One of the first persons I saw in London was Hubert Rookwood, who,
when he heard (for being Basil's brother I would not conceal it from
him) that my father was in prison at Bridewell, expressed so much
concern therein and resentment of my grief, that I was thereby moved
to more kindly feelings toward him than I had of late entertained. He
said that in the houses of the law which he frequented he had made
friends which he hoped would intercede in his behalf, and therein
obtain, if not his release, yet so much alleviation of the hardships
of a common prison as should render his condition more tolerable, and
that he would lose no time in seeking to move them thereunto; but that
our chief hope would lie in Sir Francis Walsingham, who, albeit much
opposed to papists, had always showed himself willing to assist his
friends of that way of thinking, and often procured for them some
relief, which indeed none had more experienced than Mr. Congleton
himself. Hubert commended the secrecy which had been observed touching
my father's real name; for if he should be publicly known to be
possessed of lands and related to noble families, it should be harder
for any one to get him released than an obscure person; but
nevertheless he craved license to intimate so much of the truth to Sir
Francis as should appear convenient, for he had always observed that
gentlemen are more compassionate to those of their own rank than to
others of meaner birth. Mr. Congleton prayed him to use his own
discretion therein, and said he should acquaint no one himself of it
except his very good friend the Portuguese ambassador, who, if all
other resources failed, might yet obtain of the queen herself some
mitigation of his sentence. Thereupon followed some days of weary
watching and waiting, in which my only comfort was Mistress Ward, who,
by means of the gaoler's wife, who had obliged her in the like manner
before, did get access from time to time to Mr. Watson, and brought
him necessaries. From him she discovered that the prisoner in the
nearest cell to his own was the so-called Mr. Tunstall, and that by
knocks against the wall, ingeniously numbered so as to express the
letters of the alphabet, as one for _a_, two for _b_, and so to the
end thereof, they did communicate. So she straightway began to
practice this management; but time allowed not of many speeches to
pass between them. Yet in this way he sent me his blessing, and that
he was of very good cheer; but that none should try for to visit him,
for he had only one fear, which was to bring others into trouble; and,
for himself, he was much beholden to her majesty, which had provided
him with a quiet lodging and time to look to his soul's welfare;
which evidence of his cheerful and pious spirit comforted me not a
little. Then that dear friend which had brought me this good comfort
spoke of Mr. Watson, and said she desired to procure his escape from
prison more than that of any other person in the same plight, not
excepting my father. "For, good Constance," quoth she, "when a man is
blest with a stout heart and cheerful mind, except it be for the sake
of others, I pray you what kind of service do you think we render him
by delaying the victory he is about to gain, and peradventure
depriving him of the long-desired crown of martyrdom? But this good
Mr. Watson, who as you well know was a zealous priest and pious
missioner, nevertheless, some time after his apprehension and
confinement in Bridewell, by force of torments and other miseries of
that place, was prevailed upon to deny his faith so far as to go once
to the Protestant service--not dragged there by force as some have
been, but compelled thereunto by fear of intolerable sufferings, and
was then set at liberty. But the poor man did not thus better his
condition; for the torments of his mind, looking on himself as an
apostate and traitor to the Church, he found to be more insupportable
than any sufferings his gaolers put upon him. So, after some miserable
weeks, he went to one of the prisons where some other priests were
confined for to seek comfort and counsel from them; and, having
confessed his fault with great and sincere sorrow, he received
absolution, and straightway repaired to that church in Bridewell
wherein he had in a manner denied his faith, and before all the people
at that time therein assembled, declared himself a Catholic, and
willing to go to prison and to death sooner than to join again in
Protestant worship. Whereupon he was laid hold of, dragged to prison,
and thrown into a dungeon so low and so straight that he could neither
stand up in it nor lay himself down at his full length to sleep. They
loaded him with irons, and kept him one whole month on bread and
water; nor would suffer any one to come near him to comfort or speak
with him."
"Alas!" I cried, "and is this, then, the place where my father is
confined?'
"No,", she answered; "after the space of a month Mr. Watson was
translated to a lodging at the top of the house, wherein the prisoners
are leastways able to stretch their limbs and to see the light; but he
having been before prevailed on to yield against his conscience
touching that point of going to Protestant worship, no peace is left
to him by his persecutors, which never cease to urge on him some sort
of conformity to their religion. And, Constance, when a man hath once
been weak, what security can there be, albeit I deny not hope, that he
shall always after stand firm?"
"But by what means," I eagerly asked, '"do you forecast to procure his
escape?"
"I have permission," she answered, "to bring him necessaries, which I
do in a basket, on condition that I be searched at going in and coming
out, for to make sure I convey not any letter unto him or from him;
and this was so strictly observed the first month that they must needs
break open the loaves or pies I take to him lest any paper should be
conveyed inside. But they begin now to weary of this strict search,
and do not care at ways to hearken when I speak with him; so he could
tell me the last time I did visit him that he had found a way by which
if he had but a cord long enough for his purpose, he could let himself
down from the top of the house, and so make his escape in the night."
"Oh," I cried, "dear Mistress Ward, but this is a perilous venture, to
aid a prisoner's escape. One which a daughter might run for her
father, oh, how willingly, but for a stranger--"
"A stranger!" she answered. "Is he a stranger for whom Christ died,
and whose precious soul is in danger, even if not a priest; and
being so, is he not entitled to more than common reverence, chiefly in
these days when God's servants minister to us in the midst of such
great straits to both soul and body?'
"I cry God mercy," I said; "I did term him a stranger who gave ghostly
comfort to my dear mother on her death-bed; but oh, dear Mistress
Ward, I thought on your peril, who, he knoweth, hath been as a mother
to me for these many years. And then-if you are resolved to run this
danger, should it not be possible to save my father also by the same
means? Two cords should not be more difficult to convey, methinks,
than one, and the peril not greater."
"If I could speak with him," she replied, "it would not be impossible.
I will tell Muriel to make two instead of one of these cords, which
she doth twine in some way she learnt from a Frenchman, so strong as,
albeit slight, to have the strength of a cable. But without we do
procure two men with a boat for to fetch the prisoners when they
descend, 'tis little use to make the attempt. And it be easier, I
warrant thee, Constance, to run one's self into a manifest danger than
to entice others to the like."
"Should it be safe," I asked, "to speak thereon to Hubert Rookwood? He
did exhibit this morning much zeal in my father's behalf, and promised
to move Sir Francis Walsingham to procure his release."
"How is he disposed touching religion? she asked, in a doubtful
manner.
"Alas!" I answered, "there is a secrecy in his nature which in more
ways than one doth prove unvestigable, leastways to me; but when he
comes this evening I will sound him thereon. Would his brother were in
London! Then we should not lack counsel and aid in this matter."
"We do sorely need both," she answered; "for your good uncle, than
which a better man never lived, wanes feeble in body, and hence easily
overcome by the fears such enterprises involve. Mr. Wells is not in
London at this tune, or he should have been a very palladium of
strength in this necessity. Hubert Rookwood hath, I think, a good
head."
"What we do want is a brave heart," I replied, thinking on Basil.
"But wits also," she said.
"Basil hath them too," I answered, forgetting that only in mine own
thinking had he been named.
"Yea," she cried, "who doth doubt it? but, alas! he is not here."
Then I prayed her not to be too rash in the prosecution of her design.
"Touching my father," I said, "I have yet some hope of his release;
and as long as any remaineth, flight should be methinks a too
desperate attempt to be thought of."
"Yea," she answered, "in most cases it would be so." But Mr. Watson's
disposition she perceived to be such as would meet a present danger
and death itself, she thought, with courage, but not of that stamp
which could endure prolonged fears or infliction of torments.
Since my coming to London I had been too much engaged in these weighty
cares to go abroad; but on that day I resolved, if it were possible,
to see my Lady Surrey. A report had reached me that the breach between
her and her husband had so much deepened that a separation had ensued,
which if true, I, which knew her as well almost as mine own self,
could judge what her grief must be. I was also moved to this endeavor
by the hope that if my Lord Arundel was not too sick to be spoken
with, she should perhaps obtain some help through his means for that
dear prisoner whose captivity did weigh so heavily on my heart.
So, with a servant to attend on me, I went through the city to the
Chapter-house, and with a misgiving mind heard from the porter that
Lady Surrey lodged not there, but at Arundel House, whither she had
removed soon after her coming to London. Methought that in the
telling of it this man exhibited a sorrowful countenance; but not
choosing to question one of his sort on so weighty a matter, I went on
to Arundel House, where, after some delay, I succeeded in gaining
admittance to Lady Surrey's chamber, whose manner, when she first saw
me, lacked the warmth which I was used to in her greetings. There
seemed some fear in her lest I should speak unadvisedly that which she
would be loth to hear; and her strangeness and reserve methinks arose
from reluctance to have the wound in her heart probed,--too sore a
one, I ween, even for the tender handling of a friend. I inquired of
her if my Lord Arundel's health had improved. She said he was better,
and like soon to be as well as could be hoped for now-a-days, when his
infirmities had much increased.
"Then you will return to Kenninghall?" I said, letting my speech
outrun discretion.
"No," she replied; "I purpose never more to leave my Lord Arundel or
my Lady Lumley as long as they do live, which I pray God may be many
years."
And then she sat without speaking, biting her lips and wringing the
kerchief she held in her hands, as if to keep her grief from
outbursting. I dared not to comment on her resolve, for I foresaw that
the least word which should express some partaking of her sorrow, or
any question relating to it, would let loose a torrent weakly stayed
by a mightful effort, not like to be of long avail. So I spoke of mine
own troubles, and the events which had occasioned my sudden departure
from Lynn Court. She had heard of Lady l'Estrange's mishap, and that
the following day I had journeyed to London; but naught of the causes
thereof, or of the apprehension of any priest by Sir Hammond's orders.
Which, when she learnt the manner of this misfortune, and the poor
lady's share therein, and that it was my father she had thus
unwittingly discovered, her countenance softened, and throwing her
arms round my neck, she bitterly wept, which at that moment methinks
did her more good than anything else.
"Oh, mine own good Constance," she said, "I doubt not nature riseth
many passionate workings in your soul at this time; but, my dear
wench, when good men are in trouble our grief for them should be as
noble as their virtues. Bethink thee what a worst sorrow it should be
to have a vile father, one that thou must needs love,--for who can
tear out of his heart affection strong as life?--and he should then
prove unworthy. Believe me, Constance, God gives to each, even in this
world, a portion of their deserts. Such griefs as thy present one I
take to be rare instances of his favor. Other sorts of trials are meet
for cowardly souls which refuse to set their lips to a chalice of
suffering, and presently find themselves submerged in a sea of woes.
But can I help thee, sweet one? Is there aught I can do to lighten thy
affliction? Hast thou license for to see thy father?"
"No, dear lady," I answered; "and his name being concealed, I may not
petition as his daughter for this permission; but if my Lord Arundel
should be so good a lord to me as to obtain leave for me to visit this
prisoner, without revealing his name and condition, he should do me
the greatest benefit in the world."
"I will move him thereunto," my lady said. "But he who had formerly no
equal in the queen's favor, and to whom she doth partly owe her crown,
is now in his sickness and old age of so little account in her eyes,
that trifling favors are often denied him to whom she would once have
said: 'Ask of me what thou wilt, and I will give it unto thee.' But
what my poor endeavors can effect through him or others shall not be
lacking in this thy need. But I am not in that condition I was once
like to have enjoyed." Then with her eyes cast on the ground she
seemed for to doubt if she should speak plainly, or still shut
up her grief in silence. As I sat painfully expecting her next words,
the door opened, and two ladies were announced, which she whispered in
mine ear she would fain not have admitted at that time, but that Lord
Arundel's desire did oblige her to entertain them. One was Mistress
Bellamy, and the other her daughter, Mistress Frances, a young
gentlewoman of great beauty and very lively parts, which I had once
before seen at Lady Ingoldsby's house. She was her parents' sole
daughter, and so idolized by them that they seemed to live only to
minister to her fancies. Lord Arundel was much bounden to this family
by ancient ties of friendship, which made him urgent with his
granddaughter that she should admit them to her privacy. I admired in
this instance how suddenly those which have been used to exercise such
self-command as high breeding doth teach can school their exterior to
seem at ease, and even of good cheer, when most ill at ease
interiorly, and with hearts very heavy. Lady Surrey greeted these
visitors with as much courtesy, and listened to their discourse with
as much civility and smiles when called for, as if no burthensome
thoughts did then oppress her.
Many and various themes were touched upon in the random talk which
ensued. First, that wonted one of the queen's marriage, which some
opined should verily now take place with Monsieur d'Alençon; for that
since his stealthy visits to England, she did wear in her bosom a
brooch of jewels in a frog's shape.
"Ay," quoth Mistress Frances, "that stolen visit which awoke the ire
of the poor soul Stubbs, who styled it 'an unmanlike, unprincelike,
French kind of wooing,' and endeth his book of 'The Gaping Gulph' in a
loyal rage: 'Here is, therefore, an imp of the crown of France, to
marry the crowned nymph of England,'--a nymph indeed well stricken in
years. My brother was standing by when Stubbs' hand was cut off; for
nothing else would content that sweet royal nymph, albeit the lawyers
stoutly contended the statute under which he suffered to be null and
void. As soon as his right hand is off, the man takes his hat off with
the left, and cries 'God bless the queen!'"
"Here is a wonder," I exclaimed; "I pray you, what is the art this
queen doth possess by which she holdeth the hearts of her subjects in
so great thrall, albeit so cruel to them which do offend her?"
"Lady Harrington hath told me her majesty's own opinion thereon," said
Mrs. Bellamy; "for one day she did ask her in a merry sort, 'How she
kept her husband's good-will and love?' To which she made reply that
she persuaded her husband of her affection, and in so doing did
command his. Upon which the queen cries out, 'Go to, go to, Mistress
Moll! you are wisely bent, I find. After such sort do I keep the good
wills of all my husbands, my good people; for if they did not rest
assured of some special love toward them, they would not readily yield
me such good obedience.'"
"Tut, tut!" cried Mistress Frances; "all be not such fools as John
Stubbs; and she knoweth how to take rebukes from such as she doth not
dare to offend. By the same token that Sir Philip Sydney hath written
to dissuade her from this French match, and likewise Sir Francis
Walsingham, which last did hint at her advancing years; and her
highness never so much as thought of striking off their hands. But I
warrant you a rebellion shall arise if this queen doth issue such
prohibitions as she hath lately done."
"Of what sort?" asked Lady Surrey.
"First, to forbid," Mrs. Bellamy said, "any new building to be raised
within three thousand paces of the gates of London on pain of
imprisonment, and sundry other penalties; or for more than one family
to inhabit in one house. For her majesty holds it should be an
impossible thing to govern or maintain order in a city larger than
this London at the present time."
Mistress Frances declared this law to be more tolerable than the one
against the size of ladies' ruffs, which were forsooth not to exceed a
certain measure; and officers appointed for to stand at the comers of
streets and to clip such as overpassed the permitted dimensions, which
sooner than submit to she should die.
Lady Surrey smiled, and said she should have judged so from the size
of her fine ruff.
"But her majesty is impartial," quoth Mrs. Bellamy; "for the
gentlemen's rapiers are served in the same manner. And verily this law
hath nearly procured a war with France; for in Smithfield Lane some
clownish constables stayed M. de Castelnau, and laid hands on his
sword for to shorten it to the required length. I leave you to judge.
Lady Surrey, of this ambassador's fury. Sir Henry Seymour, who was
tidying the air in Smithfield at the time, perceived him standing with
the drawn weapon in his hand, threatening to kill whosoever should
approach him, and destruction on this realm of England if the officers
should dare to touch his sword again; and this with such frenzy of
speech in French mixed with English none could understand, that God
knoweth what should have ensued if Sir Henry had not interfered. Her
majesty was forced to make an apology to this mounseer for that her
officers had ignorantly attempted to clip the sword of her good
brother's envoy."
"Why doth she not clip," Mistress Frances said, "if such be her
present humor, the orange manes of her gray Dutch horses, which are
the frightfullest things in the world?"
"Tis said," quoth Mrs. Bellamy, "that a new French embassy is soon
expected, with the dauphin of Auvergne at its head."
"Yea," cried her daughter, "and four handsome English noblemen to meet
them at the Tower stairs, and conduct them to the new banqueting-house
at Westminster,--my Lord Surrey, Lord Windsor, Sir Philip Sydney, and
Sir Fulke Greville. Methinks this should be a very fine sight, if rain
doth not fall to spoil it."
I saw my Lady Surrey's countenance change when her husband was
mentioned; and Mrs. Bellamy looked at her daughter forasmuch as to
check her thoughtless speeches, which caused this young lady to glance
round the room, seeking, as it seemed, for some other topic of
conversation.
Methinks I should not have preserved so lively a recollection of the
circumstances of this visit if some dismal tidings which reached me
afterward touching this gentlewoman, then so thoughtless and innocent,
had not revived in me the memory of her gay prattle, bright unabashed
eyes, and audacious dealing with subjects so weighty and dangerous,
that any one less bold should have feared to handle them. After the
pause which ensued on the mention of Lord Surrey's name, she took for
her text what had been said touching the prohibitions lately issued
concerning ruffs and rapiers, and began to mock at her majesty's
favorites; yea, and to mimic her majesty herself with so much humor
that her well-acted satire must have needs constrained any one to
laugh. Then, not contented with these dangerous jests, she talked such
direct treason against her highness as to say she hoped to see her
dethroned, and a fair Catholic sovereign to reign in her stead, who
would be less shrewish to young and handsome ladies. Then her mother
cried her, for mercy's sake, to restrain her mad speech, which would
serve one day to bring them all into trouble, for all she meant it in
jest.
"Marry, good mother," she answered, "not in jest at all; for I do
verily hold myself bound to no allegiance to this queen, and would
gladly see her get her deserts."
Then Lady Surrey prayed her not to speak so rashly; but methought in
her heart, and somewhat I could perceive of this in her eyes,
she misliked not wholly this young lady's words, who then spoke of
religion; and oh, how zealous therein she did appear, how boldly
affirmed (craving Lady Surrey's pardon, albeit she would warrant, she
said, there was no need to do so, her ladyship she had heard being
half a papist herself) that she had as lief be racked twenty times
over and die also, or her face to be so disfigured that none should
call her ever after anything but a fright--which martyrdom she held
would exceed any yet thought of--than so much as hold her tongue
concerning her faith, or stay from telling her majesty to her face, if
she should have the chance to get speech with her, that she was a foul
heretic, and some other truths beside, which but once to utter in her
presence, come of it what would, should be a delicious pleasure. Then
she railed at the Catholics which blessed the queen before they
suffered for their religion, proving them wrong with ingenious reasons
and fallacious arguments mixed with pleasantries not wholly becoming
such grave themes. But it should have seemed as reasonable to be angry
with a child babbling at random of life and death in the midst of its
play, as with this creature, the lightest of heart, the fairest in
face, the most winsome in manner, and most careless of danger, that
ever did set sail on life's stream.
Oh, how all this rose before me again, when I heard, two years
afterward, that for her bold recusancy--alas! more bold, as the
sequel proved, than deep, more passionate than fervent--this only
cherished daughter, this innocent maiden, the mirror of whose fame no
breath had sullied, and on whose name no shadow had rested, was torn
by the pursuivants from her parents' home, and cast into a prison with
companions at the very aspect of which virtue did shudder. And the
unvaliant courage, the weak bravery, of this indulged and wayward
young lady had no strength wherewith to resist the surging tides of
adversity. No voice of parent, friend, or ghostly father reached her
in that abode of despair. No visible angel visited her, but a fiend in
human form haunted her dungeon. Liberty and pleasure he offered in
exchange for virtue, honor, and faith. She fell; sudden and great was
that fall.
There is a man the name of which hath blenched the cheeks and riven
the hearts of Catholics, one who hath caused many amongst them to lose
their lands and to part from their homes, to die on gibbets and their
limbs to be torn asunder--one Richard Topcliffe. But, methinks, of all
the voices which shall be raised for to accuse him at Christ's
judgment-seat, the loudest will be Frances Bellamy's. Her ruin was his
work; one of those works which, when a man is dead, do follow him;
whither, God knoweth!
Oh, you who saw her, as I did, in her young and innocent years, can
you read this without shuddering? Can you think on it without weeping?
As her fall was sudden, so was the change it wrought. With it vanished
affections, hopes, womanly feelings, memory of the past; nay, methinks
therein I err. Memory did yet abide, but linked with hatred; Satan's
memory of heaven. From depths to depths she hath sunk, and is now
wedded to a mean wretch, the gaoler of her old prison. So rank a
hatred hath grown in her against recusants and mostly priests, that it
rages like a madness in her soul, which thirsts for their blood. Some
months back, about the time I did begin to write this history, news
reached me that she had sold the life of that meek saint, that sweet
poet, Father Southwell, of which even an enemy, Lord Mountjoy, did
say, when he had seen him suffer, "I pray God, where that man's soul
now is, mine may one day be." Her father had concealed him in that
house where she had dwelt in her innocent days. None but the family
knew the secret of its hiding-place.
She did reveal it, and took gold for her wages! What shall be that
woman's death-bed? What trace doth remain on her soul of what was once
a share in the divine nature? May one of God's ministers be nigh unto
her in that hour for to bid her not despair! If Judas had repented,
Jesus would have pardoned him. Peradventure, misery without hope of
relief overthrew her brain. I do pray for her always. 'Tis a vain
thought perhaps, but I sometimes wish I might, though I see not how to
compass it, yet once speak with her before she or I die. Methinks I
could say such words as should touch some old chord in her dead heart.
God knoweth! That day I write of, little did I ween what her end would
be. But yet it feared me to hear one so young and of so frail an
aspect speak so boastfully; and it seemed even then to my
inexperienced mind, that my Lady Surrey, who had so humbly erewhile
accused herself of cowardice and lamented her weakness, should be in a
safer plight, albeit as yet unreconciled.
The visit I have described had lasted some time, when a servant came
with a message to her ladyship from Mr. Hubert Rookwood, who craved to
be admitted on an urgent matter. She glanced at me somewhat surprised,
upon which I made her a sign that she should condescend to his
request; for I supposed he had seen Sir Francis Walsingham, and was in
haste to confer with me touching that interview; and she ordered him
to be admitted. Mrs. Bellamy and her daughter rose to go soon after
his entrance; and whilst Lady Surrey conducted them to the door he
asked me if her ladyship was privy to the matter in hand. When I had
satisfied him thereof, he related what had passed in an interview he
had with Sir Francis, whom he found ill-disposed at first to stir in
the matter, for he said his frequent remonstrances in favor of
recusants had been like to bring him into odium with some of the more
zealous Protestants, and that he must needs, in every case of that
sort, prove it to be his sole object to bring such persons more
surely, albeit slowly, by means of toleration, to a rightful
conformity; and that with regard to priests he was very loth to
interfere.
"I was compelled," quoth Hubert, "to use such arguments as fell in
with the scope of his discourse, and to flatter him with the hope of
good results in that which he most desired, if he would procure Mr.
Sherwood's release, which I doubt not he hath power to effect. And in
the end he consented to lend his aid therein, on condition he should
prove on his side so far conformable as to suffer a minister to visit
and confer with him touching religion, which would then be a pretext
for his release, as if it were supposed he was well disposed toward
Protestant religion, and a man more like to embrace the truth when at
liberty than if driven to it by stress of confinement. Then he would
procure," he added, "an order for his passage to France, if he
promised not to return, except he should be willing to obey the laws."
"I fear me much," I answered, "my father will not accept these terms
which Sir Francis doth offer. Methinks he will consider they do
involve some lack of the open profession of his faith."
"It would be madness for one in his plight to refuse them," Hubert
exclaimed, and appealed thereon to Lady Surrey, who said she did
indeed think as he did, for it was not like any better could be
obtained.
It pained me he should refer to her, who from conformity to the times
could not well conceive how tender a Catholic conscience should feel
at the least approach to dissembling on this point.
"Wherein," he continued, "is the harm for to confer with a minister,
or how can it be construed into a denial of a man's faith to listen to
his arguments, unless, indeed, he feels himself to be in danger of
being shaken by them?"
"You very well know," I exclaimed with some warmth, "that not to
be my meaning, or what I suppose his should be. Our priests do
constantly crave for public disputations touching religion, albeit
they eschew secret ones, which their adversaries make a pretext of to
spread reports of their inability to defend their faith, or
willingness to abandon it. But heaven forbid I should anyways prejudge
this question; and if with a safe conscience--and with no other I am
assured will he do it--my father doth subscribe to this condition,
then God be praised for it!"
"But you will move him to it, Mistress Constance?" he said.
"If I am so happy," I answered, "as to get speech with him, verily I
will entreat him not to throw away his life, so precious to others, if
so be he can save it without detriment to his conscience."
"Conscience!" Hubert exclaimed, "methinks that word is often
misapplied in these days."
"How so?" I asked, investigating his countenance, for I misdoubted his
meaning. Lady Surrey likewise seemed desirous to hear what he should
say on that matter.
"Conscience," he answered, "should make persons, and mostly women,
careful how they injure others, and cause heedless suffering, by a too
great stiffness in refusing conformity to the outward practices which
the laws of the country enforce, when it affects not the weightier
points of faith, which God forbid any Catholic should deny. There is
often as much of pride as of virtue in such rash obstinacy touching
small yieldings as doth involve the ruin of a family, separation of
parents and children, and more evils than can be thought of."
"Hubert," I said, fixing mine eyes on him with a searching look he
cared not, I ween, to meet, for he cast his on a paper he had in his
hand, and raised them not while I spoke, "'sit is by such reasonings
first, and then by such small yieldings as you commend, that some have
been led two or three times in their lives, yea, oftener perhaps, to
profess different religions, and to take such contradictory oaths as
have been by turns prescribed to them under different sovereigns, and
God each time called on to witness their perjuries, whereby truth and
falsehood in matters of faith shall come in time to be words without
any meaning."
Then he: "You do misapprehend me, Mistress Constance, if you think I
would counsel a man to utter a falsehood, or feign to believe that
which in his heart he thinketh to be false. But, in heaven's name, I
pray you, what harm will your father do if he listens to a minister's
discourse, and suffers it to be set forth he doth ponder thereon, and
in the meantime escapes to France? whereas, if he refuses the loophole
now offered to him, he causeth not to himself alone, but to you and
his other friends, more pain and sorrow than can be thought of, and
deprives the Church of one of her servants, when her need of them is
greatest."
I made no reply to this last speech; for albeit I thought my father
would not accede to these terms, I did not so far trust mine own
judgment thereon as to predict with certainty what his answer should
be. And then Hubert said he had an order from Sir Francis that would
admit me on the morrow to see my father; and he offered to go with me,
and Mistress Ward too, if I listed, to present it, albeit I alone
should enter his cell. I thanked him, and fixed the time of our going.
When he had left us, Lady Surrey commended his zeal, and also his
moderate spirit, which did charitably allow, she said, for such as
conformed to the times for the sake of others which their
reconcilement would very much injure.
Before I could reply she changed this discourse, and, putting her
hands on my shoulders and kissing my forehead, said,
"My Lady Lumley hath heard so much from her poor niece of one
Mistress Constance Sherwood, that she doth greatly wish to see this
young gentlewoman and very resolved papist." And then taking me by the
arm she led me to that lady's chamber, where I had as kind a welcome
as ever I received from any one from her ladyship, who said "her dear
Nan's friends should be always as dear to her as her own," and added
many fine commendations greatly exceeding my deserts.