Five days, however, elapsed at Poghley before any news came from
Arthur at Oxford, and then it was brought by Dr. Langton, who, upon
Dalaber's return, had started forth again to that place, partly to
set his house in order and arrange his books and papers before his
departure for foreign lands, partly because he hoped his skill in
medicine and the arts of healing might prove of use to the victims
of the prison house on their release.
For the sisters and Dalaber those days were happily passed, despite
the anxiety they felt as to what might be passing in Oxford. To
them it seemed as though the clouds of peril which had hung so long
in their sky were rolling fast away. Dalaber was relieved from that
burden of remorse and bitter humiliation which had been weighing
upon him. Humble and contrite for past errors, past weaknesses, he
was, and would remain; but he had delivered his soul by his frank
admissions to the cardinal, and he could respect and admire the
dignity and clemency of that powerful man, and be grateful to him
for both.
Freda was his own, as she had never been before--her mind at rest,
her heart satisfied, her old esteem and admiration and trust
restored. Together they wandered through orchard, meadow, and
woodland, speaking to each other from the bottom of their hearts,
unveiling their most sacred thoughts and feelings, and sharing
every aspiration, every hope, every plan for present or future. The
world for them was a pure Arcadia; they almost forgot for the time
being the more troublous world without.
It was like a green oasis in their lives, like a haven of rest and
peace after driving storms and perilous hurricanes. They lived in
the sunshine, and thanked God in their hearts, and received that
rest and refreshment of body, soul, and spirit of which both stood
rather sorely in need.
Then on the fifth day, as the sun was drawing towards its setting,
Dr. Langton returned. They pressed eagerly round him to learn the
news. His face was thoughtful and very grave.
"They are bringing Master Clarke. He is not more than a few miles
distant. He will be here before dark. I have come to make all ready
for him."
"Is Arthur with him?" asked Magdalen, whose hands were clasped
about her father's arm.
"Yes; he is riding at a foot pace beside the litter. We have had to
carry him thus all the way, and by very gentle stages. At the first
I doubted if he could bear the journey. But he was himself desirous
to see Poghley once again, and we decided to risk it. He has borne
the journey almost better than I had feared."
"And now we will nurse him back to health and strength," cried
Magdalen, with earnestness. "Alas that so good a man should have to
suffer so sorely!"
Freda observed that her father turned his head slightly away. She
felt a sort of constriction at the heart, but it was Dalaber who
put the next question.
"Is only Clarke coming hither?" he asked. "What of Sumner and
Radley who were with him in prison?"
Dr. Langton paused a brief while before answering, and then he said
in a low and moved voice:
"Radley was scarce alive when we came to them. They were all taken
to the Bridge House, where we had made preparation to receive them.
But he died within a few hours. I scarce know whether he did really
understand that liberty had come at last. On the morning of the
second day Sumner died, and we thought that Clarke was lying in
articulo mortis; but I tried in his case a certain drug, the use of
which I have only recently discovered, whereupon he fell into a
quiet, natural sleep, and the fever began to leave him. There is
much sickness again in the town, and it seemed to me well that, if
he could bear removal, he should be taken where stronger and purer
air could be breathed.
"Yesterday, very early in the morning, we started forth. Arthur had
had an easy litter constructed under his own eyes, which can be
slung between two horses walking gently and evenly. In this way we
have brought him. In another hour he should be here. I wish to make
ready some large and airy chamber that opens direct upon the
garden, where he can be carried daily to inhale the scents of the
flowers and be enwrapped by the sunshine. If there be a chance of
recovery--"
Dr. Langton stopped short, and Magdalen looked earnestly into his
face. She read his thoughts there.
"You think he will die?"
"I fear so. I misdoubt me if there can be any rally. And in truth,
my child"--he drew Magdalen gently onwards with him towards the
room which he had fixed upon in his own mind as the one most suited
to his purpose--"in truth, I know not if it were true kindness to
seek to save that stainless life. I had speech with Dr. Higdon
anent this very matter only the night before we started forth, and
he told me that, albeit the bishop had been persuaded by the
cardinal to permit the release of the prisoners for the present,
yet that, should any recover--and in particular, Master Clarke--he
was like to demand his surrender later into his own merciless
hands; and it is well known that he has said that, since Wolsey
would not burn Garret or Ferrar when he had them in his clutches,
be would burn Clarke so soon as he was able to stand his trial.
Some even say that he only suffered the men to be released from
prison that Clarke should be sufficiently recovered to perish at
the stake."
Magdalen shuddered and hid her face in her hands.
"Oh that such things should be! And in a Christian land, and within
the very Church of Christ itself!"
"We will trust it is not true," spoke Dr. Langton gravely, "or that
more Christian and more merciful counsel may prevail. But in all
truth I know full well that, short of a miracle, Clarke will only
come here to die. Perhaps the best that we can wish for him now is
a peaceful and painless passing away in the midst of his friends,
with no more fears of prison or martyrdom before his eyes; for in
sooth I think his soul has soared into a region where all fear and
anxiety are left behind."
Magdalen's eyes were full of tears. She had been from the first
deeply attracted both by the words and by the personality of John
Clarke, and sometimes she had had intimate talks with him on
spiritual matters, which had made an indelible impression upon her
heart.
She now busied herself diligently in making ready for his reception
that pleasant sunny chamber which her father had selected. The
great canopied beds of the day were too heavy and ponderous to be
easily moved; but smaller couches and abundant bedding were quickly
collected, and the room began to glow with the masses of flowers
that Freda brought in from the garden and woodland beyond. The
place was fragrant with the breath of cowslip and primrose, whilst,
as the light faded from the west, the dancing flames of the log
fire on the hearth gave a cheery air of welcome.
The sisters stood clasping hands as their friend was brought in by
the bearers, and tenderly laid upon one of the two soft couches
made ready--one beside the window, and one in a warmer situation
near to the hearth.
It was upon this one that he was laid first, and Magdalen caught
her breath in a little sob as she gazed upon his face--it was so
thin and sunken, so absolutely colourless. The eyes were closed,
and though there was an expression of deep peace and happiness upon
the face, it looked to her more like the face of one who has
triumphed in death than of one who is living and breathing yet.
Dalaber flung himself upon his knees beside the couch with a
lamentable cry upon his lips.
"My master! my master! my friend!" he cried, and at the sound of
these words and the familiar voice the long lashes quivered and
slowly lifted themselves, and they saw the dim, sweet smile steal
over the wan face.
"Is that Anthony? I cannot see. God bless thee, my son! He is
giving me all I could ask or wish."
Dr. Langton signed to his daughters to come away. The patient had
no strength for further greetings then. Freda's eyes were blind
with tears as she found herself hurrying from the room, and
Magdalen threw herself into her husband's arms, weeping aloud in
the fulness of her heart. He held her closely to him; he too was
deeply moved.
"But we must not grieve for him, my beloved; as he himself has said
so many times during these days, 'To depart, and to be with Christ,
is far better.' He goes forth so joyfully into the great unseen
that we must not seek too much to hold him back. His Lord may have
need of him elsewhere. In truth, he is more fit for heaven than
earth."
"He dies a martyr, if any ever did!" spoke Freda, choking back her
tears, and speaking with shining eyes. "He has laid down his life
for a testimony to the truth. What martyr can do more than that?"
"Is there no hope of his life?" asked Magdalen, still clinging to
her husband's arm.
"Your father fears not," answered Arthur; "and in sooth, after
hearing the story of their imprisonment, I think the same myself.
Oh, the patience, the sweetness, the self forgetfulness, with which
he has borne all! One could weep tears of blood to think that such
things are done to living saints on earth in the name of religion."
They looked breathlessly at Arthur, and he spoke again.
"I will not describe to you what we found when we entered the
prison. Enough that one would not herd one's swine in such a place.
Two out of the three were dying; and the third, though sick as you
now see him, was yet dragging himself from one to the other, to
minister to their still greater needs, as he had done from the
first, giving to them of his own meagre food and water--neither of
which was fit for human beings to touch--and enduring all the slow
agonies of fevered thirst day after day, that their in some way be
lightened.
"Sumner lived to tell us that. From the first Radley had sickened,
as the strong men ofttimes do in such places more quickly than the
weaker and feebler of body. Clarke, who had brought his body into
subjection by fasting, who had nursed the sick in their filthy
homes, and spent weeks at times in fever-stricken spots--he
resisted longest the ravages of the fell prison fever. He and
Sumner nursed Radley as best they might. Then Sumner fell sick, and
Clarke had them both to care for.
"To the very last he tended them. Though well nigh in as evil a
case, he yet would rise and crawl to them, and give them food and
water, or moisten their lips when they could no longer eat the
coarse prison fare. His patience and sweetness were not quite
without effect even on the jailer, and from time to time he would
bring them better food and a larger measure of water.
"But even so, there was none to help or succour them in their hour
of extremest need. May God look down and judge the things which
pass upon this earth, and are done by those who take His name
freely upon their lips! He whose eyes see all things have seen
those three men in their prison house. May He be the judge of all
things!"
"Thank God you came in time!" spoke Magdalen, with streaming eyes.
"Thank God they did not die in that foul hole!"
"I do thank Him for that. I fear me poor Radley did not know that
release for him had come; his greater release followed so hard
afterwards. But Sumner lived long enough to know us, and to rejoice
in the hope that Clarke's life would be spared. We did not tell him
how little chance there was of that. 'He is one of God's saints
upon earth,' were amongst his last words; 'surely He has a great
work for him to do here. Afterwards he will walk with Him in white,
for he is worthy.' And then in broken words he told us the story of
those weeks in prison; and with a happy smile upon his lips he
passed away. He did not desire aught else for himself. He left
Clarke in the hands of his friends. He folded his hands together
and whispered, 'Say the Nunc dimittis for me, and the last prayer;'
and as we did so his soul took flight. The smile of holy triumph
and joy was sealed by death upon his face."
"Faithful unto death," whispered Freda softly to herself, "he has
won for himself a crown of life."
Anthony came to her presently, looking strangely white and shaken.
They passed together out into the moonlight night. He was deeply
moved, and she saw it; and her silence was the silence of sympathy.
"If only I had shared their faith, their steadfastness, their
sufferings!" he spoke at last.
But she laid her hand upon his arm and whispered tenderly:
"Think not now of that. The past is not ours; and I know that God
has forgiven all that was weak or sinful in it. No sin repented of
but is washed away in the blood of the Lamb. Let us rejoice in that
there are ever those who will follow the Lamb whithersoever He
goeth, both here and hereafter, and will sing the song that no man
else can learn. And if we ourselves fail of being counted in that
glorious numbered host, may we not rejoice that others are found
worthy of that unspeakable glory, and seek to gain strength and
wisdom and grace from their example, so that in the days to come we
may be able to tread more firmly in the narrow way they have
travelled before us?"
They saw him the next day, for he asked to be moved out into the
garden, into the sunshine of the sweet spring day. Weak as he was,
Dr. Langton was of opinion that nothing could either greatly hurt
or greatly restore him. And to fulfil his wishes was the task all
were eager to perform. So, when the light was just beginning to
grow mellow and rosy, and the shadows to lengthen upon the grass,
Clarke was carried out and laid upon a couch in the shelter of the
hoary walls, whilst he gazed about him with eyes that were full of
an unspeakable peace and joy, and which greeted with smiling
happiness each friendly face as it appeared.
They knew not how to speak to him; but they pressed his wasted
hand, and sat in silence round him, trying to see with his eyes and
hear with his ears, and listening to the fitful words which sprang
from time to time to his lips.
"It is like the new heavens and the new earth," he said once--"the
earth which the Lord will make new, free from the curse of sin. Ah,
what a glorious day that will be! If this fallen world of ours can
be so beautiful, so glorious, so full of His praise, so full of
heavenly harmonies, what will that other earth he like, where He
will reign with His saints, and sin and death shall be no more?"
It seemed to others as though he were already living in that new
earth of peace and joy, and in the immediate presence of the Lord.
The light in his eyes grew brighter day by day, the shining of his
face more intense. As his hold upon the things of this world
relaxed, so did his sense of heavenly realities increase in
intensity. All his words were of peace and love and joy. It seemed
as though for him the veil were rent in twain, and his eyes saw the
unspeakable glories beyond.
His gratitude to those who had brought him forth from the prison
and set him in this fair place was expressed again and again. But
once, in answer to something Freda spoke, he said with a wonderful
lighting of the eyes:
"And yet, if you can believe it, we were strangely happy even
there, for the Lord was in the midst of us, as surely as He is here
amid this peace and loveliness. When we are holding Him by the
hand, feeling His presence, seeing His face in the darkness,
believing that it is His will for us to be there, it is strange how
the darkness becomes light, the suffering ceases, the horror all
passes away. I do not mean that the enemy does not intervene--that
he does not come and with his whispers seek to shake our faith, to
cloud our spirits, to shroud us in darkness and obscurity. But
thanks be to God, His Son, having overcome temptation in human
flesh, we in His strength, by Him, and through Him, and in Him,
have power to overcome. Satan came; but he did not stay, for One
that was mightier was with us. Thanks be to God who giveth us the
victory through our Lord Jesus Christ."
That was all he ever spoke of the prison life--no word of its
hardships and sufferings, only of the power of the Lord to take
away the bitterness, and to comfort, cheer, and strengthen. And so
they ceased to think or to speak of it, too. It had not hurt him.
The iron had never entered into his soul. And almost by now he had
forgotten. All was peace and joy and love. And even the knowledge
that his companions had passed away was no trouble to him.
"We shall meet so soon again," he said, and the light deepened in his
eyes. "I am so curious to know how it is with the departed--whether
they lie at rest as in a heaven-sent sleep, while their heart waketh;
or whether the Lord has work for them beyond the grave, into which
they enter at once. I long to know what that blessed state is like,
where we are with Christ, yet not in the glory of the resurrection,
but awaiting that at His good pleasure. Well, soon all this will be
made known to me; and I cannot doubt we shall meet again in joy and
love those with whom we have walked in fellowship upon this earth,
and that we shall in turn await those who follow after into peace,
and so with them look forward to the glorious day when the living
shall be changed and the dead receive their bodies back, glorified
in resurrection life, and so enter all together into the presence of
God, presented as one holy mystical body to Him, the Bride of the Lamb."
There was just one shadow that fell for a moment athwart the
perfect peace and joy of this departure. But it was not one that
could touch his spirit for more than a moment.
As he felt life slipping fast away, and knew that very soon he must
say farewell to earth and its sorrows and joys, he called Arthur to
his side and asked:
"Will they admit me to the rite of the Holy Communion before I
die?"
It was a question which Arthur had foreseen, and he had himself
taken a special journey to Oxford to see the dean upon that very
point.
But Clarke still lay beneath the ban of excommunication. He was
still regarded as a heretic; and although, after all he had passed
through, much sympathy was expressed for him, and any further
cruelty was strongly deprecated, yet the law of the church forbade
that the holy thing should be touched by unhallowed hands, or pass
unhallowed lips.
So now he looked compassionately into Clarke's face and said:
"I fear me they will not do so. I have done what I can; but they
will not listen. None may dare to bring it to you until the ban of
the church be taken off."
Clarke looked into his face at first with a pained expression, but
gradually a great light kindled in his eyes. He half rose from the
couch on which he was lying, and he stretched forth his hands as
though he were receiving something into them. Then looking upwards,
he spoke--spoke with a greater strength than he had done for many
days--and a vivid smile illuminated his face. They were all
standing about him, for they knew the end was near, and they all
saw and heard.
"Crede et manducasti," he said; and then, with a yet more vivid
illumination of his features, he added in a whisper, "My Lord and
my God!"
Then he fell back, and with that smile of triumph upon his face,
passed away.
Over his remains, which were permitted to lie in consecrated
ground, they set up a white cross; and beneath his name were the
words:
"Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of
life."
Notes
[i] "Believe, and thou hast eaten." Words often used by the early
"heretics," who were debarred from partaking of the feast of Holy
Communion.