

"Till they are clean. "

"You'll do. Can you carry a tray on your head?"

"Don't know till I try. "

"Best practise a bit, before you put any thing on it, or else we shallhave mud pies, " laughed the baker. 

When work was over, the baker called Stephen to him. 

"Now, " said he, "let us settle about wages. I could not tell how muchto offer you, till I saw how you worked. You've done very well for anew hand. I'll give you three-halfpence a-day till you've fairly learntthe trade, and twopence afterwards: maybe, in time, if I find youuseful, I may raise you a halfpenny more: a penny of it in bread, therest in money. Will that content you?"

"With a very good will, " replied Stephen. 

His wages as watchman at the Castle had been twopence per day, so thathe was well satisfied with the baker's proposal. 

"What work does your wife do?"

"She has none to do yet. She can cook, sew, weave, and spin. "

"I'll bear it in mind, if I hear of any for her. "

"Thank you, " said Stephen; and dropping the halfpenny into his purse, hesecured the loaves in his girdle, and went back to the smallscreened-off corner of the garret which at present he called home. 

It was not long before the worthy baker found Stephen so useful that heraised his wages even to the extravagant sum of threepence a day. Hiswife, too, had occasional work for Ermine; and the thread she spun wasso fine and even, and the web she wove so regular and free fromblemishes, that one employer spoke of her to another, until she had asmuch work as she could do. Not many months elapsed before they wereable to leave the garret where they had first found refuge, and take alittle house in Ivy Lane; and only a few years were over when Stephenwas himself a master baker and pastiller (or confectioner), Erminepresiding over the lighter dainties, which she was able to vary bysundry German dishes not usually obtainable in London, while he wasrenowned through the City for the superior quality of his bread. Odinel, the fat baker, who always remained his friend, loved to point amoral by Stephen's case in lecturing his journeymen. 

"Why, do but look at him, " he was wont to say; "when he came here, eightyears ago, he scarcely knew wassel bread from cocket, and had never seena fish pie save to eat. Now he has one of the best shops in BreadStreet, and four journeymen under him. And how was it done, think you?There was neither bribery nor favour in it. Just by being honest, cleanly, and punctual, thorough in all he undertook, and putting heartand hands into the work. Every one of you can do as well as he did, ifyou only bestir yourselves and bring your will to it. Depend upon it, lads, `I will' can do a deal of work. `I can' is _very_ well, but if `Iwill' does not help him, `I can' will not put many pennies in hispocket. `I can'--`I ought'--`I will'--those are the three good fairiesthat do a man's work for him: and the man that starts work without themis like to turn out but a sorry fellow. "

It was for Ermine's sake, that he might retain a hiding place for her ifnecessary, that Stephen continued to keep up the house in Ivy Lane. Theordinary custom was for a tradesman to live over or behind his shop. The excuse given out to the world was that Stephen and his wife, beingcountry people, did not fancy being close mewed up in city streets; andbetween Ivy Lane and the fresh country green and air, there were only afew lanes and the city walls. 

Those eight years passed quietly and peacefully to Stephen and Ermine. A small family--five in number--grew up around them, and Gib purredtranquilly on the hearth. They found new friends in London, and thankedGod that He had chosen their inheritance for them, and had set theirfeet in a large room. 

At that time, and for long afterwards, each trade kept by itself to itsown street or district. The mercers and haberdashers lived in WestChepe or Cheapside, which Stephen had to go down every day. Onemorning, at the end of those eight years, he noticed that a shop longempty had been reopened, and over it hung a newly-painted signboard, with a nun's head. As Stephen passed, a woman came to the door to hangup some goods, and they exchanged a good look at each other. 

"I wonder who it is you are like!" said Stephen to himself. 

Then he passed on, and thought no more about her. 

On two occasions this happened. When the third came, the woman suddenlyexclaimed--

"I know who you are now!"

"Do you?" asked Stephen, coming to a halt. "I wish I knew who you are. I have puzzled over your likeness to somebody, and I cannot tell who itis. "

The woman laughed, thereby increasing the mysterious resemblance whichwas perplexing Stephen. 

"Why, " said she, "you are Stephen Esueillechien, unless I greatlymistake. "

"So I am, " answered Stephen, "or rather, so I was; for men call me nowStephen le Bulenger. But who are you?"

"Don't you think I'm rather like Leuesa?"

"That's it! But how come you hither, old friend? Have you left mycousin? Or is she--"

"The Lady Derette is still in the anchorhold. I left her when I wedded. Do you remember Roscius le Mercer, who dwelt at the corner of NorthGate Street? He is my husband--but they call him here Roscius deOxineford--and we have lately come to London. So you live in BreadStreet, I suppose, if you are a baker?"

Stephen acknowledged his official residence, mentally reserving theprivate one, and purposing to give Ermine a hint to confine herself forthe present to Ivy Lane. 

"Do come in, " said Leuesa hospitably, "and let us have a chat about oldfriends. "

And lifting up her voice she called--"Roscius!"

The mercer, whom Stephen remembered as a slim youth, presented himselfin the changed character of a stout man of five-and-thirty, and warmlyseconded his wife's invitation, as soon as he recognised an oldacquaintance. 

"I'm glad enough to hear of old friends, " said Stephen, "for I haven'theard a single word since I left Oxford about any one of them. Tell mefirst of my brother. Is he living and in the old place?"

"Ay, and Anania too, and all the children. I don't think there havebeen any changes in the Castle. "

"Uncle Manning and Aunt Isel?"

"Manning died three years ago, and Isel dwells now with Raven andFlemild, who have only one daughter, so they have plenty of room forher. "

"Then what has become of Haimet?"

"Oh, he married Asselot, the rich daughter of old Tankard of Bicester. He lives at Bicester now. Romund and Mabel are well; they have nochildren, but Haimet has several. "

"Both my cousins married heiresses? They have not done badly, itseems. "

"N-o, they have _not_, in one way, " said Leuesa. "But I do not thinkHaimet is bettered by his marriage. He seems to me to be getting veryfond of money, and always to measure everything by the silver pennies itcost. That's not the true ell-wand; or I'm mistaken. "

"You are not, Leuesa. I'd as soon be choked with a down pillow as havemy soul all smothered up with gold. Well, and how do other folks geton?--Franna, and Turguia, and Chembel and Veka, and all the rest?"

"Turguia's gone, these five years; the rest are well--at least I don'trecall any that are not. "

"Is old Benefei still at the corner?"

"Ay, he is, and Rubi and Jurnet. Regina is married to Jurnet's wife'snephew, Samuel, and has a lot of children--one pretty little girl, witheyes as like Countess as they can be. "

"Oh, have you any notion what is become of Countess?"

"They removed from Reading to Dorchester, I believe, and then I heardold Leo had divorced Countess, and married Deuslesalt's daughter andheir, Drua. What became of her I don't know. "

"By the way, did either of you know aught of the Wise Woman ofBensington? Mother Haldane, they used to call her. She'll perhaps notbe alive now, for she was an old woman eight years gone. She did me agood turn once. "

"I don't know anything about her, " said Leuesa. 

"Ah, well, I do, " answered Roscius. "I went to her when our cow wasfairy-led, twelve years gone; and after that for my sister, when she hadbeen eating chervil, and couldn't see straight before her. Ay, she wasa wise woman, and helped a many folks. No, she's not alive now. "

"You mean more than you say, Roscius, " said Stephen, with a suddensinking of heart. What had happened to Haldane?

"Well, you see, they ducked her for a witch. "

"And killed her?" Stephen's voice was hard. 

"Ay--she did not live many minutes after. She sank, though--she was nowitch: though it's true, her cat was never seen afterwards, and somefolks would have it he'd gone back to Sathanas. "

"Then it must have been that night!" said Stephen to himself. "Did sheknow, that she sent us off in haste? Was _that_ the secret she wouldnot tell?" Aloud, he said, --"And who were `they' that wrought that illdeed?"

"Oh, there was a great crowd at the doing of it--all the idle loons inBensington and Dorchester: but there were two that hounded them on tothe work--the Bishop's sumner Malger, and a woman: I reckon they had agrudge against her of some sort. Wigan the charcoal-burner told me ofit--he brought her out, and loosed the cord that bound her. "

"God pardon them as He may!" exclaimed Stephen. "She was no more awitch than you are. A gentle, harmless old woman, that healed folkswith herbs and such--shame on the men that dared to harm her!"

"Ay, I don't believe there was aught bad in her. But, saints blessyou!--lads are up to anything, " said Roscius. "They'd drown you, orburn me, any day, just for the sake of a grand show and a flare-up. "

"They're ill brought up, then, " said Stephen. "I'll take good care mylads don't. "

"O Stephen! have you some children?--how many?"

"Ay, two lads and three lasses. How many have you?"

"We're not so well off as you; we have only two maids. Why, Stephen, I'd forgot you were married. I must come and see your wife. But Inever heard whom you did marry: was she a stranger?"

Poor Stephen was sorely puzzled what to say. On the one hand, hethought Leuesa might safely be trusted; and as Ermine had alreadysuffered the sentence passed upon her, and the entire circumstances wereforgotten by most people, it seemed as if the confession of facts mightbe attended by no danger. Yet he could not know with certainty thateither of his old acquaintances was incorruptibly trustworthy; and ifthe priests came to know that one of their victims had survived theordeal, what might they not do, in hatred and revenge? A moment'sreflection, and an ejaculatory prayer, decided him to trust Leuesa. Shemust find out the truth if she came to see Ermine. 

"No, " he said slowly; "she was not a stranger. "

"Why, who could it be?" responded Leuesa. "Nobody went away when youdid. "

"But somebody went away before I did. Leuesa, I think you are not thewoman who would do an old friend an ill turn?"

"Indeed, I would not, Stephen, " said she warmly. "If there be anysecret, you may trust me, and my husband too; we would not harm you oryours for the world. "

"I believe I may, " returned Stephen. "My cousin Derette knows, butdon't name it to any one else. My wife is--Ermine. "

"Stephen! You don't mean it? Well, I am glad to know she got safeaway! But how did you get hold of her?"

Stephen told his story. 

"You may be very certain we shall not speak a word to injure Ermine, "said Leuesa. "Ay, I'll come and see her, and glad I shall be. Why, Stephen, I thought more of Ermine than you knew; I called one of mylittle maids after her. Ermine and Derette they are. I can neverforget a conversation I once had with Gerard, when he took me back tothe Castle from Isel's house; I did not think so much of it at the time, but it came to me with power afterwards, when he had sealed his faithwith his blood. "

"Ah! there's nothing like dying, to make folks believe you, " commentedRoscius. 

"Can't agree with you there, friend, " answered Stephen with a smile. "There is one other thing, and that is living. A man may give his lifein a sudden spurt of courage and enthusiasm. It is something more tosee him spend his life in patient well-doing through many years. Thatis the harder of the two to most. "

"Maybe it is, " assented Roscius. "I see now why you were so anxiousabout old Haldane. "

"Ay, we owed her no little. And I cannot but think she had some notion, poor soul! of what was coming: she was in such haste to get us off bydawn. If I had known--"

"Eh, what could you have done if you had?" responded Roscius. "Wigantold me there were hundreds in the crowd. "

"Nothing, perchance, " answered Stephen sadly. "Well! the good Lord knewbest, and He ordered matters both for us and her. "

"Wigan said he thought she had been forewarned--I know not why. "

"Ay, I think some one must have given her a hint. That was why she sentus off so early. "

"I say, Stephen, " asked Roscius rather uneasily, "what think you didbecome of that cat of hers? The thing was never seen after she died--not once. It looks queer, you know. "

"Does it?" said Stephen, with a little laugh. 

"Why, yes! I don't want to think any ill of the poor old soul--not I, indeed: but never to be seen once afterwards--it _does_ look queer. Doyou think Sathanas took the creature?"

"Not without I am Sathanas. That terrible cat that so troubles you, Roscius, sits purring on my hearth at this very moment. "

"You! Why, did you take the thing with you?"

"We did. It came away in Ermine's arms. "

"Eh, Saint Frideswide be our aid! I wouldn't have touched it for aking's ransom. "

"I've touched it a good few times, " said Stephen, laughing, "and itnever did aught worse to me than rub itself against me and mew. Why, surely, man! you're not feared of a cat?"

"No, not of a real cat; but that--"

"It is just as real a cat as any other. My children play with it everyday; and if you'll bring your little maids, I'll lay you a good venisonpasty that they are petting it before they've been in the house aPaternoster. Trust a girl for that! Ah, yes! that was one reason why Ithought she had some fancy of what was coming--the poor soul begged usto take old Gib. He'd been her only companion for years, and she didnot want him ill-used. Poor, gentle, kindly soul! Ermine will begrieved to hear of her end. "

"Tell Ermine I'll come to see her, " said Leuesa, "and bring the childrentoo. "

"We have a Derette as well as you, " replied Stephen with a smile. "Sheis the baby. Our boys are Gerard and Osbert, and our elder girls Agnesand Edild--my mother's name, you know. "

As Stephen opened the door of his house that evening, Gib came to meethim with erect tail. 

"Well, old fellow!" said Stephen, rubbing his ears--a process to whichGib responded with loud purrs. "I have seen a man to-day who is afraidto touch you. I don't think you would do much to him--would you, now?"

"That's nice--go on!" replied Gib, purring away. 

Leuesa lost no time in coming to see Ermine. She brought her two littlegirls, of whom the elder, aged five years, immediately fell in love withthe baby, while the younger, aged three, being herself too much of ababy to regard infants with any sentiment but disdain, bestowed all herdelicate attentions upon Gib. Stephen declared laughingly that he sawhe should keep the pasty. 

"Well, really, it does look very like a cat!" said the mercer, eyeingGib still a little doubtfully. 

"Very like, indeed, " replied Stephen, laughing again. "I never sawanything that looked more like one. "

"There's more than one at Oxford would like to see you, Ermine, andStephen too, " said Leuesa. 

"Mother Isel would, and Derette, " was Ermine's answer. "I am not sosure of any one else. "

"I am sure of one else, " interpolated Stephen. "It would be a perfectwindfall to Anania, for she'd get talk out of it for nine times ninedays. But would it be safe, think you?"

"Why not?" answered Roscius. "The Earl has nought against you, has he?"

"Oh no, he has nought against me; I settled every thing with him--wentback on purpose to do so. I was thinking of Ermine. The Bishop is notthe same [Note 2], but for aught I know, the sumners are. "

"Only one of them: Malger went to Lincoln some two years back. "

"Well, I should be glad not to meet that villain, " said Stephen. 

"You'll not meet him. Then as to the other matter, what could they doto her? The sentence was carried out. You can't execute a man twice. "

"That's a point that does not generally rise for decision. But you seeshe got taken in, and that was forbidden. They were never meant tosurvive it, and she did. "

"I don't believe any penalty could fall on her, " said Roscius. "But ifyou like, I'll ask my cousin, who is a lawyer, what the law has to sayon that matter. "

"Then don't mention Ermine's name. "

"I'll mention nobody's name. I shall only say that I and a friend ofmine were having a chat, and talking of one thing and another, we fella-wondering what would happen if a man were to survive a punishmentintended to kill him. "

"That might serve. I don't mind if you do. "

The law, in 1174, was much more dependent on the personal will of thesovereign than it is now. The lawyer looked a little doubtful whenasked the question. 

"Why, " said he, "if the prisoner had survived by apparent miracle, thechances are that he would be pardoned, as the probability would be thathis innocence was thus proved by visitation of God. I once knew of sucha case, where a woman was accused of murdering her husband; she held hermute of malice at her trial, and was adjudged to suffer _peine forte etdure_. "

When a prisoner refused to plead, he was held to be "mute of malice. "The _peine forte et dure_, which was the recognised punishment for thismisdemeanour, was practically starvation to death. In earlier days itseems to have been pure starvation; but at a later period, the morerefined torture was substituted of allowing the unhappy man on alternatedays three mouthfuls of bread with no liquid, and three sips of waterwith no food, for a term which the sufferer could not be expected tosurvive. At a later time again, this was exchanged for heavyweights, under which he was pressed to death. 

"Strange to say, " the lawyer went on, "the woman survived her sentence;and this being an undoubted miracle, she received pardon to the laud ofGod and the honour of His glorious mother, Dame Mary. [Such a casereally happened at Nottingham in 1357. ] But if you were supposing acase without any such miraculous intervention--"

"Oh, we weren't thinking of miracles, any way, " answered Roscius. 

"Then I should say the sentence would remain in force. There is ofcourse a faint possibility that it might not be put in force; but if theman came to me for advice, I should not counsel him to build much uponthat. Especially if he happened to have an enemy. "

"Well, it does not seem just, to my thinking, that a man should suffer apenalty twice over. "

"Just!" repeated the lawyer, with a laugh and a shrug of his shoulders. "Were you under the impression, Cousin Roscius, that law and justicewere interchangeable terms?"

"I certainly was, " said Roscius. 

"Then, you'd better get out of it, " was the retort. 

"I daren't take Ermine, after that, " said Stephen, rather sorrowfully, "The only hope would be that she might be so changed, nobody would knowher; and then, as my wife, she might pass unharmed But the risk seemstoo great. "

"She's scarcely changed enough for that, " replied Leuesa. "Very likelyshe would not be recognised by those to whom she was a comparativestranger; but such as had known her well would guess in a moment. Otherwise--"

"Then her name would tell tales, " suggested Stephen. 

"Oh, you might change that, " said Roscius. "Call her Emma or Aymeria--folks would never think. "

"And tell lies?" responded Stephen. 

"Why, you'd never call that telling lies, surely?"

"It's a bit too like it to please me. Is Father Dolfin still at SaintFrideswide's?"

"Ay, he's still there, but he's growing an old man, and does not getoutside much now. He has resigned Saint Aldate's. "

"Then that settles it. He'd know. "

"But he's not an unkindly man, Stephen. "

"No, he isn't. But he's a priest. And maybe the priest might bestronger than the man. Let's keep on the safe side. "

"Let us wait, " said Ermine quietly. 

"I don't see how waiting is to help you, unless you wait till every bodyis dead and buried--and it won't be much good going then. "

"Perhaps we may have to wait for the Better Country. There will be nosumners and sentences there. "

"But are you sure of knowing folks there?"

"Saint Paul would scarcely have anticipated meeting his friends with joyin the resurrection if they were not to know each other when they met. There are many passages in Scripture which make it very plain that weshall know each other. "

"Are you so sure of getting there yourself?" was the query put byRoscius, with raised eyebrows. 

"I am quite sure, " was Ermine's calm answer, "because Christ is there, and I am a part of Christ. He wills that His people shall be with Himwhere He is. "

"But does not holy Church teach rather different?" [Note 3. ]

Stephen would fain have turned off the question. But it was answered ascalmly as before. 

"Holy Church is built on Christ our Lord. She cannot therefore teachcontrary to Him, though we may misunderstand either. "

Roscius was satisfied. He had not, however, the least idea that by thatvague term "holy Church, " while he meant a handful of priests andbishops, Ermine meant the elect of God, for whom His words settle everyquestion, and who are not apt to trouble themselves for thecontradictions either of priests or critics. "For the world passethaway, and the lust thereof"--the pleasures, the opinions, the prejudicesof the world--"but he that doeth the will of God abideth for ever. "

The times of Henry Second knew neither post-offices nor carriers. Whena man wanted to send a parcel anywhere, he was obliged to carry ithimself or send a servant to do so, if he could not find someacquaintance journeying in that direction who would save him thetrouble. 

A few weeks after Stephen had come to the conclusion that he could nottake Ermine to Oxford, he was passing down Bread Street to his shopearly one morning, when Odinel hailed him from the door. 

"Hi, Stephen! Just turn in here a minute, will you?--you don't happento be going or sending up into the shires, do you, these next few days?"

"Which of the shires?" inquired Stephen, without committing himself. 

"Well, it's Abingdon I want to send to--but if I could get my goodscarried as far as Wallingford, I dare say I could make shift to havethem forwarded. "

"Would Oxford suit you equally well?"

"Ay, as well or better. "

Stephen stood softly whistling for a moment. He might work the twothings together--might at least pay a visit to Derette, and learn fromher how far it was safe to go on. He felt that Anania was the chiefdanger; Osbert would placidly accept as much or as little as he chose totell, and Isel, if she asked questions, might be easily turned asidefrom the path. Could he be sure that Anania was out of the way, hethought he would not hesitate to go himself, though he no longer daredto contemplate taking Ermine. 

"Well, I might, mayhap, be going in that direction afore long, --I can'tjust say till I see how things shape themselves. If I can, I'll let youknow in a few days. "

"All right! I'm in no hurry to a week or two. "

Stephen meditated on the subject in the intervals of superintendence ofhis oven, and serving out wassel and cocket, with the result that whenevening came, he was almost determined to go, if Ermine found no goodreasons to the contrary. He consulted her when he went home, for shewas not at the shop that day. She looked grave at first, but herconfidence in Stephen's discretion was great, and she made no seriousobjection. No sooner, however, did the children hear of such apossibility as their father's visiting the country, than they all, downto three-year-old Edild, sent in petitions to be allowed to accompanyhim. 

"Couldn't be thought of!" was Stephen's decided though good-temperedanswer: and the petitioners succumbed with a look of disappointment. 

"I might perchance have taken Gerard, " Stephen allowed to his wife, outof the boy's hearing: "but to tell truth, I'm afraid of Anania's hearinghis name--though, as like as not, she'll question me on the names of allthe children, and who they were called after, and why we selected them, and if each were your choice or mine. "

"Better not, I think, " said Ermine, with a smile. "I almost wish Icould be hidden behind a curtain, to hear your talk with her. "

Stephen laughed. "Well, I won't deny that I rather enjoy putting spokesin her wheels, " said he. 

The next morning he told Odinel to make up his goods, and he would carrythem to Oxford on the following Monday. 

Odinel's parcel proved neither bulky nor heavy. Instead of requiring asumpter-mule to carry it, it could readily be strapped at the back ofStephen's saddle, while the still smaller package of his own necessarieswent in front. He set out about four o'clock on a spring morning, joining himself for the sake of safety to the convoy of travellers whostarted from the Black Bull in the Poultry, and arrived at the East Gateof Oxford before dark, on the Tuesday evening. His first care was tocommit Odinel's goods to the safe care of mine host of the Blue Boar[Note 4] in Fish Street, as had been arranged. Here he supped on friedfish, rye bread, and cheese; and having shared the "grace-cup" of afellow-traveller, set off for Saint John's anchorhold. A young woman insemi-conventual dress left the door just as he came up. Stephen doffedhis cap as he asked her--"I pray you, are you the maid of the LadyDerette?"

"I am, " was the reply. "Do you wish speech of her?"

"Would you beseech her to let me have a word with her at the casement?"

The girl turned back into the anchorhold, and the next minute thecasement was opened, and the comely, pleasant face of Derette appearedbehind it. She looked a little older, but otherwise unaltered. 

There was nothing unusual in Stephen's request. Anchorites lived onalms, and were also visited to desire their prayers. The two ideaslikely to occur to the maid as the object of Stephen's visit weretherefore either a present to be offered, or intercession to be askedand probably purchased. 

"Christ save you, Lady!" said Stephen to his cousin. "Do you know me?"

"Why, is it Stephen? Are you come back? I _am_ glad to see you. "

When the natural curiosity and interest of each was somewhat satisfied, Stephen asked Derette's advice as to going further. 

"You may safely go to see Mother, " said she, "if you can be sure of yourown tongue; for you will not meet Anania there. She has dislocated herankle, and is lying in bed. "

"Poor soul! It seems a shame to say I'm glad to hear it; but really Ishould like to avoid her at Aunt Isel's, and to be able to come away atmy own time from the Lodge. "

"You have the chance of both just now. "

Stephen thought he would get the worse interview over first. Heaccordingly went straight on into Civil School Lane, which ran rightacross the north portion of Christ Church, coming out just above SaintAldate's, pursued his way forward by Pennyfarthing Street, and turningup a few yards of Castle Street, found himself at the drawbridge leadingto the porter's lodge where his brother lived. There were voices insidethe Lodge; and Stephen paused for a moment before lifting the latch. 

"Oh dear, dear!" said a querulous voice, which he recognised as that ofAnania, "I never thought to be laid by the heels like this!--not a soulcoming in to see a body, and those children that ungovernable--Gilbert, get off that ladder! and Selis, put the pitchfork down this minute! Nota bit of news any where, and if there were, not a creature coming in totell one of it! Eline, let those buttons alone, or I'll be after--Ohdeary dear, I can't!"

Stephen lifted the latch and looked in. Anania lay on a comfortablecouch, drawn up by the fire; and at a safe distance from it, her fourchildren were running riot--turning out all her treasures, inspecting, trying on, and occasionally breaking them--knowing themselves to be safefrom any worse penalty than a scolding, for which evidently they carednothing. 

"You seem to want a bit of help this afternoon, " suggested Stephencoolly, collaring Selis, from whom he took the pitchfork, and thenlifting Gilbert off the ladder, to the extreme disapprobation of boththose young gentlemen, as they showed by kicks and angry screams. "Come, now, be quiet, lads: one can't hear one's self speak. "

"Stephen! is it you?" cried Anania incredulously, trying to lift herselfto see him better, and sinking back with a groan. 

"Looks rather like me, doesn't it? I am sorry to find you suffering, Sister. "

"I've suffered worse than any martyr in the Calendar, Stephen!--andthose children don't care two straws for me. Nobody knows what I'vegone through. Are you come home for good? Oh dear, this pain!"

"No, only for a look at you. I had a little business to bring me thisway. How is Osbert?"

"He's well enough to have never a bit of sympathy for me. Where are youliving, Stephen, and what do you do now?"

"Oh, up London way; I'm a baker. Have you poulticed that foot, Anania?"

"I've done all sorts of things to it, and it's never--Julian, if youtouch that clasp, I declare I'll--Are you married, Stephen?"

"Married, and have one more trouble than you, " answered Stephenlaughingly, as he took the clasp from his youthful and inquisitiveniece; "but my children are not troublesome, I am thankful to say. Iwas going to tell you that marsh-mallows makes one of the finestpoultices you can have. Pluck it when Jupiter is in the ascendant, andthe moon on the wane, and you'll find it first-rate for easing that footof yours. --Gilbert, I heard thy mother tell thee not to go up theladder. "

"Well, what if she did?" demanded Gilbert sulkily. "She's only awoman. "

"Then she must be obeyed, " said Stephen. 

"But who did you marry, for I never--Oh deary me, but it does sting!"

"Now, Anania, I'll just go to the market and get you some marsh mallow;Selis will come with me to carry it. I've to see Aunt Isel yet, andplenty more. Come, Selis. "

"_Ha, chetife_!--you've no sooner come than you're off again! Who didyou marry? That's what I want to know. "

"The sooner you get that poultice on the better. I may look in again, if I have time. If not, you'll tell Osbert I've been, and all's wellwith me. "

Stephen shut the door along with his last word, disregarding Anania'sparting cry of--"But you haven't told me who your wife is!" and marchedSelis off to the market, where he laded him with marsh mallow, and senthim home with strict injunctions not to drop it by the way. Then, laughing to himself at the style wherein he had disposed of Anania, heturned off to Turlgate Street (now the Turl) where Raven Soclin lived. 

The first person whom he saw there was his cousin Flemild. 

"Why, Stephen, this is an unexpected pleasure!" she said warmly. "Mother, here's Cousin Stephen come. "

"I'm glad to see thee, lad, " responded Isel: and the usual questionsfollowed as to his home and calling. But to Stephen's greatsatisfaction, though Isel expressed her hope that he had a good wife, nobody asked for her name. The reason was that they all took it forgranted she must be a stranger to them; and when they had once satisfiedthemselves that he was doing well, and had learnt such details as hispresent calling, the number of his family, and so forth, they seemedmore eager to impart information than to obtain it. At their request, Stephen promised to sleep there, and then went out to pay a visit toRomund and Mabel, which proved to be of a very formal and uninterestingnature. He had returned to Turlgate Street, but they had not yet goneto rest, when Osbert lifted the latch. 

"So you're real, are you?" said he, laughing to his brother. "Ananiacouldn't tell me if you were or not; she said she rather thought she'dbeen dreaming, --more by reason that you did not tarry a minute, and shecould not get an answer to one question, though she asked you threetimes. "

Stephen too well knew what that question was to ask for a repetition ofit "Nay, I tarried several minutes, " said he; "but I went off to getsome marsh mallow for a poultice for the poor soul; she seemed in muchpain. I hope Selis took it home all right? Has she got it on?"

"I think she has, " said Osbert. "But she wants you very badly to goback and tell her a lot more news. "

"Well, I'll see, " replied Stephen; "I scarcely think I can. But if shewants news, you tell her I've heard say women's head-kerchiefs are to beworn smaller, and tied under the chin; that's a bit of news that'll takeher fancy. "

"That'll do for a while, " answered Osbert; "but what she wants to knowmost is your wife's name and all the children's. "

"Oh, is that it?" said Stephen coolly. "Then you may tell her one ofthe children is named after you, and another for our mother; and we havean Agnes and a Derette: and if she wants to know the cat's name too--"

Osbert roared. "Oh, let's have the cat's name, by all means, " said he;and Stephen gravely informed him that it was Gib. 

As Agnes was at that time one of the commonest names in England, aboutas universal as Mary or Elizabeth now, Stephen felt himself pretty safein giving it; but the name of his eldest son he did not mention. 

"Well, I'd better go home before I forget them, " said Osbert. "Let'ssee--Osbert, Edild, Agnes, and Derette--and the cat is Gib. I think Ishall remember. But I haven't had your wife's. "

"I'll walk back with you, " said Stephen, evading the query; and theywent out together. 

"Stephen, lad, " said Osbert, when they had left the house, "I've anotion thou dost not want to tell thy wife's name. Is it true, or it'sonly my fancy?"

"Have you?" responded Stephen shortly. 

"Ay, I have; and if it be thus, say so, but don't tell me what it is. It's nought to me; so long as she makes thee a good wife I care noughtwho she is; but if I know nothing, I can say nothing. Only, if I knewthou wouldst as lief hold thy peace o'er it, I would not ask theeagain. "

"She is the best wife and the best woman that ever breathed, " repliedStephen earnestly: "and you are right, old man--I don't want to tellit. "

"Then keep thine own counsel, " answered his brother. "Farewell, and Godspeed thee!"

Stephen turned back, and Osbert stood for a moment looking after him. "If I thought it possible, " said the porter to himself, --"but I don'tsee how it could be any way--I should guess that the name of Stephen'swife began and ended with an _e_. I am sure he was set on her once--andthat would account for any reluctance to name her: but I don't see howit could be. Well! it doesn't matter to me. It's a queer world this. "

With which profoundly original and philosophical remark, Osbert turnedround and went home. 

"Well, what is it?" cried Anania, the moment he entered. 

"Let me unlade my brains, " said Osbert, "for I'm like a basket full ofapples; and if they are not carefully taken out, they'll be bruised andgood for nought. Stephen's children are called Edild, Agnes, Osbert, and Derette--"

"But his wife! it's his wife I want to know about. "

"Dear, now! I don't think he told me that, " said Osbert with lamb-likeinnocence, as if it had only just occurred to him. 

"Why, that was what you went for, stupid!"

"Well, to be sure!" returned Osbert in meek astonishment, which he actedto perfection. "He told me the cat's name, if that will suit youinstead. "

"I wish the cat were inside you this minute!" screamed Anania. 

"Thank you for your kind wishes, " replied Osbert with placid amiability. "I'm not sure the cat would. "

"Was there ever any mortal thing in this world so aggravating as a man?"demanded Anania, in tones which were not placid by any means. "Wentdown to Kepeharme Lane to find something out, and came back knowingne'er a word about it! Do you think you've any brains, you horridtease?"

"Can't say: never saw them, " answered Osbert sweetly. 

"I wonder if you have your match in the county!"

"Oh, I don't think there's any doubt of that. "

"Well, at any rate, first thing to-morrow morning, if you please, backyou go and ask him. And mind you don't let him slip through yourfingers this time. He's as bad as an eel for that. "

"First thing! I can't, Anania. The Earl has sent word that he means tofly the new hawks at five o'clock to-morrow morning. "

"Bother the--hawks! Couldn't you go again to-night?"

"No, they'll be gone to bed by now. Why, wife, what on earth does itmatter to thee?"

Anania's reply to this query was so sharp a snarl that Osbert let heralone thereafter. 

The next morning, when released from his duties, he went again toKepeharme Lane--to hear that Stephen had set out on his return journeyhalf-an-hour before. "Well, now, it's plain to me what _that_ means!"announced Anania solemnly, when this distressing fact was communicatedto her. "He's married somebody he's ashamed of--some low creature, quite beneath him, whom he doesn't care to own. That must be theexplanation. She's no better than she should be; take my word for it!"

"That's quite possible, " said Osbert drily. "There's another or two ofus in that predicament. "

Anania flounced over on her couch, thereby making herself groan. 

"You are, and no mistake!" she growled. 

"Father Vincent said, when he married us, that you and I werethenceforth one, my dearest!" was the pleasing response. 

"What in the name of wonder I ever wished to marry you for--!"

"I will leave you to consider it, my darling, and tell me when I comeback, " said Osbert, shutting the door and whistling the _Agnus_ as hewent up Castle Street. 

"Well, if you aren't the worst, wickedest, aggravatingest man that everworrited a poor helpless woman, " commented Anania, as she turned on heruneasy couch, "my new boots are made of pear jelly!"

But it did not occur to her to inquire of what the woman was made whohabitually tormented that easy-tempered man, nor how much happier herhome might have been had she learnt to bridle her own irritating tongue. 

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

Note 1. Close Roll, 32 Henry Third. About 5 pence per loaf accordingto modern value. 

Note 2. The Bishop of Lincoln who sat on the Council of Oxford wasRobert de Chesney. He died on January 26th, 1168, and was succeeded bythe King's natural son, Geoffrey Plantagenet, a child of only nine yearsof age. Such were the irregularities in the "apostolical succession"during the "ages of faith!"

Note 3. Even Wycliffe taught that no man could know whether he wereelected to salvation or not. 

Note 4. The Blue Boar in Saint Aldate's Street really belongs to alater date than this. 

CHAPTER TWELVE. 

REUNITED. 

 "With mercy and with judgment My web of time He wove, And ay the dews of sorrow Were lustred with His love: I'll bless the hand that guided, I'll bless the heart that planned, When throned where glory dwelleth, In Immanuel's land. "

 Mrs Cousins. 

It was a very tiny house in Tower Street, at the corner of Mark Lane. There were but two rooms--above and below, as in Isel's house, but thesewere smaller than hers, and the lower chamber was made smaller still bya panel screen dividing it in two unequal parts. 

The front division, which was a very little one, was a jeweller's shop;the back was larger, and was the family living-room. In it to-night thefamily were sitting, for business hours were over, and the shop wasclosed. 

The family had a singular appearance. It consisted of four persons, andthese were derived from three orders of the animate creation. Two werehuman. The third was an aged starling, for whose convenience a wickercage hung in one corner; but the owner was hopping in perfect freedomabout the hearth, and occasionally varying that exercise by pausing togive a mischievous peck to the tail of the fourth, a very large whiteand tan dog. The dog appeared so familiarised with this treatment asscarcely to notice it, unless the starling gave a harder peck thanusual, when he merely moved his tail out of its way, accompanying theaction in specially severe cases by the most subdued of growls, anaction which seemed to afford great amusement to that impertinent andirrepressible fowl. 

The relationship of the human inhabitants of the little chamber wouldnot have been easy to guess. The elder, seated on a cushioned bench bythe fire, was one whose apparent age was forty or perhaps rather more. She was a woman of extremely dark complexion, her hair jet-black, hereyes scarcely lighter--a woman who had once been very handsome, andwhose lost youth and beauty now and then seemed to flash back into herface, when eagerness, anger, or any other strong feeling lent animationto her features. The other was a young man about half her years, and asunlike her as he well could be. His long flaxen hair waved over a browas white as hers was dark, and his eyes were a light clear blue. He saton a stool in front of the fire, gazing into the charred wooden emberswith intent fixed eyes. The woman had glanced at him several times, butneither had spoken for above half an hour. Now she broke the silence. 

"Well, Ralph?"

"Well, Mother?" echoed the youth with a smile. Both spoke in German--alanguage then as unfamiliar in England as Persian. 

"What are you thinking about so intently?"

"Life, " was the ready but unexpected answer. 

"Past, present, future?"

"Past and future--hardly present. The past chiefly--the long ago. "

The woman moved uneasily, but did not answer. 

"Mother, if I am of age to-day, I think I have the right to ask you afew questions. Do you accord it?"

"Ah!" she said, with a deep intonation. "I knew it would come sometime. Well! what is to be must be. Speak, my son. "

The young man laid his hand affectionately on hers. 

"Had it not better come?" he said. "You would not prefer that I askedmy questions of others than yourself, nor that I shut them in my ownsoul, and fretted my heart out, trying to find the answer. "

"I should prefer any suffering rather than the loss of thy love andconfidence, my Ralph, " she answered tenderly. "To the young, it is easyto look back, for they have only just left the flowery garden. To theold, it may be so, when there is only a little way to go, and they willthen be gathered to their fathers. But half-way through the longjourney--with all the graves behind, and the dreary stretch of tracklessheath before--Speak thy will, Ralph. "

"Forgive me if I pain you, Mother. I feel as if I must speak, andsomething has happened to-day which bids me do it now. "

It was evident that these words startled and discomposed the mother. She had been leaning back rather wearily in the corner of the bench, asone resting from bodily strain. Now she sat up, the rich crimsonmantling her dark cheek. 

"What! Hast thou seen--hast thou heard something?"

"I have seen, " answered Ralph slowly, as if almost unwilling to say it, "a face from the long ago. At any rate, a face which carried my memorythither. "

"Whose?" she said, almost in tones of alarm. 

"I cannot tell you. Let me make it as plain as I can. You may be ableto piece the disjointed strands together, when I cannot. "

"Go on, " she said, settling herself to listen. 

"You know, Mother, " he began, "that I have always known and rememberedone thing from my past. I know you are not my real mother. Kindest andtruest and dearest of mothers and friends you have been to me; my truemother, whoever and wherever she may be, could have loved and tended meno better than you. That much I know: but as to other matters myrecollection is far more uncertain. Some persons and things I recallclearly; others are mixed together, and here and there, as if in adream, some person, or more frequently some action of such a person, stands out vividly, like a picture, from the general haze. Now, forinstance, I can remember that there was somebody called `Mother Isel':but whether she were my mother, or yours, or who she was, that I do notknow. Again, I recollect a man, who must have been rather stern to mychildish freaks, I suppose, for he brings with him a sense of fear. This man does not come into my life till I was some few years old; thereis another whom I remember better, an older friend, a man with lighthair and grave, kindly blue eyes. There are some girls, too, but Icannot clearly recall them--they seem mixed together in my memory, though the house in which I and they lived I recollect perfectly. But Ido not know how it is--I never see you there. I clearly recall a bigbook, which the man with the blue eyes seems to be constantly reading:and when he reads, a woman sits by him with a blue check apron, and Isit on her lap. Perhaps such a thing happened only once, but it appearsto me as if I can remember it often and often. There is another manwhose face I recall--I doubt if he lived in the house; I think he camein now and then: a man with brown hair and a pleasant, lively face, whooften laughed and had many a merry saying. I cannot certainly rememberany one else connected with that house, except one other--a woman: awoman with a horrible chattering tongue, who often left people in tearsor very cross: a woman whom I don't like at all. "

"And after, Ralph?" suggested the mother in a low voice, when the youngman paused. 

"After? Ah, Mother, that is harder to remember still. A great tumult, cross voices, a sea of faces which all looked angry and terrified me, and then it suddenly changes like a dream to a great lonely expanse ofshivering snow: and I and some others--whom, I know not--wander about init--for centuries, as it appears to me. Then comes a blank, and then--you. "

"You remember better than I should have expected as to some things:others worse. Can you recollect no name save `Mother Isel'?"

"I can, but I don't know whose they are. I can hear somebody call fromthe upper chamber--`Gerard, is that you?' and the pleasant-faced mansays, `Tell Ermine' something. That is what made me ask you, Mother. Imet a man to-day in Cheapside who looked hard at me, and who made methink both of that pleasant-faced man, and also of the stern man; and asI had to wait for a cart to pass, another man and woman came and spoketo him, and he said to the woman, `Well, when are you coming to seeErmine?' The face, and his curious, puzzled look at me, and the name, carried me back all at once to that house and the people there. Helooked as if he thought he ought to know me, and could not tell exactlywho I was. And just as I came away, I fancied I heard another word ortwo, spoken low as if not for me or somebody to hear--somethingabout--`like him and Agnes too. ' I wonder if I ever knew any one calledAgnes? I have a faint impression that I did. Can you tell me, Mother?"

"I will tell thee, Ralph. But answer me first. Wert thou always calledRalph?"

"I cannot tell, Mother, " replied the youth, with an interested look. "Ifancy, somehow, that I once used to be called something not thatexactly, and yet very like it. I have tried to recover it, and cannot. Was it some pet name used by somebody?"

"No. It was your own name--which Ralph is not. "

"O Mother! what was it?"

"Wait a moment. Did you ever hear of any one called--Countess?"

She brought out the second name with hesitation, as if she spoke itunwillingly. The youth shook his head. 

"Let that pass. "

"But who was it, Mother?"

"Never mind who it was. No relative of yours--Rudolph. "

"Rudolph!" The young man sprang to his feet. "That was my name! Iknow it was, but I never could get hold of it. I shall not forget itagain. "

"Do not forget it again. But let it be for ourselves only. To theworld outside you are still `Ralph. ' It is wiser. "

"Very well, Mother. "

This youth had been well trained, and was far more obedient to hisadopted mother than most sons at that time were to their real parents. With the Saxons a mother had always been under the control of an adultson; and the Normans who had won possession of England had by no meansabolished either the social customs or modes of thought of thevanquished people. In fact, the moral ascendancy soon rested with thesubject race. The Norman noble who dried his washed hands in the air, sneered at the Saxon thrall who wiped his on a towel; but the towel wasnone the less an article of necessary furniture in the house of theNorman's grandson. It has often been the case in the history of theworld, that the real victory has rested with the vanquished: but it hasalways been brought about by the one race mixing with and absorbing theother. Where that does not take place, the conquerors remain dominant. 

"Now, my son, listen and think. I have some questions to ask. Whatfaith have I taught thee?"

"You have taught me, " said Rudolph slowly, "to believe in God Almighty, and in His Son, our Lord Jesus Christ, who suffered on the cross toexpiate the sins of His chosen. "

"Is that the creed of those around us?"

"Mother, I cannot tell. One half of my brain answers, Ay, it is; butthe other half says, No, there is a difference. Yet I cannot quite seewhat the difference is, and you have always so strictly forbidden me tospeak to any one except yourself on religious subjects, that I have hadno opportunity to learn what it is. Others, when I hear them talking toyou, speak of God, of our Lord, and of our Lady, as we ourselves do: andthey speak of the holy Apostles and others of whom we always read in thebig book. Mother, is that the same big book out of which the grave-eyedman used to read? But they mention a great many people who are not inthe book, --Martin, and Benedict, and Margaret, and plenty more--and theycall them all `Saint, ' but I do not know who they were. You never toldme about those people. "

There was silence for a moment, till she said--"Thou hast learnt well, and hast been an obedient boy. In the years that lie before thee, thoumayest have cause to thank God for it. My questions are done: thoumayest ask thine. "

"Then, Mother, who am I?" was the eager inquiry. "Thou art Rudolph, sonof Gerhardt of Mainz, and of Agnes his wife, who both gave their livesfor the Lord Christ's sake, fourteen years ago. "

"Mother!--were my real parents martyrs?"

"That is the word which is written after their names in the Lamb's Bookof Life. But in the books written by men the word is different. "

"What is that word, then, Mother?"

"Rudolph, canst thou bear to hear it? The word is--`heretic'. "

"But those are wicked people, who are called heretics!"

"I think it depends on who uses the word. "

Rudolph sat an instant in blank silence. 

"Then what did my father believe that was so wrong?"

"He believed what I have taught you. "

"Then were they wicked, and not he?"

"Judge for thyself. There were about thirty of thy father's countrymen, who came over to this country to preach the pure Word of God: and thosewho called them heretics took them, and branded them, and turned themout into the snow to die. Would our Lord have done that?"

"Never! Did they die?"

"Every one, except the child I saved. "

"And that was I, Mother?"

"That was thou. "

"So I am not an Englishman!" said Rudolph, almost regretfully. 

"No. Thou seest now why I taught thee German. It is thine own tongue. "

"Mother, this story is terrible. I shall feel the world a worse placeto my life's end, after hearing it. But suffer me to ask--who are you?We are so unlike, that sometimes I have fancied we might not be relatedat all. "

"We are not related at all. "

"But you are German?"

"No. "

"You are English! I always imagined you a foreigner. "

"No--I am not English. "

"Italian?--Spanish?"

She shook her head, and turned away her face. 

"I never cared for the scorn of these other creatures, " she said in alow troubled voice. "I could give them back scorn for scorn. But itwill be hard to be scorned by the child whom I saved from death. "

"Mother! I scorn you? Why, the thing could not be. You are all theworld to me. "

"It will not be so always, my son. Howbeit, thou shalt hear the truth. Rudolph, I am a Jewess. My old name is Countess, the daughter ofBenefei of Oxford. "

"Mother, " said Rudolph softly, "you are what our Lady was. If I couldscorn you, it would not be honouring her. "

"True enough, boy: but thou wilt not find the world say so. "

"If the world speak ill of you, Mother, I will have none of it! Nowplease tell me about others. Who was Mother Isel?"

"A very dear and true friend of thy parents. "

"And Ermine?"

"Thy father's sister--one of the best and sweetest maidens that God evermade. "

"Is it my father that I remember, with the grave blue eyes--the man whoread in the book?"

"I have no doubt of it. It is odd--" and a smile flitted overCountess's lips--"that all thou canst recollect of thy mother should beher checked apron. "

Rudolph laughed. "Then who is the stern man, and who the merry one?"

"I should guess the stern man to be Manning Brown, the husband of Isel. The merry, pleasant-faced man, I think, must be his nephew Stephen. `Stephen the Watchdog' they used to call him; he was one of the Castlewatchmen. "

"At Oxford? Was it Oxford, then, where we used to live?"

"It was Oxford. "

"I should like to go there again. "

"Take heed thou do not so. Thou are so like both thy father and motherthat I should fear for thy safety. No one would know me, I think. Butfor thee I am not so sure. And if they were to guess who thou art, theywould have thee up before the bishops, and question thee, and brand theewith the dreadful name of `heretic, ' as they did to thy parents. "

"Mother, why would they do these things?--why did they do them?"

"Because they loved idols, and after them they would go. We worshiponly the Lord our God, blessed be He! And thou wilt find always, Rudolph, that not only doth light hate darkness, but the darkness alsohateth the light, and tries hard to extinguish it. "

"Yet if they worship the same God that we do--"

"Do they? I cannot tell. Sometimes I think He can hardly reckon it so. The God they worship seems to be no jealous God, but one that hath nolaw to be broken, no power to be dreaded, no majesty to be revered. `IfI be a Master, ' said the Holy One by Malachi the Prophet, `where is Myfear?' And our Lord spake to the Sadducees, saying, `Do ye nottherefore err, because ye know not the Scriptures, neither the power ofGod?' They seem to be strangely fearless of breaking His most solemncommands--even the words that He spake to Moses in the sight of allIsrael, on the mount that burned with fire. Strangely fearless! whenthe Master spake expressly against making the commands of God of noeffect through man's tradition. What do they think He meant? Let themspill a drop of consecrated wine--which He never told them to be carefulover--and they are terrified of His anger: let them deliberately breakHis distinct laws, and they are not terrified at all. The world hasgone very, very far from God. "

They sat for a little while in silence. 

"Mother, " said Rudolph at last, "who do you think that man was whom Imet, that looked so hard at me, and seemed to think me like my parents?He spoke of `Ermine, ' too. "

"I can only guess, Rudolph. I think it might be a son of Mother Isel--she had two. The Ermine of whom he spoke, no doubt, is some girl namedafter thine aunt. Perhaps it may be a child of their sister Flemild. Icannot say. "

"You think it could not be my aunt, Mother? I should like to know oneof my own kin. "

"Not possible, my boy. She must have died with the rest. "

"Are you sure they all died, Mother?"

"I cannot say that I saw it, Rudolph: though I did see the dead faces ofseveral, when I was searching for thee. But I do not see how she couldpossibly have escaped. "

"Might she not--if she had escaped--say the same of me?"

Countess seemed scarcely willing to admit even so much as this. 

"It is time for sleep, my son, " she said; and Rudolph rose, lighted thelantern, and followed her upstairs. The chamber above was divided intwo by a curtain drawn across it. As Rudolph was about to pass beyondit, he stopped to ask another question. 

"Mother, if I should meet that man again, --suppose he were to speak tome?"

A disquieted look came into the dark eyes. 

"Bring him to me, " she said. "Allow nothing--deny nothing. Leave me todeal with him. "

Rudolph dropped the curtain behind him, and silence fell upon the littlehouse in Mark Lane. 

A few hours earlier, our old friend Stephen, now a middle-aged man, hadcome home from his daily calling, to his house in Ivy Lane. He wasinstantly surrounded by his five boys and girls, their ages between sixand thirteen, all of whom welcomed him with tumultuous joyfulness. 

"Father, I've construed a whole book of Virgil!"

"And, Father, I'm to begin Caesar next week!"

"I've made a gavache for you, Father--done every stitch myself!"

"Father, I've learnt how to make pancakes!"

"Father, I stirred the posset!"

"Well, well! have you, now?" answered the kindly-faced father. "You'reall of you mighty clever, I'm very sure. But now, if one or two of youcould get out of the way, I might shut the door; no need to let in moresnow than's wanted. --Where's Mother?"

"Here's Mother, " said another voice; and a fair-haired woman of the ageof Countess, but looking younger, appeared in a doorway, drawing backthe curtain. "I am glad you have come, Stephen. It is rather a stormynight. "

"Oh, just a basinful of snow, " said Stephen lightly. "Supper ready?Gerard--" to his eldest boy--"draw that curtain a bit closer, to keepthe wind off Mother. Now let us ask God's blessing. "

It was a very simple supper--cheese, honey, roasted apples, and brownbread; but the children had healthy appetites, and had not beenenervated by luxuries. Conversation during the meal was general. Whenit was over, the three younger ones were despatched to bed with abenediction, under charge of their eldest sister; young Gerard seatedhimself on the bench, with a handful of slips of wood, which he wasambitiously trying to carve into striking likenesses of the twelveApostles; and when the mother's household duties were over, she came andsat by her husband in the chimney-corner. Stephen laid his hand uponher shoulder. 

"Ermine, " he said, "dear heart, wilt thou reckon me cruel, if I carrythy thoughts back--for a reason I have--to another snowy night, fourteenyears ago?"

"Stephen!" she exclaimed, with a sudden start. "Oh no, I could neverthink _thee_ cruel. But what has happened?"

"Dost thou remember, when I first saw thee in Mother Haldane's house, mytelling thee that I could not find Rudolph?"

"Of course I do. O Stephen! have you--do you think--"

Gerard looked up from his carving in amazement, to see the mother whomhe knew as the calmest and quietest of women transformed into an eager, excited creature, with glowing cheeks and radiant eyes. 

"Let me remind thee of one other point, --that Mother Haldane said Godwould either take the child to Himself, or would some day show us whathad become of him. "

"She did, --much to my surprise. "

"And mine. But I think, Ermine--I think it is going to come true. "

"Stephen, what have you heard?"

"I believe, Ermine, I have seen him. "

"Seen _him_--Rudolph?"

"I feel almost sure it was he. I was standing this morning near ChepeCross, to let a waggon pass, when I looked up, and all at once I saw ayoung man of some twenty years standing likewise till it went by. Thelikeness struck me dumb for a moment. Gerard's brow--no, lad, not thou!Thy mother knows--Gerard's brow, and his fair hair, with the very waveit used to have about his temples; his eyes and nose too; but Agnes'smouth, and somewhat of Agnes in the way he held his head. And as Istood there, up came Leuesa and her husband, passing the youth; andbefore I spoke a word about him, `Saw you ever one so like Gerard?'saith she. I said, `Ay, him and Agnes too. ' We watched the lad crossthe street, and parting somewhat hastily from our friends, I followedhim at a little distance. I held him in sight as far as Tower Street, but ere he had quite reached Mark Lane, a company of mummers, goingwestwards, came in betwixt and parted us. I lost sight of him but for amoment, yet when they had passed, I could see no more of him--north, south, east, nor west--than if the earth had swallowed him up. I reckonhe went into an house in that vicinage. To-morrow, if the Lord will, Iwill go thither, and watch. And if I see him again, I will surelyspeak. "

"Stephen! O Stephen, if it should be our lost darling!"

"Ay, love, if it should be! It was always possible, of course, that hemight have been taken in somewhere. There are many who would have nocompassion on man or woman, and would yet shrink from turning out alittle child to perish. And he was a very attractive child. Still, donot hope too much, Ermine; it may be merely an accidental likeness. "

"If I could believe, " replied Ermine, "that Countess had been anywherenear, I should think it more than possible that she had saved him. "

"Countess? Oh, I remember--that Jewish maiden who petted him so much. But she went to some distance when she married, if I recollect rightly. "

"She went to Reading. But she might not have been there always. "

"True. Well, I will try to find out something to-morrow night. "

The little jeweller's shop at the corner of Mark Lane had now beenestablished for fourteen years. For ten of those years, David andChristian had lived with Countess; but when Rudolph was old enough andsufficiently trained to manage the business for himself, Countess hadthought it desirable to assist David in establishing a shop of his ownat some distance. She had more confidence in David's goodness than inhis discretion, and one of her chief wishes was to have as fewacquaintances as possible. Happily for her aim, Rudolph's dispositionwas not inconveniently social. He liked to sit in a cushioned cornerand dream the hours away; but he shrank as much as Countess herself fromthe rough, noisy, rollicking life of the young people by whom they weresurrounded. Enough to live on, in a simple and comfortable fashion--abook or two, leisure, and no worry--these were Rudolph's desiderata, andhe found them in Mark Lane. 

He had no lack of subjects for thought as he sat behind his tiny counteron the evening of the following day. Shop-counters, at that date, wereusually the wooden shutter of the window, let down table-wise into thestreet; but in the case of plate and jewellery the stock was toovaluable to be thus exposed, and customers had to apply for admissionwithin. It had been a very dull day for business, two customers onlyhaving appeared, and one of these had gone away without purchasing. There was one wandering about outside who would have been only too gladto become a customer, had he known who sat behind the counter. Stephenhad searched in vain for Rudolph in the neighbourhood where he had somysteriously vanished from sight. He could not recognise him under thealias of "Ralph le Juwelier, " by which name alone his neighbours knewhim. Evening after evening he watched the corner of Mark Lane, and somefifty yards on either side of it, but only to go back every time toErmine with no tale to tell. There were no detectives nor inquiryoffices in those days; nothing was easier than for a man to lose himselfin a great city under a feigned name. For Countess he never inquired;nor would he have taken much by the motion had he done so, since she wasknown to her acquaintances as Sarah la Juweliere. Her features were notso patently Jewish as those of some daughters of Abraham, and mostpeople imagined her to be of foreign extraction. 

"It seems of no use, Ermine, " said Stephen mournfully, when a month hadpassed and Rudolph had not been seen again. "Maybe it was the boy'sghost I saw, come to tell us that he is not living. "

Stephen was gifted with at least an average amount of common sense, buthe would have regarded a man who denied the existence of apparitions asa simpleton. 

"We can only wait, " said Ermine, looking up from the tunic she wasmaking for her little Derette. "I have asked the Lord to send him tous; we can only wait His time. "

"But, Wife, suppose His time should be--never?"

"Then, dear, " answered Ermine softly, "it will still be the right time. "

The morning after that conversation was waning into afternoon, whenRudolph, passing up Paternoster Row, heard hurried steps behind him, andimmediately felt a grasp on his shoulder--a grasp which seemed as if ithad no intention of letting him go in a hurry. He looked up in somesurprise, into the face of the man whose intent gaze and disconnectedwords had so roused his attention a month earlier. 

"Caught you at last!" were the first words of his captor. "Now don'tfall to and fight me, but do me so much grace as to tell me your name ina friendly way. You would, if you knew why I ask you. "

The kindliness and honest sincerity of the speaker's face were both soapparent, that Rudolph smiled as he said--

"Suppose you tell me yours?"

"I have no cause to be ashamed of it. My name is Stephen, and men callme `le Bulenger. '"

"Have they always called you so?"

"Are you going to catechise me?" laughed Stephen. "No--you are rightthere. Fifteen years ago they called me `Esueillechien. ' Now, have youheard my name before?"

"I cannot say either `yes' or `no, ' unless you choose to come home withme to see my mother. She may know you better than I can. "

"I'll come home with you fast enough, " Stephen was beginning, when theend of the sentence dashed his hopes down. "`To see your--mother!'That won't do, young man. I have looked myself on her dead face--orelse you are not the man for whom I took you. "

"I can answer you no questions till you do so, " replied Rudolph firmly. 

"Come, then, have with you, " returned Stephen, linking his arm in thatof the younger man. "Best to make sure. I shall get to know something, if it be only that you are not the right fellow. "

"Now?" asked Rudolph, rather disconcertedly. He was not in the habit ofacting in this ready style about everything that happened, but requireda little while to make up his mind to a fresh course. 

"Have you not found out yet, " said Stephen, marching him into SaintPaul's Churchyard, "that _now_ is the only time a man ever has foranything?"

"Well, you don't let the grass grow under your feet, " observed Rudolph, laughing. 

Being naturally of a rather dreamy and indolent temperament, he was notaccustomed to getting over the ground with the rapidity at which Stephenled him. 

"There's never time to waste time, " was the sententious reply. 

In a shorter period than Rudolph would have thought possible, theyarrived at the corner of Mark Lane. 

"You live somewhere about here, " said Stephen coolly, "but I don't knowwhere exactly. You'll have to show me your door. "

"You seem to know a great deal about me, " answered Rudolph in an amusedtone. "This is my door. Come in. "

Stephen followed him into the jeweller's shop, where Countess satwaiting for customers, with the big white dog lying at her feet. 

"I'm thankful to see, young man, that your `mother' is no mother ofyours. Your flaxen locks were never cut from those jet tresses. But Idon't know who you are--" he turned to her--"unless Ermine be right thatCountess the Jewess took the boy. Is that it?"

"That is it, " she replied, flushing at the sound of her old name. "Youare Stephen the Watchdog, if I mistake not? Yes, I am Countess--orrather, I was Countess, till I was baptised into the Christian faith. So Ermine is yet alive? I should like to see her. I would fain haveher to come forward as my witness, when I deliver the boy unhurt to hisfather at the last day. "

"But how on earth did you do it?" broke out Stephen in amazement. "Why, you could scarcely have heard at Reading of what had happened, --I shouldhave thought you could not possibly have heard, until long after all wasover. "

"I was not at Reading, " she said in a constrained tone. "I was livingin Dorchester. And I heard of the arrest from Regina. "

"Do, for pity's sake, tell me all about it!"

"I will tell you every thing: but let me tell Ermine with you. And, --Stephen--you will not try to take him from me? He is all I have. "

"No, Countess, " said Stephen gravely. "You have a right to the lifethat you have saved. Will you come with me now? But perhaps you cannotleave together? Will the house be rifled when you return?"

"Not at all, " calmly replied Countess. "We will both go with you. "

She rose, disappeared for a moment, and came back clad in a fur-linedcloak and hood. Turning the key in the press which held the stock, shestooped down and attached the key to the dog's collar. 

"On guard, Olaf! Keep it!" was all she said to the dog. "Now, Stephen, we are ready to go with you. "

Olaf got up somewhat sleepily, shook himself, and then lay down close tothe screen, his head between his paws, so that he could command a viewof both divisions of the chamber. He evidently realised hisresponsibility. 

Stephen had no cause to complain that Countess wasted any time. Shewalked even faster than he had done, only pausing to let him take thelead at the street corner. But when he had once told her that his homewas in Ivy Lane, she paused no more, but pressed on steadily and quicklyuntil they reached the little street. Stephen opened his door, and shewent straight in to where Ermine stood. 

"Ermine!" she said, with a pleading cadence in her voice, "I havebrought back the child unhurt. "

"Countess!" was Ermine's cry. 

She took Ermine's hands in hers. 

"I may touch you now, " she said. "You will not shrink from me, for I ama Christian. But I have kept my vow. I have never permitted the boy toworship idols. I have kept him, so far as lay in my power, from allcontact with those men and things which his father held evil. God bearme witness to you, and God and you to him, that the poor scorned Jewesshas fulfilled her oath, and that the boy is unharmed in body and soul!--Rudolph! this is thine Aunt Ermine. Come and show thyself to her. "

"Did I ever shrink from you?" replied Ermine with a sob, as she claspedCountess to her heart. "My friend, my sister! As thou hast dealt withus outcasts, may God reward thee! and as thou has mothered our Rudolph, may He comfort thee!--O my darling, my Gerhardt's boy!--nay, I couldthink that Gerhardt himself stood before me. Wilt thou love me alittle, my Rudolph?--for I have loved thee long, and have never failed, for one day, to pray God's blessing on thee if thou wert yet alive. "

"I think I shall not find it hard, Aunt Ermine, " said Rudolph, as hekissed without knowing it that spot on Ermine's brow where the terriblebrand had once been. "I have often longed to find one of my ownkindred, for I knew that Mother was not my real mother, good and true asshe has been to me. "

Countess brought out from under her cloak a large square parcel, wrappedin a silken kerchief. 

"This is Rudolph's fortune, " she said. 

Stephen looked on with some curiosity, fully expecting to see a box ofgolden ornaments, or perhaps of uncut gems. But when the handkerchiefwas carefully unfolded, there lay before them an old, worn book, in acarved wooden case. 

Stephen--who could not read--was a little disappointed, though themarket value of any book was very high. But Ermine recognised thefamiliar volume with a cry of delight, and took it into her hands, reading half-sentences here and there as she turned over the leaves. 

"Oh, how have I wished for this! How I have wondered what became of it!Gerhardt's dear old Gospel-Book! Countess, how couldst thou get it?It was taken from him when we were arrested. "

"I know it, " answered Countess with a low laugh. 

"But you were at Reading!" exclaimed Ermine. 

"I was at Oxford, though you knew it not. I had arrived on a visit tomy father, the morning of that very day. I was in the crowd around whenyou went down to the prison, though I saw none of you save Gerhardt. But I saw the sumner call his lad, and deliver the book to him, biddinghim bear it to the Castle, there to be laid up for the examination ofthe Bishops. Finding that I could not get the child, I followed thebook. Rubi was about, and I begged him to challenge the lad to a trialof strength, which he was ready enough to accept. He laid down the bookon the window-ledge of a house, and--I do not think he picked it upagain. "

"You stole it, sinner!" laughed Stephen. 

"Why not?" inquired Countess with a smile. "I took it for its lawfulowner, from one that had no right to it. You do not call that theft?"

"Could you read it?"

"I could learn to do anything for Rudolph. "

"But how did you ever find him?"

"We were living at Dorchester. Regina came to stay with me in thewinter, and she told me that you were to be examined before the King andthe bishops, and on what day. All that day I watched to see you passthrough the town, and having prepared myself to save the child if Ipossibly could, when I caught a glimpse of Guelph, who was among theforemost, I followed in the rabble, with a bottle of broth, which I keptwarm in my bosom, to revive such as I might be able to reach. Ermine, Ilooked in vain for you, for Gerhardt or Agnes. But I saw Rudolph, whomAdelheid was leading. The crowd kept pressing before me, and I couldnot keep him in sight; but as they went out of Dorchester, I ranforward, and came up with them again a little further, when I missedRudolph. Then I turned back, searching all the way--until I found him. "

"And your husband let you keep him?" asked Ermine in a slightlysurprised tone. 

"My oath let me keep him, " said Countess in a peculiar voice. 

"Are you a widow?" responded Ermine pityingly. 

"Very likely, " was the short, dry answer. 

Ermine asked no more. "Poor Countess!" was all she said. 

"Don't pity me for _that_, " replied the Jewess. "You had better know. We quarrelled, Ermine, over the boy, and at my own request he divorcedme, and let me go. It was an easy choice to make--gold and downcushions on the one hand, love and the oath of God upon the other. Inever missed the down cushions; and I think the child found my breast assoft as they would have been. I sold my jewels, and set up a littleshop. We have had the blessing of the Holy One, to whom be praise!"

"That is a Jewish way of talking, is it not?" said Stephen, smiling. "Ithought you were a Catholic now. "

"I am a Christian. I know nothing about `Catholic'--unless the idols inthe churches are Catholic, and with them I will have nought to do. Gerhardt never taught me to worship them, and Gerhardt's book has nevertaught it either. I believe in the Lord my God, and His Son JesusChrist, the Messiah of Israel: but these gilded vanities areabominations to me. Oh, why have ye Christian folk added your folly toGod's wisdom, and have held off the sons and daughters of Israel fromfaith in Messiah the King?"

"Ah, why, indeed!" echoed Ermine softly. 

"Can you tell me anything of our old friends at Oxford?" asked Countesssuddenly, after a moment's pause. 

"Yes, we heard of them from Leuesa, who married and came to live inLondon about six years ago, " said Stephen. "Your people were all well, Countess; your sister Regina has married Samuel, the nephew of youruncle Jurnet's wife, and has a little family about her--one very prettylittle maid, Leuesa told us, with eyes like yours. "

"Thank you, " said Countess in a tone of some emotion. "They would notown me now. "

"Dear, " whispered Ermine lovingly, "whosoever shall confess Christbefore men, --not the creed, nor the Church, but Him whom the Fathersent, and the truth to which He bore witness--him will He also confessbefore our Father which is in Heaven. And I think there are a very fewof those whom He will present before the presence of His glory, whoshall hear Him say of them those words of highest praise that He everspoke on earth, --`She hath done what she could. '"

CHAPTER THIRTEEN. 

HISTORICAL APPENDIX. 

The sorrowful story of Gerhardt's Mission is told by William of Newburyand Ranulph de Diceto. It seems strange that a company of thirty Germanpeasants should have set forth to bring England back to the pureprimitive faith; yet not stranger than that four hundred years earlier, Boniface the Englishman should have set out to convert Germany fromheathenism. Boniface succeeded; Gerhardt failed. The reason for thefailure, no less than for the success, is hidden in the counsels of Himwho worketh all things according to His own will. The time was not yet. 

It was in 1159 that this little company arrived in England, and forseven years they preached without repression. Gerhardt, their leader, was the only educated man amongst them, the rest being described as"rustic and unpolished. " Some have termed them Publicani or Paulikians;whether they really belonged to that body is uncertain. William ofNewbury says they were a sect which came originally from Gascony, andwas scattered over Gaul, Spain, Italy, and Germany. They seem thereforeto have been true descendants of the old Gallican Church--the Church ofIrenaus and Blandina--which we know retained her early purity far longerthan the Church of Rome. Their defence, too, when examined, was that ofBlandina--"I am a Christian, and no evil is done amongst us. "

Their preaching was singularly unsuccessful, if the monkish writers areto be trusted. "They added to their company, during a sojourn of sometime in England, only one girl (_muliercula_), who, as report says, wasfascinated by magic. " Perhaps their work was of more value thanappeared on the surface. After seven years of this quiet evangelising, the King and the clergy interfered. Considered as a "foreign sect, "they were cited before a council held at Oxford in 1166, the Kingstating his desire neither to dismiss them as harmless, nor to punishthem as guilty, without proper investigation. 

Gerhardt was the chief spokesman. To the questions asked he repliedthat they were Christians, and "revered the doctrine of the Apostles, "but he expressed abhorrence of certain Romish tenets--_e. G. _, Purgatory, prayers for the dead, and the invocation of saints. He is said to haveshown detestation for the sacraments and for marriage: which, comparedwith similar accusations brought against the Albigenses, and theirreplies thereto, almost certainly means that he objected to the corruptview of these institutions taken by Rome. If Gerhardt deniedconsubstantiation, baptismal regeneration, and the sacramental characterof matrimony, the priests were sure to assert that he denied thesacraments and marriage. The Albigenses were similarly accused, andalmost in the same sentence we are told that they had their wives withthem. When "the Scriptures were urged against them, " the Germansdeclined disputation. They probably saw that it would be of no avail. Indeed, what good could be gained by disputing with men who confessedthat they received Scripture only on the authority of the Church (whichthey held superior to the Word of God), and who allowed no explanationof it save their own private interpretation?--who were so illogical asto urge that the Church existed before the Scriptures as a reason forher superiority, and so ignorant as to maintain that _pulai adou_signified the power of Satan! Asked if they would do penance, theGermans refused: threatened with penalties, they held firm. Theirpunishment was terrible. They were, of course, by Rome's cruel fictionthat the Church punishes no man, delivered over to the secular power;and the sentence upon them was that of branding on the forehead, theirgarments being cut down to the girdle, and being turned into the openfields. Proclamation was made that none should presume to receive themunder his roof, nor "to administer consolation. " The sentence wascarried out with even more barbarity than it was issued, for Gerhardtwas twice branded, on forehead and chin, all were scourged, and werethen beaten with rods out of the city. No compassion was shown even tothe women. Not a creature dared to open his door to the "heretics. "Their solitary convert recanted in terror. But the Germans wentpatiently and heroically to their death, singing, as they passed on, thelast beatitude--"Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you and persecuteyou, and shall say all manner of evil against you, falsely, for Mysake. " Their suffering did not last long. It was in the depth ofwinter that they were cast out, and they soon lay down in the snow andyielded up their martyr-souls to God. 

According to the monkish chroniclers, not one survived. But oneelaborate argument may be found, by an eminent antiquary (_Archaologia_, nine 292-309), urging that survivors of this company were probably theancestors of a mysterious group entitled "Waldenses, " who appear in thePublic Records in after years as tenants, and not improbably vassals, ofthe Archbishop of Canterbury. They paid to that See 4 shillings perannum for waste land; 3 shillings 4 pence for "half a plough of land ofgable;" 5 shillings 4 pence at each of the four principal feasts, with32 and a half pence in lieu of autumnal labours--_i. E. _, mowing, reaping, etcetera. When the Archbishop was resident on the manor ofDarenth, they had to convey corn for his household, in consideration ofwhich they received forage from his barns, and a corrody or regularallowance of food and clothing from a monastery. I am not competent tojudge how far the contention of the writer is valid; but the possibilityof such a thing seemed to warrant the supposition in a tale that one ortwo of the company might have escaped the fate which undoubtedlyovertook the majority of the mission. 

The story may be found in a condensed form in Milner's Church History, Three, 459. 

Every one of the singular names, as well as prices, and various otherdetails, has been taken from the Pipe Rolls of Henry Second, from thefirst to the twenty-seventh year. All the characters are fictitiousexcepting the Royal Family, the Earl and Countess of Oxford, the membersof the Council, Gerhardt himself, and--simply as regards theirexistence--Osbert the porter, his wife Anania, and Aliz de Norton, whoare entered on the Pipe Roll as inhabitants of Oxford at this date. 

The language spoken at that time, whether French or English, would bewholly unintelligible to read, if enough of it had come down to us tomake it possible to be written. It seemed best, therefore, to useordinary modern English, flavoured with the Oxfordshire dialect, and nowand then varied by antique expressions. 

THE END.