"Leave that to them," said Mr Ewring.
"Well,--I--don't--know," said Bartle very slowly. "Mayhap _I_ sha'n't
remember."
"Mayhap that shall help you," replied the miller, holding up an angelet,
namely, a gold coin, value 3 shillings 4 pence--the smallest gold coin
then made.
"Shouldn't wonder if that strengthened my wits," said Bartle with a
grin, as the little piece of gold was slipped through the wicket.
"That's over a penny a letter, bain't it?"
"Fivepence. It's good pay."
"It's none so bad. I'm in hopes you'll have a few more messages, Master
Ewring. They're easy to carry when they come in a basket o' that
metal."
"Ah, Bartle! wilt thou do that for a gold angelet which thou wouldst not
for the love of God or thy neighbour? Beware that all thy good things
come not to thee in this life--which can only be if they be things that
pertain to this life alone."
"This life's enough for me, Master: it's all I've got."
"Truth, friend. Therefore cast it not away in folly."
"In a good sooth, Master Ewring, I love your angelets better than your
preachment, and you paid me not to listen to a sermon, but to carry a
message. Good den!"
"Good den, Bartle. May the Lord give thee good ending!"
Bartle stood looking from the wicket until the miller had turned the
corner.
"Yon's a good man, I do believe," said he to himself. "I marvel what
they burn such men for! They're never found lying or cheating or
murdering. Why couldn't folks let 'em alone? We shouldn't want to hurt
'em, if the priests would let us alone. Marry, this would be a good
land if there were no priests!"
Bartle shut the wicket, and prepared to carry in supper to his
prisoners. John and Margaret Thurston were not together. The priests
were afraid to let them be so, lest John, who stood more firmly of the
two, should talk over Margaret. They occupied adjoining cells. Bartle
opened a little wicket in the first, and called John to receive his
rations of brown bread, onions, and weak ale.
"I promised to give you a message," said he, "but I don't know as it's
like to do you much good. It's only one word."
"Should be a weighty one," said John. "What is it?"
"`Remember!'"
"Ah!" John Thurston's long-drawn exclamation, which ended with a heavy
sigh, astonished Bartle.
"There's more in it than I reckoned, seemingly," said he as he turned to
Margaret's cell, and opened her wicket to pass in the supper.
"Here's a message for you, Meg, from Master Ewring the miller. Let's
see what _you'll_ say to it--`Remember!'"
"`Remember!'" cried Margaret in a pained tone. "Don't I always
remember? isn't it misery to me to remember? And can't I guess what he
means--`Remember from whence thou art fallen, and repent, and do the
first works'? Eh, then there's repentance yet for them that have
fallen! `I will fight against thee, _except_ thou repent.' God bless
you, Bartle: you've given me a buffet and yet a hope."
"That's a proper powerful word, is that!" said Bartle. "Never knew one
word do so much afore."
There was more power in that one word from Holy Writ than Bartle
guessed. The single word, sent home to their consciences by the Holy
Ghost, brought quit different messages to the two to whom it was sent.
To John Thurston it did not say, "Remember from whence thou hast
fallen." That was the message with which it was charged for Margaret.
But to John it said, "Call to remembrance the former days, in which,
after that ye were illuminated, ye endured a great flight of afflictions
... knowing in yourselves that ye have in Heaven a better and an
enduring substance. Cast not away therefore your confidence, which hath
great recompense of reward." That was John's message, and it found him
just on the brink of casting his confidence away, and stopped him.
Mr Ewring had never spent an angelet better than in securing the
transmission of that one word, which was the instrument in God's hand to
save two immortal souls.
As he reached the top of Tenant's Lane, he met Ursula Felstede, carrying
a large bundle, with which she tried to hide her face, and to slink
past. The miller stopped.
"Good den, Ursula. Wither away?"
"Truly, Master, to the whitster's with this bundle."
The whitster meant what we should now call a dyer and cleaner.
"Do you mind, Ursula, what the Prophet Daniel saith, that `many shall be
purified and made white'? Methinks it is going on now. White, as no
fuller on earth can white them! May you and I be so cleansed, friend!
Good den."
Ursula courtesied and escaped, and Mr Ewring passed through the gate,
and went up to his desolated home. He stood a moment in the mill-door,
looking back over the town which he had just left.
"`The night cometh, when no man can work,'" he said to himself. "Grant
me, Lord, to be about Thy business until the Master cometh!"
And he knew, while he said it, that in all likelihood to him that coming
would be in a chariot of fire, and that to be busied with that work
would bring it nearer and sooner.