CONFIDENCES.
Some four or five weeks had passed quietly over the heads of our
friends since the events recorded in our last chapter.
Master Fleming had returned to London, carrying with him the thanks and
blessings of all the poor in Bridgewater, and of all whom he had led
into the knowledge of the Scriptures and the way of life. Dame Barbara
continued her school, now as large as she could manage.
Jack had made more than one journey to Holford to visit his uncle and
Arthur, between whom and himself had grown up a warm and intimate
friendship. This friendship, though approved by Sir John, was not
viewed with altogether favorable eyes either by my lady or Master
Lucas. My lady, though she acknowledged the obligations of the family
to Jack, nevertheless thought it rather beneath her son's dignity to
be so familiar with the son of a citizen; and Master Lucas, who was
fully as proud in his way as my lady was in hers, did not like to
have Jack visit at a house where he was likely to be looked upon as a
presumptuous intruder.
However, Arthur's mother was inclined to treat her son with every
indulgence, so long as he continued in his present weak state, and,
though she gently mourned over the degeneracy of the times which made
such a friendship possible, and was sometimes more condescending in her
kindness to Jack than was altogether pleasant, still she was kind, and,
moreover, acknowledged that the young man had parts and breeding which
would not disgrace any station.
It may be guessed that Jack and Arthur never wanted for topics of
conversation. Arthur had lived a roving and somewhat wild life for two
or three years after he went abroad, till he at last fell dangerously
ill at Antwerp. Alone in a strange place, without money and without
friends, he was likely to fare badly; when he was found out by those
two eminent saints and confessors, Frith and Lambert, then engaged in
distributing and preaching the Word of God among their own countrymen
abroad. By them Arthur was fed and nursed and cared for till he
recovered his health, and by them was he led to see what was the root
of all his troubles, to renounce the errors in which he had been
brought up, and to profess the truth.
Arthur had naturally a quick and strong mind and a warm heart. He
studied eagerly and earnestly, and by the time he was able to be about
again, he was fully grounded in the new doctrines. He was desirous of
undertaking some useful work to show his thankfulness and sincerity,
and taking with him a package of Testaments and tracts, he travelled
from city to city and from village to village distributing the seed of
truth, especially among his own countrymen.
Moved by the arguments and solicitations of his friend Frith, he at
last became convinced that it was his duty to return and make his
submission to his father; and he determined to do so, though sorely
in doubt about his reception, for his father was a proud man, and it
was a boast of the Brydges that no heir of the family had ever brought
disgrace upon it.
It was at Brussels, on his way home, that Arthur Brydges was betrayed
by one who had come to him pretending to be in want of an English
Testament. This man had been in trouble, himself, as a Lutheran, had
abjured his so-called errors, and was now endeavoring to atone for them
by making himself serviceable as a spy. His former connection with
English Protestants enabled him to assume the character to perfection,
and perhaps Arthur in his zeal was not so careful as he should have
been.
At any rate, he fell into the trap, went as he supposed with his new
friend to a secret assembly of Protestants, and found himself in a
dungeon of the Inquisition, from which he hardly escaped with life, by
the connivance of an English priest who was not yet lost to all feeling
of humanity or patriotism.
"The base hound—the infamous, cowardly traitor!" exclaimed Master Lucas
when he heard the story. "Did he betray his own countryman to death,
and that under the guise of friendship? I would go all the way to
Bristol on foot to see him hanged."
"There have been worse cases than this," said Arthur; "cases in which
the brother has literally betrayed the brother to death, and the father
the son. Nay, I knew of one in which a brother informed against his own
twin sister, and believed he was doing God service."
"Such things seem impossible," said Master Lucas. "I wonder what his
parents said."
"They may have approved," said Anne, bending closely over her work
as she spoke. "If the sister were an heretic and a blasphemer, the
brother's duty to the Church—"
"Tell me not of duty to the Church!" interrupted the baker. "I say the
man was a villain, unfit to live, not worthy of the name of hound,
since even brutes know the ties of affection and friendship. Why, the
very old cat there, thief that she is, would fight to the death for her
kittens. But here I am growing as hot as one of mine own ovens," said
he, wiping his forehead and smiling at his own vehemence. "Only, Anne,
thou shouldst not vex thine old father by taking the contrary side."
After Arthur had gone, the story of his adventures was talked over at
the table, and Master Lucas again vented his indignation against the
cowardly spy who had betrayed Arthur, and against spies and traitors in
general.
"If it had been my son who had done such a thing, I would never see him
more."
"Suppose it were your own son who was a heretic?" said Anne.
"That is a different matter," replied the baker. "It would be a great
misfortune, and much to be deplored, but it would not be a base and
traitorous action like the other. Nay, I could forgive heresy—the
wildest heresy—in a man, sooner than treachery."
"I do not see the treachery," said Anne. "If he warned his sister
beforehand what he was going to do, in case she persisted in her error
as you call it, she had no cause of complaint. His duty as a Christian
stood before his duty to his family, or any other carnal and fleshly
ties. I think he did right," said Anne, flushing as she spoke. "I do
not see how he could do otherwise."
"Would you, then, do so?" asked Sister Barbara.
"I would," replied Anne. "I should think it my duty."
"Then wouldst thou never again enter thy father's door or receive his
blessing!" exclaimed Master Lucas, striking the table with his fist so
that the dishes jingled. "Never would I see again a child capable of
playing such a villainous part. My curse—"
"Dear father!" exclaimed Jack, laying his hand entreatingly on his
father's arm. "My dear good father, do not be angry with Anne. She
would never do anything to forfeit your blessing, I am sure."
"I beg, Jack, that you will not interfere," said Anne, who seemed bent
upon raising a storm. "It does not become you to meddle. Let my father
say his will."
"My will is to bid thee hold thy tongue, for a malapert contrary wench
as thou art, and not provoke thy old father to make a fool of himself,
or bring on a fit of apoplexy," said Master Lucas, making an effort to
control himself and speak in his usual pleasant tone. "Reach me a cup
of cool water, my son. It was an evil day that I sent my daughter to a
nunnery to learn to despise the honest and natural ties of blood and
childly duty among a parcel of fantastic and bigoted old maids—craving
your pardon, madam," he added, turning to Sister Barbara. "But it is
enough to make a man a heretic in spite of himself, to hear one's own
child upholding such notions to one's face. I verily believe more
heretics are made by the priests than by any one else."
"I wonder what my lady says to Arthur's new notions," said Sister
Barbara. "She used to be very strict lady about such matters."
"She was greatly grieved and shocked at first," said Jack; "but she is
becoming more reconciled of late, and, I believe, she has never shown
Arthur any unkindness in respect of them."
"Well, I don't wish Master Arthur any ill, but I wish he and our Jack
were not so intimate," remarked Cicely. "The next thing we shall
have Jack, himself, infected with Lutheran notions. They say Father
William has come round to be an out-and-out Gospeller, and is all for
having folk read the Scripture for themselves. Not that I see why the
Gospellers are to be blamed for that," added Cicely simply. "Because,
of course, if it were the true Bible, the more they read it, the more
devout Catholics they would be."
Jack and Sister Barbara both smiled.
"Father William has been nothing else but a heretic this long time,"
said Anne angrily. "I am glad if he has at last had honesty enough to
confess it."
"Heretic or not, he is one of the best men that ever breathed," said
Master Lucas. "One cannot but think there must be something in these
new doctrines, since such men as he are carried away by them. Jack, are
you for riding out to the Priory Mills with me? I have some business
with the miller there, and the afternoon is fine."
Jack accepted the invitation with alacrity, thinking he saw an opening
for the confidential conversation he had been longing to hold with his
father for some days past. The burden of secrecy had been troubling him
more and more, of late, and he had determined at last, that, come of
it what would, he would bear it no longer. He hastened to make himself
ready, and, as he was descending the stairs, he was beckoned by Sister
Barbara.
"Jack," said she, "I cannot but think I am playing a deceitful part
by your good father. I cannot think it is right to go on so. I
shall grieve to leave the shelter of this roof where I have been so
happy—where I have first learned the meaning of the word home," said
the good lady, her eyes filling with tears; "but it is not right to
expose your father to the dangers which may arise from harboring a
heretic. I must leave you, though I know not whither I can go."
"Do nothing hastily, dearest sister," said Jack. "I myself shall open
my heart to my father this afternoon, and we will see what is to be
done. I trust all may yet be well."
"All will yet be well," returned Sister Barbara. "It cannot but be well
if we are only faithful; but I doubt we shall see terrible times first.
Let us pray for one another that our faith fail not in the fiery trial."
In the course of their ride, Jack opened his heart to his father, as he
proposed. He found Master Lucas not unprepared for the disclosure, and
though much disturbed yet not inclined to be angry.
"I have been suspecting as much, this long time," said he. "Ever since
your return from Holford, I could not but see that you were greatly
changed and improved—yes, I will say improved. But to think that you
should have heard all this from Uncle Thomas. Truly, one never knows
where danger lies. Had I been told to select a safe place for a lad, I
could not have thought of a better one."
"Did you not, then, know the story of his father?" asked Jack.
"I do remember hearing something of it, but the matter happened long
before my time, and was hushed up as much as might be. And then, who
would think that Uncle Thomas, who could not have been more than
fifteen at the time, would have remembered and held fast his father's
teachings all these years, and after all he has gone through? It is
truly wonderful!"
"It is, indeed," said Jack. "You would be astonished to see how much
he remembers of what he learned when he was a little lad. But, dear
father, I am so glad you are not angry with me. I feared you would be
so, but yet I felt that I could not keep a secret from you any longer.
You have been so good and kind to me, that it made me feel like a
traitor to know that I had any concealment from you."
"Your secret has not been so well kept but I have had a shrewd guess at
it," said his father, smiling somewhat sadly; "but I waited till you
should tell it me yourself, as I felt quite sure you would do, sooner
or later. But, my son, have you counted the cost? You know to what all
this may lead."
"Yes, father, I know it well, and have thought it over many times. If
it were only myself on whom the danger and the disgrace were like to
fall, I should care less; but that I should bring this trouble upon
you, who have ever been the best and kindest—" Jack's voice was choked,
and he turned his head away.
"Nay, dear son, be not grieved for that," said his father kindly. "I
see not but a man must follow his conscience wherever it leads. Neither
can I see why the priests should so angrily oppose the reading of the
Scripture."
"If you should read it yourself, you would see," replied Jack. "There
is not one word in the whole New Testament about the worship of the
Holy Virgin, nor of purgatory, nor vows of chastity, nor a hundred
other things which the priests teach us to believe. St. Peter himself
was married, and so were St. James, and St. Philip."
"But the priests say this Lutheran Gospel is not the true Scripture,"
remarked his father.
"I know they do, and for that reason they discourage with all their
might the Greek learning that is spreading so much at the universities.
But, father, the Greek Testament is the very same."
"And nothing about purgatory or about the masses for the dead, either?"
asked his father. "Art sure, Jack?"
"Not a word, father."
"Then a deal of good money has been thrown away," was the next
reflection of the business-like master baker. "I myself paid more than
three hundred marks for masses for your mother, who was as good a woman
as ever lived, barring her little peevish tempers; and twice as much
for my father and mother. And the priests have robbed poor Dame Higby
of almost the last penny to sing for the soul of her husband. But how
have we been befooled if these things are true!"
"Only read for yourself, dear sir, and you see," said Jack.
"Nay, I am no scholar, as you know," returned his father. "But how as
to Madam Barbara? I have sometimes suspected that she was in the same
boat. If so, it is like to go hard with her, having been a nun."
Jack told his father, as she had desired him, the story of Sister
Barbara. Perturbed in mind as he was, Master Lucas was considerably
amused.
"Poor Anne! She little thought what a wolf in sheep's clothing she was
bringing into the fold when she spent such a time in trimming up her
altar in Madam Barbara's room. I have seen, this long time, that there
was no great confidence between them. But what we are to do, I cannot
guess; for the outcry against heresy grows louder every day. I think,
Jack, you had best go abroad for a time."
"But, dear father, how can I leave you?"
"It would be very hard," said Master Lucas sadly; "hard to lose both
my children, for I doubt I shall have no more comfort with Anne. But
it were better for me to know you safe in Germany or the Low Countries
than to see you in prison or worse. Truly, I am fallen on evil times
in, mine old age which I thought to spend so quietly."
"I think I could bear all, if I had it to bear alone," said Jack. "It
is that which has made the cross so heavy to me. But, father, you would
not have me false to my conscience, and traitor to my friends, like the
man Arthur told us of?"
"God forbid!" returned his father solemnly. "Better a thousand deaths
than that. But we will not anticipate evil," he added. "Some say our
gracious prince favors the new gospel."
"I fear there is not much to be expected in that quarter," returned
Jack; "but as you say, we will not borrow trouble. I have breathed
more freely ever since Father Barnaby went away. I think him a most
dangerous man. He has gone to Rome, as they tell me, where I hope, as
Father John of Holford says, they will make him bishop of some place on
the other side of the world."
"But as to Madam Barbara," said Master Lucas after they had gone on a
little way in silence.
"Well, dear father."
"My son, I cannot help having great fears for her. I would she were in
some place of safety. I should miss her sorely from the house, that is
the truth, for she is like sunshine itself."
"I have sometimes thought," said Jack slyly, "that if Madam Barbara
were not a nun—"
"That you might have a step-dame some of these fine days, you rogue,"
returned his father, laughing. "What would you say to that?"
"I should rejoice heartily," said Jack eagerly; "for I am sure she
would make a good wife, and I love her dearly already. Besides, I
should be pleased with anything which made you happy."
"Well, well! There is no question of that matter now," said his father,
who was obviously not displeased with the idea. "We must not forget
that madam is a born lady, though she condescends so kindly to become
one of ourselves. But the question is now not of marriage, but of
saving from hanging."
"I will talk to Father William about the matter," said Jack. "I will
go to him this very evening. Dear father, I am so glad I have told you
all, and that you are not angry with me."
"I could not be angry, son Jack, though I do not deny that I am greatly
grieved. I would fain spend the remnant of my days in peace. Not but
I would gladly see the Church reformed, and especially some order
taken with all these lazy monks and begging friars, who eat honest,
industrious folks out of house and home, and carry off silly girls to
convents; but I fear your friends are too sweeping. I cannot bring
myself to believe that so much we have been taught to receive as Gospel
truth is no more than men's invention."
"Only read for yourself, father, and you will see."
"Well, well, perhaps I may, if only to put my head in the same halter
with yours. One word more, Jack, because we may have company home and
no chance to speak further. How much of all this does Anne know?"
Jack repeated to his father what the reader has heard already.
"I cannot think that Anne would betray me, for all she says," he added.
"I do not know," said Master Lucas, shaking his head. "Anne is a true
nun. She thinks all family affections are carnal and fleshly ties, and
to be trampled under foot. I cannot—I will not think of your mother's
daughter, that she would do such a deed, but I hope she may not be
tried. But after all, we may be borrowing trouble. Father William makes
no secret of his new ideas, nor does Arthur Brydges of his, and I hear
my Lord Harland is as open, and he is very great with the bishop.
Anyhow, I wish we were well out of the scrape."