The months of May and June flew by as if on golden wings. The
youths of Oxford, engrossed in study and in merry pastimes, seemed
for a while to have cast away those graver thoughts which had been
stirring them of late; or at least, if the current still ran, it
seemed for the time being to run in silence. Perhaps the knowledge
that the cardinal had set himself to the task of nipping in the bud
the dangerous growth of incipient heresy alarmed some of the more
timid spirits; whilst others sought for truth and light as it was
to be found amongst their recognized preachers and teachers, and
were often surprised at the depth of spirituality and earnestness
which they found in men who were stanch to the core to the
traditions of the church, and held in abhorrence the very name and
thought of heresy.
Dr Langton's daughters heard little of the doings of the "Christian
Brethren" during these bright months. Anthony Dalaber was more
engrossed in his own studies and in his prowess at calcio (which
was the most fashionable game through that summer) than in the
religious movement which had occupied his mind before.
It was not that he had changed his opinions, or in any way drawn
back from his admiration for the men connected with this movement.
When he spoke of it sometimes with Freda his eyes would glow with
feeling, and all the old fervour and earnestness would come back
like a flood upon him; but there was nothing for the moment for him
to do. The importation of forbidden books into the country had been
temporarily checked by the vigilance of the cardinal and his
servants. The king was breaking a lance in argument with Martin
Luther, and men were watching the result with interest and
curiosity. And there was a certain awakening of spiritual light
within the church itself, and pure and enlightened spirits there
were making their voices heard; so that many (like John Clarke
himself) hoped and believed that the much-needed reformation and
purification would come from within, by her own act, rather than by
any warfare against her as from without.
So, as these happy summer days flew by, the clouds of anxiety and
apprehension seemed to disperse and roll away. The sisters were
living in a world that was something new to them. Womanhood was
awakening within them. They were learning something of its
sweetness, of its power, as also of its perplexities and pain.
There was no doubt whatever as to the fervency of Anthony Dalaber's
love for Freda; whilst Arthur Cole paid such marked attention to
Magdalen that she could not but believe him in earnest, albeit no
word of love had so far escaped his lips.
With July came a change in the situation. One of the many
pestilences so frequent in the country and so damaging to Oxford
broke out in the neighbourhood of Carfax. It had some of the
sweating-sickness symptoms, but was distinct from it in other
respects. For a while it did not penetrate into the colleges, and
the university authorities made strict rules for the undergraduates
and students, hoping that the scourge would confine itself to the
town and the families of the citizens. But it was impossible to
keep the clerks from wandering through the streets or entering
shops and taverns, and little by little cases of sickness appeared
first in the halls and then in the colleges, till it was evident
that the epidemic was to be a serious one.
From the first Clarke had busied himself in visiting and tending
the sick. He quitted for the time being his rooms in Cardinal
College, and lodged with Stephen Radley, who accompanied him on his
errands of mercy. Clarke was one of those men to be found in great
numbers in university communities who, whilst not yet in full
priest's orders, was qualifying for the priesthood, wore the
tonsure, and having passed his degree in arts, was preparing
himself in the schools of theology for the career to which he was
dedicated. All the canons of Cardinal College were supposed to
follow this course of training.
But it was not only amongst the men that self sacrifice and
devotion made itself manifest. Dr. Langton's two daughters were as
forward as any in the desire to help and tend the sick, and perform
such offices of pity and kindliness as lay within their power.
Their father did not oppose them, though he laid down certain
rules, which they dutifully obeyed, by which he hoped to guard them
from infection. For his part, he was always foremost in the fight
with disease and contagion, and wherever the need was sorest, there
was he to be found.
Thus it came about that John Clarke and Stephen Radley often found
themselves face to face with the fair girls, who came and went like
sisters of mercy amid the poor houses crowded together in the
low-lying lands without the city walls; and Anthony Dalaber,
flinging himself into the crusade with his accustomed energy, found
himself in almost constant attendance upon them, carrying out their
orders, assisting them in their labour of mercy, and growing more
ardently in love with his chosen mistress every day of his life.
But devoted workers did not always come through such an ordeal
unscathed; and Dr. Langton and John Clarke sickened of the
distemper almost at the same time. Neither was grievously ill; but
both were forced to give up all work, and lie quietly in bed,
suffering themselves to be tended by others.
Meantime there had been a very considerable exodus of students and
masters from the city, and for the time being all lectures were
suspended. There was small chance of any regular resumption of
study till the cool crispness of autumn should check and stamp out
the spread of this sickness.
It was at this juncture that Arthur Cole came forward with an offer
which sounded very pleasantly in the ears of those to whom it was
made. He came into the pleasant living room of the Bridge House
upon the first evening when Dr. Langton had been suffered to leave
his bed and lie for a while on the couch in this other and more
cheerful apartment. Magdalen had her lute in her hands, and had
been softly singing to him, when the sound of the opening door
brought her soft, sweet song to a close.
They welcomed their visitor cordially. He had been absent from
Oxford for a while, and they had not expected to see him.
"I have been away at Poghley," he explained, "whither I sent for
Dalaber to join me these last days. Did he tell you aught of it?"
"He came to bid us a farewell, though he said it would he a brief
one," answered Freda; "but he told us no more than that."
"I have come to tell the rest," answered Cole, with a smile. "They
tell me you were at Poghley last summer, so perchance you saw then
the old moated house which lies a few miles from the village? That
house is mine, though I have seldom visited it, and never dwelt
there till now. But it came into my mind that it would be a
pleasant place wherein to pass these next weeks, during which time
Oxford will be empty of her scholars and masters. But I love not
solitude, and I have gathered together a few congenial spirits.
Dalaber and Fitzjames are already there, making all ready, and
Radley will start tomorrow, taking Master Clarke in his charge,
since it is of all things needful for him to have a change of air
to restore him to health. He will be our chaplain, and edify us by
his discourses when he has recovered his health and strength. But
more than this: we want some man of learning and greater age and
standing to direct us in our studies; and it is my great hope that
you and your daughters will come and be my guests for a few
weeks--you, dear sir, to recover health in the purer air, and then,
when your strength permits it, be the director of our studies; and
these sweet ladies to enjoy the rest and ease which their recent
devoted labours render necessary, and to escape from the noxious
miasma now rising from these low lands round Oxford, which is
likely to cause the sickness here to increase."
The doctor's face lighted as Arthur proceeded to describe the
situation of the house and the arrangements he had made for his
guests. One wing would be set apart entirely for Dr. Langton and
his daughters, who could bring any servant of their own if they
desired it; he and his companions would occupy the other part of
the building; and it was for the family themselves to decide
whether they should be served with their meals in their own
apartments, or join the rest at table.
No epidemic sickness had ever appeared in the locality. The house
was situated on a rather high plain, though sheltered from the
winds, and partly surrounded by its own moat. The air was fine and
bracing. It would be likely to do good to those who had been
exposed to the contagion of sickness, and had been taxing their
strength in the good work of tending others.
It did not take much argument on Arthur's part to win the grateful
consent of Dr. Langton, and the bright eyes of the girls showed how
pleasant was the prospect to them. Their father, they were sure,
would greatly benefit by the removal to a healthier locality; and
though they would willingly have remained on, seeking, even without
his guidance, to alleviate the sufferings of the stricken, yet they
were both conscious that their energies were rather impaired by
watching and anxiety, and that they might in such case be in danger
of falling a prey to the sickness themselves.
A few days more and they found themselves established in their new
quarters, delighted with everything about them. The old, timbered
house was rambling and spacious, and the plenishings of their own
apartments seemed sumptuous to them; for those were not days of
great luxury in the matter of household furniture, and they had
never before seen such hangings, such mirrors, such multitude of
silver sconces for wax candles, such carpets and skins under foot,
such multiplicity of table appointments, or even such store of
books and manuscripts for their own and their father's delectation
and entertainment.
Anthony Dalaber was there to welcome them, Arthur having the good
taste to keep somewhat in the background; and he showed them
everything with pride and delight, praising his friend, and
foretelling the happiest of summer vacations and summer studies to
be carried on within these walls.
"We have Clarke and Radley and Sumner and Fitzjames here in the
house, and there are numbers of other clerks and students lodging
in and about the village. When your father is strong enough to
lecture and instruct us, he will have quite a gathering in the old
raftered refectory below, which I will show you anon. Then there
are gardens which will delight your hearts, and shady alleys where
bowls can be played, or where we can pace to and fro in pleasant
converse. Methinks it is worth all that hath gone before to find
such a haven of peace and rest at last."
Anthony looked as though he needed rest, as indeed was the case;
for he had toiled hard amongst the sick, and when Clarke fell ill,
had devoted himself to him day and night, with Radley for his
helper. But Radley had had a touch of the sickness himself, and had
been unable to do much, so that the bulk of the nursing and the
anxiety had fallen upon Dalaber.
"But he is better now--Master Clarke, I mean?" spoke Magdalen, with
anxious eyes.
"Verily yes; he is well-nigh himself again, only he hath the air of
one who is worn down with illness. He looks bent and white and
frail--he toiled so strenuously amongst the sick; and before that
he was studying almost night and day.
"But come below into the garden where he is; he will speak for
himself. I would that you should see the lilies there. They will
rejoice your heart."
It was a quaint old garden into which Anthony led them, full of the
scent of herbs and spices, rosemary, thyme, and sweetbrier. The
trim order of modern gardening was then unknown, and therefore not
missed; close-shaven turf was only to be found in the bowling
alleys, and lawns were not; but there was a wilderness beauty that
was full of charm in such a place as this, and the sisters looked
about them with eager eyes, rejoicing in the beauty before them,
and inhaling the pure freshness of the air after the heavy and
somewhat pestilential atmosphere in which they had lived.
Clarke was lying at ease on a bearskin against the turf wall of the
bowling alley, a book beside him, which he was not then reading.
His eyes lighted at sight of the sisters, and he would have risen,
but that they forestalled him, and sat beside him on the soft skin,
looking at him with friendly solicitude.
He would not talk of himself, but had a hundred things to tell them
of the place to which they had come. He inquired how Dr. Langton
had borne the journey, and hoped he might visit him later in the
day; and as they talked, they were joined by their host himself.
And presently he asked Magdalen to come with him and see his hives
of bees, for she was somewhat of a naturalist, and was eager to
study the habits and habitations of all living things.
"We are very grateful to you, fair sir," she said, "for this act of
kindness and hospitality to our dear father. I doubt not that he
will recover health and strength with great speed here in this
sweet place. It seems an abode of peace and harmony. I never saw a
house so beautiful."
"I am right glad it pleases you, sweet mistress," answered Arthur,
a very slight flush mounting to his cheek; "believe me, it is the
great hope of my heart that this place shall become dear to you,
and that you may find happiness therein."
"I thank you, sir," she answered, slightly turning her head away;
"your kindness is great, and that not to us alone, but also to
others. Our beloved Master Clarke hath the appearance of a man
sorely sick, and in need of long rest and refreshment. This he will
obtain here as he could not elsewhere. Those who regard his life as
a precious one will thank you also for that."
"Are you one of those, Mistress Magda?"
"Indeed, yes. We have known Master Clarke for some great while now,
and methinks he is one of God's saints upon earth--one of those who
will assuredly walk with Him in white, one of those who will be
faithful and will overcome."
Her face kindled, and Arthur, looking somewhat keenly at her, noted
a depth of expression in her eyes which no words of his had ever
prevailed to bring there.
"He is a notable man," he answered slowly, "and one who may have a
great future before him, if only he does not let it slip from him
by some indiscretion at the beginning."
"How mean you?" asked Magdalen, with quickly aroused interest.
"I mean that Master Clarke has been already noticed by the
cardinal. He was taken from Cambridge because of his good report as
to sobriety, learning, and godliness; and the cardinal will,
without doubt, keep an eye upon him, and when he has taken his
degrees in divinity, will promote him to some living or benefice
that will make him rich for life. But let him have a care; that is
what his friends would beg of him. Let him have a care that he be
not corrupted by new-fangled disputings and questionings, which
will benefit no man, and which are already disturbing the peace of
the realm and the unity of the church. I would have him beware of
these; touch not, taste not, handle not--that is my counsel to him.
And if any have influence with him to warn or counsel I would that
they should turn him away from such perilous paths, for if he tread
them they may lead him to trouble and ruin."
Magdalen made no direct reply, and Arthur, looking earnestly into
her face, became aware of its absorbed expression, and asked:
"Does this trouble you, sweet lady? Are you, too, aware of the
peril in which he and others may stand if they intermeddle too much
in forbidden matters?"
"Yes, I think I know somewhat of it; but what troubles me is that
these things should be forbidden. Why may not each man be free in
his own soul to read the Scriptures, and to seek to draw help, and
light, and comfort from them for himself?"
"Ah, dear lady, that is too big a question for my wits to grapple
with. I leave these matters to men who are capable of judging. All
I say is that the church holds enough for me, that I shall never
learn half she has to teach, and that within her fold is safety.
Outside pastures may be pleasant to the eye; but who knows what
ravening wolves may not be lurking there in the disguise of
harmless sheep? The devil himself can appear in the guise of an
angel of light; therefore it behoves us to walk with all wariness,
and to commit ourselves into the keeping of those whom God has set
over us in His Holy Church."
"Up to a certain point, yes," answered Magdalen earnestly; "hut
there be times when--when--Ah, I cannot find words to say all I
would. But methinks that, when such pure and stainless souls as
that of Master Clarke are seeking for light and life, they cannot
go far astray."
Arthur hoped and trusted such was the case, and he was regular in
his attendance whenever Clarke preached in the little chapel, or
gave lectures in some room of the house, to which many flocked.
Dalaber was never absent; all his old zeal and love kindled anew.
Several of the guests in that house, including Radley and
Fitzjames, often sat up far into the night reading the Scriptures
in their own language, and seeming to find new meaning in the fresh
rendering, which their familiarity with the original tongues
enabled them rightly to estimate.
Arthur Cole did not join these readings, though he did not
interfere with them. Once he said to Magdalen, with a certain
intonation of anxiety in his voice:
"I cannot see what they think they benefit thereby. Surely the
tongue in which the Scriptures were written must be the best to
study them in--for those who have learning to do so. Translators do
their best, but errors must creep in. For the ignorant and
unlettered we must translate, but why for such men as our friends
here?"
"But the ignorant and unlettered are forbidden to read or buy the
living Word?" said Magdalen quickly.
"Yes; because they would not understand, and would breed all sorts
of pestilent heresies. The Scriptures are not of private
interpretation. They must be taught by those appointed to that
work. I grant you willingly that much is needed in the church--men
able and willing for the task; but to put the Scriptures into the
hands of every clown and hind and shopman who asks for a copy--no;
there I say you do more hurt than good."
"Our friends here do not that," spoke Magdalen thoughtfully.
"No; if they did they would have to go elsewhere. I could not lend
my house for such a purpose. As it is--"
He stopped short, and the girl looked quickly at him.
"As it is what?" she asked.
"Ah, well, it is naught. I only meant to say that, if the cardinal
were aware of all that went on, even in his own college, he might
find fault with much, and make inquisition in many places that
would be perilous for many. But as things are I trow all is safe,
if they will be content to go no farther."
"You speak of the distribution of books to others?" asked Magdalen,
who, through Dalaber, had some knowledge of the work of the
Christian Brothers.
"Yes; that is a very perilous course to take, and I fear many are
disposed towards it. There is a man--his name is Garret; he was
once a scholar of my college--Magdalen; they say he is one of the
chiefest promoters of this dangerous traffic. I hope and trust he
will keep himself away from here--from Oxford. He is a dangerous
man, in that he works much upon the minds and feelings of others. I
trust and hope he will never appear in Oxford to carry on such work
as he has done in London. He has escaped hitherto; but if he
becomes more mischievous, no man may know how it will end."
"But you would not betray him!" cried Magdalen suddenly.
He looked at her in some surprise, and she coloured under his gaze.
She had not meant much by her words, but she saw that he fancied a
purpose in them.
"Mistress Magdalen," he asked suddenly, "what do you know of this
man and his work?"
"Very little; only what Anthony Dalaber and Master Clarke have
sometimes told us when these matters have been spoken of--no more
than you have told me yourself."
"But you have sympathy with him and his object?"
"Perhaps I have. In sooth, I scarce know how I feel about such
matters. I know there is peril. I love not disobedience, nor scorn
those set over us; but yet I feel for those who desire more, and
would fain drink of the water of life out of new cisterns. But what
I meant was that it grieved me that any should hold such men in
reprobation, or should betray them into the hands of their enemies,
should they be in any peril."
"It is what we are bidden to do sometimes," spoke Arthur gravely.
"I know; but I could not do it. I should shrink from any man who
could obey such a mandate as that."
He looked at her long and earnestly, then he turned and took her
hands in his, and stood facing her for a while in silence.
"And what would you do for the man who should, instead of
betraying, warn, such conspirators of their peril, should he know
that they stood in need of warning?"
She thrilled somewhat beneath his touch. There seemed a purpose in
his words. The colour rose in her face.
"I should look upon him as a friend. I should call him noble. I
should put my trust in him. Our Lord has promised His blessing to
the merciful. Surely He would count that an act of mercy which
should save those in peril from the hands of their foes."
She spoke with great earnestness and with kindling eyes. His clasp
upon her hands tightened.
"And what reward would you give to such a man?" he asked; but then,
seeming, as it were, to feel shame for these words, he added
hastily, "It is thus, sweet lady, with me. Mine uncle is the
proctor in Oxford--proctor for the south. Through him I ofttimes
glean news unknown to other students. If I should hear of any peril
menacing those who hold these new opinions, for which you, I can
see, have such tenderness, I will not fail to warn them of it. If I
know, they shall know likewise. Will that satisfy you?"
"It will," she answered, with a glance that thrilled him to his
heart's core. "I thank you from my soul."