"I do not wonder at that," he answered; "it was a fearful sight."
"And the poor lady with whom I saw you on her way thither, has she
escaped?" I asked.
"No; she was among those who suffered death. She witnessed a good
confession, and died, I believe, rejoicing, without feeling one pang of
pain."
While the friar was speaking I gradually recovered.
"We will now set forward," he said, "for I must leave this City, and
continue my search for my friend, who has, I believe, returned to
England. I did not say this to you before, but I do so now I know that
I may trust you. Should you by chance meet him, let him know that he
who was once Friar Roger is so no longer, and earnestly desires to see
him."
I assured him that I should be ready to help him, as well as Master
Overton, and that I believed nothing would induce me to betray them.
"Yes, I know that I can trust you," he said. "And now I have to ask
you, did not the lady give you a packet, desiring you to carry out the
wishes which are therein expressed?"
"Yes," I answered, feeling in the bosom of my frock, in which I placed
it. "I have it here safe, and hope to do as she desired."
"It might, however, be better if you were to give it to me," he
observed. "You are but a youth, and might lose it, or may be unable to
fulfil her request."
I could not help looking at the speaker suspiciously as he said this.
Was his object to deprive me of the packet, that he might make use of it
for his own purposes? If such was the case, he might have done so while
I lay in a swoon.
"You will pardon me, my friend," I answered, after a minute's
consideration; "that poor lady confided the packet to me, almost with
her dying breath, and I purpose, if I have the power, to carry out her
wishes."
Friar Roger looked at me and smiled.
"You act wisely," he answered. "You have not yet proved my fidelity,
and are right not to trust me; and, besides, I think you have a greater
prospect of remaining in this life than I have, for assuredly if my
heresy were discovered I should speedily be brought into the same state
as the poor people you saw this morning."
We had not gone far when A'Dale came hurrying after me. He had not at
first missed me when I fled from Smithfield, but hearing some one remark
with a laugh that a lad had been frightened by the fires, and had taken
to flight, he concluded that I was the person spoken of. Friar Roger
expressed his satisfaction at the appearance of A'Dale, and, confiding
me to his charge, wished us farewell.
At length I reached Master Gresham's house in Lombard Street. The Lady
Anne remarked upon my pale face and haggard features, and inquired what
had occurred. Knowing her kind disposition, I told her the occurrences
of the morning.
"Alas! alas!" she answered. "We must commiserate their fate, though I
believe firmly that all of them are tasting the joys of heaven. But for
that poor lady you speak of I feel more particularly. Can you tell me
her name?"
I bethought me of the packet, for to the Lady Anne I knew that I could
confide it properly.
"That will tell us," I observed.
We carefully opened the packet, which I drew from my bosom. Lady Anne
read it.
"Alas! alas!" she said; "even while you were describing the poor lady I
had an idea that she might be one I knew well in my early days, and for
whom I had a warm affection. Even at that time I thought her opinions
dangerous. And, my sweet Barbara, has such been indeed your fate? I
would that I had the means of discovering her daughter; this document
gives but a slight clue, saying little more than she told you. She
believes that her child will be found among certain Flemish artisans
settled at Norwich. There are many in that city, and thus among them it
will be difficult to discover her. Still it must be done, and I will
consult my husband on his return."
"Could I not go down to Norwich and search among the artisans there?" I
asked. "I have indeed a fellow-feeling for the poor young lady, and I
would thankfully be employed on such a service."
"I will think about it," answered Lady Anne; "but Norwich is a long way
off, and you are young to undertake such a journey alone. If James
Brocktrop can be spared I will send him, though he might not undertake
the task with the zeal I should desire."
"But could not I accompany him?" I asked. "The holidays will soon
begin, and if Master Gresham does not return, I shall be at liberty."
"Have patience, my boy; I will consider it," repeated Lady Anne.
When I told A'Dale, he was eager to accompany me. I knew I could trust
him. It wanted but two weeks to the holidays; and we agreed that if
Lady Anne could not then send Brocktrop, we ourselves, with her
permission and that of my patron, would set forth together.
At length term time was over, and I was at liberty.
"I have consulted my lord's factor, Master John Elliot, and he will send
James Brocktrop, for the purpose of inquiring into the trade and produce
of Norwich, where he is given to understand a considerable amount of
manufactures has been produced by the Flemish refugees settled in that
city," said Lady Anne. "You can accompany him, and you will thus have a
favourable opportunity of inquiring for the young girl."
I was greatly pleased at this arrangement; it was so exactly what I
wished. A'Dale likewise obtained leave to make holiday and to accompany
us. Horses were provided for our journey, and with a change of clothes
and other necessaries packed in our valises and strapped before us, with
thick cloaks to guard us from the inclemency of the weather, our
equipment was complete.
To enable us to defend ourselves, we each of us also had a brace of
pistolets, and an arquebus, which hung at the saddlebow. Thus well
provided, we set forth to the North. I found the roads very different
to those I had been accustomed to in the Low Countries. Instead of
affording a broad level way, they were full of ruts and inequalities.
Sometimes we had to pass through a wide extent of mud, and at other
times to pick our way amidst the boulders, rocks, and stones which lay
before us. This prevented us from proceeding as rapidly as we should
have desired. We could talk, however, as we rode along, and had many
subjects of conversation.
At length we reached the ancient town of Norwich, standing on its ten
hills. In the late reign numerous Flemish families, driven out of the
Netherlands by dread of the Edicts and the Inquisition, had settled
here.
Brocktrop had been supplied with a sufficient excuse for his visit,
being sent thither by the well-known mercer, Master Gresham, to examine
into the state of trade and make purchases accordingly, assisted by me;
while A'Dale had a similar commission from his employer. We were thus
able to go about through the town and to visit the houses of the
settlers for the purpose of examining the produce of their looms. Some
we found employed in the manufacture of lutestrings, brocades,
paduasoys, tabinets, and velvets, while a considerable number were
engaged in making cutlery, knives, daggers, swords, lancets and other
articles for the use of surgeons, as also clocks and watches.
Lace-making we also found carried on extensively.
Still during our search we had not discovered the child of the martyred
lady. At last one day we entered a humble cottage where a man was
seated at a loom. His back was turned towards us. Even to my eye he
did not appear to be as expert as others we had visited. Still he
worked on diligently; the material he was producing being of a somewhat
rough character, Brocktrop turned away, seeing that the stuff would not
suit his purpose, when I apologised to the workman for intruding: on
him. He turned round as I did so, and I saw a countenance with the
features of which I was acquainted. Brocktrop and A'Dale had just gone
out of the door. The workman rose.
"I would speak with you," he said. "Are those to be trusted?"
"Yes, sir, I am sure they are," I answered; and I at once saw that the
person speaking to me was he whom I had first known as Father Overton.
He greeted me cordially, and so I ran out and begged Brocktrop and
A'Dale to wait for me for a few minutes.
"I have been anxious to hear of you since we parted at Antwerp," I said.
"John Foxe, too, in his letters has inquired of you, and we feared that
you had fallen into evil plight."
"I left Antwerp secretly," he answered, "for I was in danger. Besides,
I had a longing to return to England, first to minister to these poor
refugees who had been driven by persecution from their native land, and
also to spread the truth among my own countrymen. Having learned the
art of weaving, I have remained here for some time in disguise; though I
believe I am already suspected, and perhaps may again have to seek for
safety in flight--though ready, if needs be, to suffer as a martyr for
the truth."
I replied that I hoped he would yet escape till better times, which
might come, seeing that there was no prospect of the Queen's Majesty
having a son to succeed her. I then told him of the happy conversion of
Friar Roger, by means of the letters he had written from Antwerp, and
that he desired once more to meet with him.
A gleam of satisfaction passed over the countenance of Overton.
"I trust it is so," he answered; "and yet it may be prudent in me not to
place myself in his power until I am sure of his fidelity." He then
inquired what had brought me to Norwich. I at once told him the secret
object of our visit, mentioning the name of the unhappy lady who had
been put to death.
"Barbara Radford, did you say? Alas! alas! has she been murdered by
these bloodthirsty bigots? Tell me how she looked; what she said. My
sister, my dear sister, you were ever true and faithful! It would have
rejoiced your heart to know that the brother you ever treated so
affectionately had been brought to a knowledge of the truth. But oh!
Ernst Verner, think what are my feelings when I tell you that it was I,
in my blindness and bigotry, who first brought the family of the
Radfords before the notice of the cruel Bonner as firm and
uncompromising Protestants. Yet I loved my sister as much as any priest
of Rome, imbued with its principles, can entertain love; but I thought
it right to crush all such feelings, for the sake of advancing the cause
I advocated. In what a different light do I now view such conduct!"
"The great Apostle Paul was a fearful persecutor, and yet he became one
of the most mighty instruments in God's hands for spreading the truth,"
I replied.
"Yes, yes; but it becomes not me to liken myself to such a man," he
answered. "You say that you believe that my sister's child is even now
in this town? Then my heart did not deceive me. Not many days ago I
met a lovely little girl in the family of some poor Flemish weavers.
They told me that she was not their own child, but that they felt
themselves bound to support her as if she were, and would sacrifice all
that they possess rather than allow her to want. I made no further
inquiries then, for a stranger coming in they were silent. Yet I well
remember that while I spoke to her, a look came over her countenance
which reminded me of my once-loved sister. I thought it was fancy, and
banished it from my mind. I now feel sure that my feelings did not
mislead me. But I cannot leave my work. I owe my safety, I believe, to
never going forth during the day; for so well-known are my features,
that I might be recognised. When evening sets in, return hither, and I
will accompany you to the cottage where the family of Crugeot reside."