A FRIEND IN NEED.
Early the next morning Jack was aroused by the entrance of the jailer
and his men.
"You are to go before the priest," said the jailer shortly.
"I am ready to do so," returned Jack calmly, rising from his bed. "I
should be glad of water to drink and to wash in, Master Davis, if it be
your pleasure."
The jailer looked at Brother Joseph, who answered sharply, "What need
of such fopperies? The reverend fathers cannot be kept waiting."
"As you will," returned Jack. "Master Davis, since it may well be that
I see you no more, I thank you for all your courtesies to me, and
beseech you to convey these little tokens to my father with my love."
"What are they?" asked Brother Joseph.
"You may see them if you will," Jack was beginning, but the jailer
interrupted him—
"What then? I am captain of this jail, I trow, and not you, Master
Joseph. Take your prisoner way as quickly as you will, but I will have
none of your airs here. Marry come up! You are no such great man. Goods
left by my prisoners belong to me, I would have you know. I will do
your errand, Jack Lucas, and I wish heartily that you were well out of
this scrape."
The sacristan deigned no reply, but hurried his charge away as quickly
as possible. Early as it was, the street was already full, and in the
short passage between the jail and the convent, Jack heard many words
of encouragement and met many kindly glances. He was taken into a room
in the Benedictine convent, where he found his judges already waiting
and a secretary ready to take down his replies. He was asked the usual
questions as to his belief, and warned to answer truly.
"I have no desire to answer otherwise," said Jack, with an expressive
look at Father Barnaby.
He was then questioned as to his belief in the authority of the Pope,
the sacraments and purgatory, to all of which questions he returned
straight-forward answers.
"Whence did you obtain your heretical books?" was the next question.
"I am not here to criminate others, neither do I own to having any
heretical books," replied Jack.
"Call in the witnesses," said Father Barnaby.
Jack looked earnestly toward the door, and started as Anne entered
supported by her father. Anne was pale and worn, but seemed quite calm.
She gave her brother a long look which he could not understand. It
was full of love and supplication, and then brightened into a sort of
triumph and joy.
"This maiden is the sister of the prisoner," said Father Barnaby. "With
a degree of faith and piety rare in this age, she hath herself, by
her own act, delivered him into the hands of the Church that his soul
may be saved even by the destruction of the body. Speak, my daughter,
without fear. How did you first suspect your brother's heresy?"
"He came to me to comfort me one day when I was in trouble," answered
Anne clearly and readily. "He found me in tears, and strove to console
me by telling me what he had learned from reading the Bible."
"Well—" said the prior, "and you refused to listen to him?"
"I did at that time," returned Anne.
"What did he say?"
"He told me that all my penances and exercises were of no avail; that—"
"That will do!" said Father Barnaby. "We have heard enough of these
blasphemies without troubling you to repeat them. Is it your belief
that your brother is wholly a heretic?"
"He is wholly a believer in the gospel as set forth by Master Tyndale,"
said Anne, "as—as I am also!" she added firmly. "I believe with him!
I was blinded for a time—blinded and besotted by spiritual pride and
selfishness, and I fought against my convictions with all my might.
Tempted by the devil, I betrayed my brother into your hands; but God
in infinite mercy hath given me the grace of repentance. I believe my
brother is right—and I desire no more at your hands than leave to die
with him."
All present stood as if stupefied for a moment, when Jack, wrenching
himself from his detainers, sprang forward and clasped his sister in
his arms.
"Your prayers have been heard, dearest brother," said Anne, kissing
him. "I am not now afraid to speak the truth. A long time I fought
against it, but it would not be withstood. I am come to confess it and
to die by your side."
"The maid is frantic," said Father Barnaby, recovering himself. "This
distress has driven her beside herself, and she knows not what she
says. She hath ever been a faithful child of the Church."
"I know right well what I say," returned Anne. "It is no new thing. The
work was began in the convent by Agnes Harland, and was finished by
the reading of God's Word. I—" She stopped, strove to continue, raised
her hands as if grasping for something, and then, slipping from Jack's
arms, she sank senseless to the ground.
"So! Did I not tell you she was beside herself?" said Father Barnaby.
"Master Lucas, has your daughter been ailing?"
"She hath not complained," replied Master Lucas, stooping and raising
Anne in his arms; "but she has looked very ill ever since yesterday,
when she came from visiting a family of children in our lane who are
down with the sweating sickness."
"The sweating sickness!" exclaimed the prior, in alarm. "Let her be
removed at once! It is as much as our lives are worth to be in the room
with her. Master Lucas, will you take home your daughter?"
"Ay, that will I," replied Master Lucas, raising Anne in his arms. "My
son, my dear son! How can I leave you here?"
"Think not of that now, dear father, but take care of Anne and of
yourself," said Jack. "I trust we shall meet again in a better place
where no malice of our enemies can separate us."
"Let us have no more of this," said Father Barnaby. "Master Lucas, take
this poor maid home and let her have fitting attendance. I attach no
weight to her words, spoken in the delirium of disease. Brother Joseph,
secure the prisoner."
But Brother Joseph evidently shrank from the task. "He has just
embraced and kissed this woman, your reverence," said he, "and—"
With a smile, Jack kissed his sister once more and walked back to his
place. His bearing evidently made a strong impression on the prior, who
whispered something to his fellow inquisitors, to which Father Barnaby
replied with a frown. As soon as Anne was removed, Jack was again
questioned as to the person from whom he had received his books. He
resolutely declined to answer.
"Have a care," said Father Barnaby. "There are means for wrenching the
truth from unwilling witnesses. We have no time to waste."
"Let them bring hither the old man," said the prior. "He will perhaps
be more complying this morning. My lad, if you would save yourself and
your uncle from sharp pain, you must answer freely. Did you receive
your book from Sir William Leavett?"
"No," answered Jack decidedly. "So far I can satisfy you, but I shall
answer no more questions."
There was a short pause, and the inquisitors seemed to be busily
consulting together, while the messengers were despatched for the old
shepherd.
Brother Joseph presently returned with a startled and awe-struck
expression of countenance.
"Well! Why have you not brought him?" demanded Father Barnaby sharply.
"Please, your reverence," stammered the subordinate, "there is no—no
use—the man is dead!"
"Dead!" exclaimed the two priests together.
"Yes, your reverence. He lies on the floor of his cell, his hands
clasped and his limbs composed as if he had died in sleep. On the wall
at his head these words are written: 'I know in whom I have believed.'"
"Thank God!" exclaimed Jack fervently. "He hath won his eternal crown
of glory, and hath escaped the malice of his enemies! The Lord be
praised, who hath not delivered him over as a prey to their teeth. The
snare is broken, and he is delivered. Thank God!"
"He hath escaped an earthly only to sink into an eternal fire," said
Father Barnaby sternly; "but we have you still. I am willing to show
mercy, and I promise you your life shall be spared, if you will recant
your errors, and confess the names of your seducers. Otherwise, in
three hours' time, namely at noon, you shall burn at the pile prepared
for your uncle."
"I am in God's power, not in yours," returned Jack steadily. "He can
yet deliver me out of your hands, but if not, know that I will not bow
down to your idols nor deny His truth."
At this moment there was a knock at the chamber door, and a monk
entered.
"What now, brother?" asked the prior.
"Here is the bishop's sumner and two other men, who have ridden express
with a letter from the bishop to Father Barnaby," returned the brother.
"He will deliver it into the reverend father's own hands."
"Bid him come in," was the reply, and the sumner or summoner entered, a
stout, good-natured looking man, whose air and complexion savored more
of the alehouse than of the church. Father Barnaby opened the letter
which was presented to him, and as he did so a look of intense vexation
and annoyance passed over his face. He crushed the letter in his hand,
and then as if recollecting himself, he smoothed it out once more and
restored it to the cover. The prior cast an inquiring glance at him.
"It is from the bishop himself," said Father Barnaby, in a low tone.
"The peevish old man hath taken great umbrage at my proceeding in this
matter without consulting him, and requires me to send young Lucas at
once to him, that he or his chaplain may examine him in person."
"Umph!" returned the prior, evidently not at all sorry to be rid of his
own share in the business. "So much the better. We shall be well rid of
him. But had you not consulted the bishop, brother?"
"Not I! I never thought of him. My powers were held from the cardinal,
you know, and the bishop hath lately been so infirm and so careless of
anything which went on—"
"Nevertheless, I think it was taking a good deal on yourself," said the
prior, evidently not ill-pleased at Father Barnaby's discomfiture. "The
bishop is the bishop, so long as he is alive, and we must not ignore
him. What are your orders concerning the prisoner, Master Sumner?"
"My orders are to carry him back with me that his lordship may examine
him," returned the sumner somewhat bluntly. "I would lose no time,
so please you, for the days are short. We will but wait to refresh
ourselves and our beasts and then ride forth without delay. I have a
spare horse for the young man."
"It is well," said Father Barnaby. "The bishop's order shall be obeyed.
How he will answer the matter to the cardinal, is his concern, not
mine."
"Exactly so," returned the sumner, who seemed to have scant reverence
for the monk. "In an hour, then, we set forth."
It was something more than an hour, however, before the sumner was
ready to set forth, and then it was observed by some persons that his
rubicund face was redder than ever, and that his speech was something
thick. It was also said that the sumner was met at the tavern where he
had stopped by a strange gentleman, who had professed an acquaintance
with his brother in London, and who was very free in treating him and
his attendants, to both ale and strong waters. There was quite a crowd
around the convent gates as they issued forth, and Jack found himself
jostled almost off his feet. In the press, he suddenly felt a hand laid
heavily on his shoulder. Somebody pushed a well-filled purse into his
hand, and whispered in his ear—
"Treat the men well, have your wits about you, and when you hear the
owls hoot, keep a good lookout."
Jack pocketed the purse, and being at last mounted and placed between
the sumner and one of his men, the party set off at a good pace and
were soon clear of the town. Jack would fain have had news of his
sister, but that was clearly out of the question. They had ridden
some four or five miles in silence, when they passed a decent looking
alehouse, and Jack remarked—
"If it were not against your orders, Master Sumner, I would ask leave
to buy some refreshment. I have fasted from both meat and drink since
yesterday even."
"Who says it is against my orders?" returned the sumner. "If men are
hungry, I know no reason why they should not eat—always supposing they
have wherewith to pay."
"That have I," answered Jack; "and I dare say you and these good
fellows will not be the worse for a can of ale to wet your throats."
"Not a whit! Not a whit!" answered the sumner. "Here, good host! What!
Are you all asleep there?"
The host presently appeared at the door, all deference to the great
man, who was not an infrequent customer. The party alighted, and
Jack soon had a good breakfast set before him, while his guards were
accommodated with foaming pots of ale. Jack was not much disposed
for food, but he made the best figure he was able, and the ale being
discussed, he asked the landlord if he had no strong waters, remarking
that cold ale was sometimes thought unwholesome to horsemen. The
medicine was produced, and a goodly dose swallowed by each of the
patients with little reluctance. Jack paid the reckoning liberally, and
the party were again on their way.
They were approaching a thick wood on the borders of Lord Harland's
estate, when Jack bethought himself of a grisly tale of murders and
ghosts he had once heard of this same wood, and asked the sumner with
an appearance of interest, whether the tale were true. The man had
never heard it, and Jack repeated it at considerable length. This
brought on another story of robbers relating to the same place, and
then another.
The sun had now sunk pretty low, and the road bordered by woods on one
side, and on the other by a desolate hillside, was in deep shadow. Jack
remarked how dismal the wood looked, and how deep the shadows were.
The sumner assented, and started nervously and crossed himself, as the
hooting of an owl was heard among the trees, which was answered by
another voice farther on.
"Avaunt Satan!" exclaimed the sumner, crossing himself once more. "Who
ever heard owls so early in the day?"
"They are birds of ill-omen, and haunt places where foul deeds have
been committed," said Jack, his heart beating fast. "I trust we shall
meet with no evil creatures in this lonely place."
"Speak not of it," said the sumner in great agitation. "There again!"
as the hooting of the owl sounded nearer. "Santa Maria, ora pro nobis!
I would I could remember a psalm or a prayer!"
At this moment, and just as they were arrived at the darkest part of
the road, three or four men well-armed and masked rushed from the wood
and confronted them, seizing the bridle of Jack's horse and commanding
them all to stand. The sumner and his men, confused, half drunk, and
wholly frightened, did as they were bid.
"By what authority do you stop men on the highway?" asked the sumner in
a quivering voice.
"By the authority of our Master!" answered the leader of the band in
an extraordinary deep voice. "This youth is an heretic, and belongs
to our Master as his rightful prize. Over you we have no power unless
you resist us, but if you do so you are ours;" concluding with a deep
growl, "Ride on, and look not back, and we shall do you no harm."
The sumner and his companions lost no time in obeying the command, nor
did they once look backward till they had left the dreadful wood far
behind them.
Arrived at home, they told fearful tale of a band of robbers, at
least twenty in numbers, and of unheard-of height and appearance, who
demanded the prisoner as an heretic in the name of their master. The
sumner more than insinuated that the leader was no mortal man and that
the heretic had been carried off by the devil whom he served.
Our readers will naturally desire an explanation of this sudden change
of affairs. The day on which Thomas Sprat was condemned, Father John
who seemed suddenly to have grown twenty years younger, rode over to
visit his old friend and college companion, the bishop. After some
gossip, Father John spoke of Father Barnaby's return and the clean work
he was making of heresy over in Bridgewater.
The bishop was an old man, very infirm, and somewhat childish, but
excessively jealous over his episcopal dignity, and very indignant at
any infringement thereof, especially by the monks and preaching friars.
He grew angry at once, wondered what that upstart was thinking of, and
declared that he would not have his poor people hunted and imprisoned
by any Jack in office of them all, and that Father Barnaby should
know. Just at this juncture arrived Lord Harland, ostensibly with a
present of rare and valuable foreign books, but really on the same
errand as Father John. He understood the hint on the instant, and took
pains to blow the coal already kindled, till the bishop was roused to
the point of summoning his secretary and dictating a sharp letter to
Father Barnaby, which he declared should be sent the first thing in the
morning.
The next day the young Harlands contrived to fall in with the
messengers, and by judicious and liberal treatment, secured all the
information they wanted. The rest may easily be guessed.
When Father Barnaby heard the tale, he pronounced it an evident and
gross case of rescue, and hinted that the sumner had made his account
of the transaction. He tried to rouse the bishop to investigate the
matter, but the bishop, satisfied with having vindicated his dignity
and snubbed the monk, declared it was not his business to catch
footpads, and that if Father Barnaby wanted the heretic back, he might
go to the woods and look for him.
The sumner and his companions declared point blank that Jack had been
carried off by the devil; and gave a fearful description of the giants
who had stopped them in the road, and the fearful screams and yells
they had heard while riding away. The preaching friars repeated the
story with many and wonderful additions all over the country, till
it was at last declared that the heretic had been torn to pieces on
the spot and his bones scattered far and wide. Father Barnaby might,
perhaps, have investigated the matter more fully, but a few days
after he was gratified at receiving an appointment of dignity in the
Cardinal's own splendid household. He left Bridgewater forever, and it
may safely be said that nobody regretted his departure.