Anthony sat with his face buried in his hands, in an attitude of
profound dejection. He was gaunt and haggard and worn to a shadow,
and Freda's gentle, pitying gaze held in its depths nothing but
love and tender compassion.
The first rapture of meeting once again had passed. The exultant
joy engendered by a sense of freedom had lasted for several hours.
Anthony had laughed and sung aloud and shouted for joy in the shady
alleys of the garden, amid all the blissful sights and sounds of
springtide. He had wandered there with Freda beside him in a sort
of trance of happiness, in which all else had been forgotten. The
joy to both had been so keen, so exquisite, that it had sufficed
them for the present.
But with the falling of the softened dusk, with the setting of the
sun, with the natural and inevitable reaction upon an enfeebled
body and sensitive spirit, following upon a severe and protracted
strain, Dalaber's spirits had suddenly left him. An intense
depression both of body and mind had followed, and in the gathering
twilight of that familiar room he sat in an attitude of profound
dejection, whilst Freda scarce knew whether it were better to seek
to find words of comfort, or to leave him alone to fight out the
inevitable battle.
"Why did I do it? Why did I consent?" he suddenly broke out. "Why
did I listen to the voice of the charmer? Would it have been so
hard to die? Will it not be harder to live with the stain of this
sin upon my soul?"
"'The blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin,'"
spoke Freda very softly.
"And I have denied my Lord--in deed, if not in word," and he
groaned aloud.
"It was an act of submission and obedience," spoke Freda, using the
arguments familiar to her. "Nor did you yourself cast upon the fire
the precious Word of God; you did not deny your faith. You
affirmed--so they say--your assent to the doctrines of Holy Church,
and did penance for past disobedience. Is that a matter to grieve
so greatly over?"
She spoke very gently, yet not as though her heart went altogether
with her words. Anthony raised his head and broke out into vehement
speech, which she welcomed gladly after the long silence of utter
depression.
"They made it easy for us. They sought to win us by gentle methods.
They knew that the most of us loved Holy Church, and were loath
indeed to be divorced from her communion. They did not bid us in so
many words to deny those things which we have held--the right of
every man to hold in his hand the Word of God, and to read and
study it for himself; but they made us perform an act which in the
eyes of the world will be taken to mean as much--to mean that we
acknowledge the sinfulness of circulating that precious, living
Word, and are ready to cast it into the flames like an unholy and
corrupt thing.
"And I consented. I let them persuade me. I let mine eyes be
blinded. And now, whither shall I go? I have denied my Lord. I have
sinned in His sight. I have not taken up my cross and followed Him.
I have sought to save my life, and yet I had thought myself ready
to follow Hun to the cross and the grave."
"Like Peter," spoke Freda softly. "Yet the Lord looked upon him
with tender love; and He forgave him freely and fully, and gave him
special charge to strengthen the brethren, to feed the sheep and
the lambs. The Lord wore our mortal flesh. He knows that it is
weak. He understands all. Be not too much cast down, my Anthony.
Perchance in the past thou didst too much trust in thine own
strength. In the days to come let us look ever more and more to the
Lord Himself. He will first forgive, and then confirm His strength
in us."
"In us? But thou hast ever been strong in faith," spoke Anthony
quickly. "I can read it in thine eyes how that thou dost hold me
weak and wavering. Had it been thou who wast thus tried, I trow
thou wouldst have stood firm."
"Indeed I know not that, Anthony," she answered earnestly, "and I
dare not say that I did desire it of thee. I was rent in twain by
the struggle. If, indeed, patience and tenderness are shown by
those in authority to the sons they hold to be in error, then love
should be met by love. We must not rend the body of the Lord by
needless strife and contention, if other and gentler means may with
patience prevail. We know that obedience and submission to the
powers that be are enjoined upon us; yet we know that we must keep
our conscience void of reproach. It is hard, indeed, to judge; but
let us always seek to take the highest path, and if we fall by
reason of weakness in faith, in judgment, or in spirit, let us pray
the more fervently for the Spirit of truth to guide us into all
truth, and keep us pure within."
They had been so earnestly talking that they had not heard the
sound of steps and voices in the house, and started when the door
was suddenly opened by young Fitzjames, who ushered in Garret and
the monk Robert Ferrar.
Dalaber started to his feet. He had seen both these former
companions of his in the procession that morning, but not a word
had been exchanged between them. He stood gazing at them with a
strange mixture of emotion.
"Anthony Dalaber, we have come to say farewell," said Garret, whose
thin, white face and the burning brightness of his eyes testified
to the struggle through which his own spirit had passed. "For the
present the brotherhood is broken up; for the present the powers of
the world are too strong for us; but the day will come when the
truth shall be vindicated, when it shall shine forth as the sun in
his strength, and we of the faith will be the first to welcome the
rising rays. Be not afraid; be not cast down. The Lord will arise,
and His enemies will be scattered. And there is work for us all to
do, to prepare for His appearing. Let us not be weary in well
doing. Though we have bent our heads to the storm, yet we will lift
them up with joy anon, knowing that redemption draweth nigh. You
believe that, Anthony Dalaber?"
"I verily believe that God will visit the earth and His church, and
that He will sit as a refiner, and purify her from all impurities;
but whether He will condescend to use again such imperfect
instruments as we have proved, I do not know. We have bowed
ourselves in the house of Rimmon. Shall we ever be fit for the
service of the house of God?"
Garret was still for a moment, silenced by the strange expression
of concentrated remorse upon Dalaber's face. It was Ferrar who
spoke in his low, even voice.
"'And when I bow myself in the house of Rimmon, the Lord pardon his
servant in this thing. And Elisha said unto him, Go in peace.'"
Deep silence fell upon the room, and then Freda spoke.
"I think God is ever more merciful than man. God reads the heart,
and He knows that, though men may fail through weakness, they may
rise again in His strength and yet do valiantly."
"I will yet live to do Him service!" cried Garret, with kindling
eyes. "I will yet live that I may lay down my life for Him if He
call me. If I have been deceived this once, He will lead me aright
in the days to come. Mine hour will yet come; I know it, I feel it.
And He shall see then that Thomas Garret will not shrink even from
death for His name's sake."
Dalaber looked straight into his face.
"I consented to take part in this penance today because I heard
that you had submitted. I believed that all had done so. Had I
known that Master Clarke had refused, God helping me, I would have
refused also; for surely never was there a man who had so fully the
mind of the Lord Jesus as John Clarke."
Garret's glance fell before that burning gaze. He too had noted
that Clarke was not amongst the penitents, and it had cut like a
knife into his heart. He had always been so ready with his
protestations of willingness to die for the faith, yet he had been
won over to an act which looked like one of recantation. Clarke had
never boasted, had always spoken with gentle warning of the dangers
which beset them, and his doubts as to whether they should have
strength to withstand the fiery trial if it came upon them. There
had been times when Garret had openly charged him with being
lukewarm in the cause. Yet Clarke lay still in his noisome prison,
excommunicate, and in danger of death at the stake, whilst they
stood free men, reconciled to the church, and restored to her
favour.
Whose position was that of most true blessedness? Garret twisted
his hands nervously together as this flood of thought came surging
over him.
"They say that Clarke would have been there," spoke young
Fitzjames, "but that he was too enfeebled by captivity to walk in
the procession."
"That is false," said Freda, in a low voice. "Master Clarke might
have won his liberty with the rest, but he refused to take any part
in the spectacle today at Carfax."
"Yet he never circulated the books," broke out Garret. "He ofttimes
cautioned me against importing too many of the treatises written in
Germany. He would not approve all that they contained. He could
have cast such books upon the flames without violating his
conscience. Wherefore was he not there with the rest of us?"
It was Freda who, after a pause, made answer:
"He knew that men would not distinguish between the burning of
books by men and the burning of the precious Word of God. It was
this that held him back."
"Yea, verily," cried Dalaber, with a blaze of his old excitement,
"he was true to his conscience, and we were not. He knew that those
who saw that procession would regard it as an admission of heresy.
He was no heretic, and he would have neither part nor lot with it.
He has ever stood firm in this--that the church of the living God
is pure and holy, and that she asks no such acts of submission and
recantation from her sons, when their only desire has been to extol
Him and to make His way clear upon earth. How could his pure and
holy spirit make confession of evil? He could not, and he would
not. He will lay down his life for the gospel's sake; but he will
not be deceived, as we were.
"I can see it now as I could not when the walls of prison and the
mists of fever were closing me in. We have, as it were, admitted
that to read the Word of God and to give it to others to read is a
sin against the church. He has stood on the ground he adopted from
the first--that the church has never forbidden it, and that those
who do so are not her true and faithful stewards and ministers; and
for that conviction he is ready to die. He will not let himself be
deceived or cajoled. His light is the light from above, and it will
shine upon his path to the very end."
Ferrar and Garret had no intention of lingering long. They were
about to go forth together into the world--probably to make their
way to Germany--and Garret had had some thought that Dalaber might
possibly accompany them on their journey. But they saw that he had
other views for himself, and did not even ask him.
The spell which Garret had once exercised upon him was broken now.
They would ever be as friends and brothers in a good cause, but the
special tie had snapped. Garret was no longer a hero in the eyes of
Dalaber, and he felt the subtle change which had come over his
ex-pupil.
So they clasped hands warmly, exchanged farewells, and the two
companions passed out into the darkening night, whilst young
Fitzjames lingered wistfully, and brightened as Freda bade him take
up his old quarters in that pleasant house.
"And on the morrow we will all travel to Poghley together; and you,
Fitzjames, shall take word to others who have suffered imprisonment,
and whose friends, perchance, may look coldly upon them, that they
are welcome to Arthur's house, if they desire a brief space for rest
and refreshment. It is open to all who have suffered, but are now
'reconciled,' as it is termed. Anthony and I go thither early in the
day, and any who desire may come with or follow after us."
"I feel as though I never wished to set eyes on Oxford again, once
I get free from it!" cried the youth, who felt bitterly the
ignominy and hardships through which he had passed.
He had submitted to the imposed penance, having, indeed, no very
strong opinions of his own upon controverted subjects, though he
had heard much, and received the new doctrines with open mind. But
now he felt as though he hated the rulers of the church with a deep
and implacable hatred. His boyhood seemed to have passed away from
him during those weeks of harsh imprisonment; and he came forth a
man, with a stern hatred of bigotry and intolerance, with no
formulated plan of action or resistance, with no very definite
opinions as to doctrine or dogma, but with a fixed resolve to cast
in his lot with those who were fighting for liberty of conscience,
or liberty in any form, and with a strong hope that he might live
to see the day when he should break a lance for the cause he had
espoused.
It was indeed too often that men's hearts were filled with
bitterness, and that those in places of power and authority made
themselves bitter enemies, even of those towards whom they were
kindly disposed; whilst the day was coming slowly but surely when
they were to reap what they had sown.
It was a soft and radiant evening when Freda and her father and
Dalaber rode slowly through the gates which led to the moated manor
where Arthur Cole and his bride awaited them. Fitzjames and a few
others were to follow. But these three, with a couple of servants,
arrived first; and upon their approach through the golden green of
the beech avenue, Magdalen flew, as it were, to meet her twin, and
the sisters were clasped in each other's arms. Arthur was not far
behind his fleet-footed spouse, and was clasping hands with
Dalaber, and gazing long and searchingly into his face.
"Welcome, my friend, welcome!" he said. "It is good to see you
stand a free man once more. You have suffered, Anthony; I can see
it all too clearly in your face. But I trust that the dark days are
over now, and that better times are in store. In the sweet security
of home we will seek to forget those trials and troubles which have
gone before."
Dalaber looked round him at the awakening beauty of the springtide
world, and a lump seemed to rise in his throat. His face contracted
as though with a spasm of pain, and he spoke in sharpened accents
of suffering.
"The world of nature looks--thus--to me. And Master Clarke lies
rotting in a foul prison, in peril of his life both from sickness
and from the cruel malice of the bishop. How can I forget? How can
I be happy? Methinks sometimes I would he more truly happy were I
lying beside him there."
Arthur drew Dalaber a little away from the rest.
"Have you had news of him?"
"Such news as might be had. Some of the brethren, if they can still
be so called, when they are as sheep scattered without a
shepherd--some of them came to bid me adieu and speak comforting
words. I asked them one and all of him, our beloved teacher; but
none had seen him--only they had one and all made inquiry after
him, and one had heard this, and the other that. But all affirmed
that he, together with Sumner and Radley, was lying in a foul
prison, sick unto death with the fever that besets those who lie
too long in these noisome holes, or, as some said, with the
sweating sickness, which has shown itself once more in Oxford.
"But since he refused to take part in the scene at Carfax, and as
his companions were firm as himself, they are kept yet in the same
foul place. And if help come not they will certainly die; for how
can men recover of sickness without some care, or tendance, or
better nourishment than will be given them there? Ah, it makes my
blood boil to think of it!"
It was almost impossible for Dalaber to rejoice in his own freedom
and in the beauty of all about him, so woeful were his thoughts
about this man whom he so greatly loved. He went to his room that
night, but sleep came not to him. He paced to and fro in a strange
tumult of mind; and with the first light of dawn he clad himself in
his riding suit, and when the household began to stir he sought a
servant, and bade him tell the master that he desired instant
speech of him.
Arthur came in brief space, and looked with surprise into Dalaber's
pale, set face. His wan looks told of his sleepless vigil, but he
gave no chance for questions to be asked. He spoke himself, and
that rapidly.
"Arthur, I must forthwith to London. Canst thou lend me a good
horse? Else I must needs go afoot."
"A horse! Why, the pick of the stable is at thy service, friend
Anthony. But whither away so fast, and wherefore?"
"I go to seek speech with the cardinal."
"With the cardinal, quotha? And wherefore with him?"
"I go to ask the life of Master Clarke. They say the cardinal is
not bloodthirsty or cruel. I will prove that for mine own self. And
if a victim must needs be had, I will offer myself in his place.
"Yes, Arthur, I will. Seek not to stay me by fair words. Methinks I
have had too much of such. I have been cozened both by friend and
by foe--for mine own good, as they would say, but not I. My heart
is heavy and hot within me. If Clarke is to lie languishing in
prison, let me lie there with him. There can be a worse prison
house of the soul than any made by bolts and bars. We can suffer as
keenly in such a place as this as in the lowest depth of a dungeon.
I have made trial of both. I know what I say. Seek not to stay me,
good Arthur, for I must needs go. The fire burns hot within me. It
will not be quenched."
Arthur looked keenly at him. He was silent for a very brief while,
and then he spoke quietly and persuasively.
"Thou shalt go, Anthony; but wait only for Monday. Thou art in need
of rest, and upon the eve of the festival of Easter thou wouldst
never get nigh to the cardinal. Thou art not fit for the long ride
today. In two days more thou wilt be in better case for the
journey. And I myself will be thy companion, for I have some
friends in high places who will lend me their help; and it will be
strange if together we cannot succeed in obtaining sight and speech
of the cardinal, and proffering our petition. Only wait these two
days, that thou mayest be more fit for the fatigues lying before
thee."
Dalaber would fain have been off that moment, but he saw the force
of Arthur's words; and, in truth, the long strain was telling
heavily upon him, and as he stood he almost reeled from weakness.
He was in no fit state for another day's riding; and when Freda
added her voice to that of Arthur, he consented to put off his
journey until after Easter.
Yet he looked straight into her eyes in making this concession, and
added firmly:
"But when the time comes I must go. And thou wilt bid me Godspeed,
my beloved; and if this journey should perchance bring me hurt--if
I should not return to thee therefrom--thou wilt not grieve over it
too much. Thou wouldst not withhold me, Freda?"
She looked into his eyes. She knew that peril might menace her
lover. It was as though he would, having once escaped, put his head
again into the jaws of the lion. None could say, if he and the
cardinal met, what might be the result to the impulsive but not
always discreet Dalaber. It seemed as though some power from within
urged him to make a confession, different from the one he had so
recently signed. It seemed as though his conscience would not let
him rest--as though he felt that he had been guilty of some act of
treachery towards his Lord.
Freda understood. She would not hold him back, though her eyes
filled with tears as he put the question.
"I will never withhold thee from what thou dost deem the right path
to tread, my beloved," she answered. "I will trust thee in the
hands of the all-loving Father, and pray that He may deliver thee
out of all peril. Be not rash. That is all I ask. Be as Master
Clarke--gentle, faithful, true, pure of heart and blameless of
speech. I ask nothing more of thee. Be true unto thine own better
self, and thou wilt be supported and upheld through all."
Arthur and his wife spoke much of the proposed journey.
"Wilt thou risk aught by it, my husband?" asked Magdalen, with a
tender anxiety in voice and look.
"I risk but little--nothing, perhaps; and right glad am I to
proffer this petition for our dear friend and teacher, Master
Clarke. It may be we shall fail in what we seek to accomplish, and
it may be that Anthony may fall once again under suspicion, and be
cast into prison as a heretic. No man can forecast these things,
and he will not seek to save himself this time.
"He has suffered already from tampering with his conscience.
Perchance I overbore him too much. It is hard to know what a man in
such straits should do. But I will seek to safeguard him all I can,
and bring him safely back. And if we win our petition, and gain
liberty for those three sick prisoners, it will be worth all the
risk and labour we have undergone to gain it."
"Hast ever had speech with the cardinal before?" asked Magdalen,
trembling a little at the thought.
"I have been in his company at times, but received nothing but a
fleeting glance or a passing word of courtesy. I have watched him
in converse with others many times. He hath a stately presence, and
a great gift of speech. He can win hearts by the grace and
kindliness of his address, or he can send men away quaking in fear
by the flash of his eagle eye and the stern rebukes which fall from
his lips. And none can know beforehand which will be his fashion of
receiving a petition, and particularly such a petition as ours.
"In God's hands must we leave the issues. But at least for such a
man as John Clarke it must surely be right to adventure somewhat. I
will go with Anthony. Together, I trust, we shall succeed."
"And we at home will pray day and night for your success," answered
the young wife, clinging to her husband, from whom she must make up
her mind to part on an errand that might be fraught with peril;
"and surely I think that God will hear and answer us, and give you
grace and power to intercede."
So as soon after Easter as Anthony was fit for the saddle the two
friends started off together on horseback for London, whilst the
wife and the betrothed stood to watch them away, waving them a
farewell, and hiding from their eyes the starting tears, which were
only allowed to fall when the sisters were left alone together.