"We be but poor folks," said Rose. "Truly, I know ye be poor folks,"
was the priest's reply. "Yet even poor folks do oft contrive to
pleasure their friends by some little present. And if ye might bring no
more than an handful of daisies from the field, yet is our Lady so
gracious that she will deign to accept even so small an offering. Ye
need not be empty-handed."
"I trust we shall do our duty," said poor Rose, in great perplexity.
"Father, I cry you mercy if I stay me here, for I would fain speak with
the woman of this cot."
"So do, my daughter," was the soft reply, "and I will call here belike,
for I do desire to speak with Thurston." Poor Rose was at her wit's
end. Her little manoeuvre had not succeeded as she hoped. She wanted
to be rid of the unwelcome company of the priest; and now it seemed as
if, by calling on Margaret Thurston instead of going straight home, she
would only get more of it. However, she must do it now. She had
nothing particular to say to Margaret, whom she had already seen that
day, though her mother had said after Margaret was gone, that she wished
she had told her something, and Rose meant to use this remark as
furnishing an excuse.
She tapped, lifted the latch, and went in, the priest following.
John Thurston sat by the fire cutting clothes-pegs; Margaret was ironing
clothes. Thurston rose when he saw the priest, and both received him
reverently.
Feeling that her best chance of escaping the priest was to proceed
immediately, Rose drew Margaret aside, and told her what her mother had
said; but Margaret, who was rather fond of talking, had something to say
too, and the precious minutes slid by. Meanwhile the priest and
Thurston went on with their conversation: and at last Rose, saying she
really could not stay any longer, bade them good-bye, and went out. But
just as Margaret was opening the door to let her out, Sir Thomas said a
few words in reply to Thurston, which Rose could not but overhear.
"Oh, Master Clere is a worthy man enough. If he hath gone somewhat
astray in times past, that shall now be amended. Mistress Cicely, too,
is an honest woman that wist how to do her duty. All shall be well
there. I trust, John Thurston, that thou shalt show thyself as wise and
well ruled as he."
Rose heard no more. She passed out into the night, and ran nearly all
the way home.
"Why, Rose, how breathless art thou, maid!" said the other when she came
in.
"Well I may, Mother!" cried Rose. "There is evil ahead for us, and that
not a little. Father Tye overtook me as I came back, and would know of
me why we had not been to mass these eight Sundays; and I staved him
off, and prayed him to ask of you. And, Mother, he saith Master Clere
the draper, though he have gone somewhat astray, is now returned to his
duty, and you wot what that meaneth. And I am feared for us, and Bessy
too."
"The good Lord have mercy on us!" said Alice Mount.
"Amen!" responded William Mount gravely. "But it had best be such mercy
as He will, Alice, not such as we would. On one matter I am resolved--I
will sign no more submissions. I fear we have done it once too often."
"O Father, I'm so fain to hear you say it!" cried Rose.
"Art thou so, daughter?" he answered a little sadly. "Have a care thy
quick tongue bring thee not into more trouble than need be. Child, to
refuse that submission may mean a fiery death. And we may not--we must
not--shrink from facing death for Him who passed through death for us.
Lord, grant us Thy grace to stand true!"
And William Mount stood up with uncovered head, and looked up, as we all
do instinctively when we speak to Him who dwelleth in the heavens.
"Who hath abolished death!" was the soft response of Alice.