They welcomed their visitor cordially. He had been absent from Oxford for a while, and they had not expected to see him.

"I have been away at Poghley," he explained, "whither I sent for Dalaber to join me these last days. Did he tell you aught of it?"

"He came to bid us a farewell, though he said it would he a brief one," answered Freda; "but he told us no more than that."

"I have come to tell the rest," answered Cole, with a smile. "They tell me you were at Poghley last summer, so perchance you saw then the old moated house which lies a few miles from the village? That house is mine, though I have seldom visited it, and never dwelt there till now. But it came into my mind that it would be a pleasant place wherein to pass these next weeks, during which time Oxford will be empty of her scholars and masters. But I love not solitude, and I have gathered together a few congenial spirits. Dalaber and Fitzjames are already there, making all ready, and Radley will start tomorrow, taking Master Clarke in his charge, since it is of all things needful for him to have a change of air to restore him to health. He will be our chaplain, and edify us by his discourses when he has recovered his health and strength. But more than this: we want some man of learning and greater age and standing to direct us in our studies; and it is my great hope that you and your daughters will come and be my guests for a few weeks—you, dear sir, to recover health in the purer air, and then, when your strength permits it, be the director of our studies; and these sweet ladies to enjoy the rest and ease which their recent devoted labours render necessary, and to escape from the noxious miasma now rising from these low lands round Oxford, which is likely to cause the sickness here to increase."

The doctor's face lighted as Arthur proceeded to describe the situation of the house and the arrangements he had made for his guests. One wing would be set apart entirely for Dr. Langton and his daughters, who could bring any servant of their own if they desired it; he and his companions would occupy the other part of the building; and it was for the family themselves to decide whether they should be served with their meals in their own apartments, or join the rest at table.

No epidemic sickness had ever appeared in the locality. The house was situated on a rather high plain, though sheltered from the winds, and partly surrounded by its own moat. The air was fine and bracing. It would be likely to do good to those who had been exposed to the contagion of sickness, and had been taxing their strength in the good work of tending others.

It did not take much argument on Arthur's part to win the grateful consent of Dr. Langton, and the bright eyes of the girls showed how pleasant was the prospect to them. Their father, they were sure, would greatly benefit by the removal to a healthier locality; and though they would willingly have remained on, seeking, even without his guidance, to alleviate the sufferings of the stricken, yet they were both conscious that their energies were rather impaired by watching and anxiety, and that they might in such case be in danger of falling a prey to the sickness themselves.

A few days more and they found themselves established in their new quarters, delighted with everything about them. The old, timbered house was rambling and spacious, and the plenishings of their own apartments seemed sumptuous to them; for those were not days of great luxury in the matter of household furniture, and they had never before seen such hangings, such mirrors, such multitude of silver sconces for wax candles, such carpets and skins under foot, such multiplicity of table appointments, or even such store of books and manuscripts for their own and their father's delectation and entertainment.

Anthony Dalaber was there to welcome them, Arthur having the good taste to keep somewhat in the background; and he showed them everything with pride and delight, praising his friend, and foretelling the happiest of summer vacations and summer studies to be carried on within these walls.

"We have Clarke and Radley and Sumner and Fitzjames here in the house, and there are numbers of other clerks and students lodging in and about the village. When your father is strong enough to lecture and instruct us, he will have quite a gathering in the old raftered refectory below, which I will show you anon. Then there are gardens which will delight your hearts, and shady alleys where bowls can be played, or where we can pace to and fro in pleasant converse. Methinks it is worth all that hath gone before to find such a haven of peace and rest at last."

Anthony looked as though he needed rest, as indeed was the case; for he had toiled hard amongst the sick, and when Clarke fell ill, had devoted himself to him day and night, with Radley for his helper. But Radley had had a touch of the sickness himself, and had been unable to do much, so that the bulk of the nursing and the anxiety had fallen upon Dalaber.

"But he is better now—Master Clarke, I mean?" spoke Magdalen, with anxious eyes.

"Verily yes; he is well-nigh himself again, only he hath the air of one who is worn down with illness. He looks bent and white and frail—he toiled so strenuously amongst the sick; and before that he was studying almost night and day.

"But come below into the garden where he is; he will speak for himself. I would that you should see the lilies there. They will rejoice your heart."

It was a quaint old garden into which Anthony led them, full of the scent of herbs and spices, rosemary, thyme, and sweetbrier. The trim order of modern gardening was then unknown, and therefore not missed; close-shaven turf was only to be found in the bowling alleys, and lawns were not; but there was a wilderness beauty that was full of charm in such a place as this, and the sisters looked about them with eager eyes, rejoicing in the beauty before them, and inhaling the pure freshness of the air after the heavy and somewhat pestilential atmosphere in which they had lived.

Clarke was lying at ease on a bearskin against the turf wall of the bowling alley, a book beside him, which he was not then reading. His eyes lighted at sight of the sisters, and he would have risen, but that they forestalled him, and sat beside him on the soft skin, looking at him with friendly solicitude.

He would not talk of himself, but had a hundred things to tell them of the place to which they had come. He inquired how Dr. Langton had borne the journey, and hoped he might visit him later in the day; and as they talked, they were joined by their host himself. And presently he asked Magdalen to come with him and see his hives of bees, for she was somewhat of a naturalist, and was eager to study the habits and habitations of all living things.

"We are very grateful to you, fair sir," she said, "for this act of kindness and hospitality to our dear father. I doubt not that he will recover health and strength with great speed here in this sweet place. It seems an abode of peace and harmony. I never saw a house so beautiful."

"I am right glad it pleases you, sweet mistress," answered Arthur, a very slight flush mounting to his cheek; "believe me, it is the great hope of my heart that this place shall become dear to you, and that you may find happiness therein."

"I thank you, sir," she answered, slightly turning her head away; "your kindness is great, and that not to us alone, but also to others. Our beloved Master Clarke hath the appearance of a man sorely sick, and in need of long rest and refreshment. This he will obtain here as he could not elsewhere. Those who regard his life as a precious one will thank you also for that."

"Are you one of those, Mistress Magda?"

"Indeed, yes. We have known Master Clarke for some great while now, and methinks he is one of God's saints upon earth—one of those who will assuredly walk with Him in white, one of those who will be faithful and will overcome."

Her face kindled, and Arthur, looking somewhat keenly at her, noted a depth of expression in her eyes which no words of his had ever prevailed to bring there.

"He is a notable man," he answered slowly, "and one who may have a great future before him, if only he does not let it slip from him by some indiscretion at the beginning."

"How mean you?" asked Magdalen, with quickly aroused interest.

"I mean that Master Clarke has been already noticed by the cardinal. He was taken from Cambridge because of his good report as to sobriety, learning, and godliness; and the cardinal will, without doubt, keep an eye upon him, and when he has taken his degrees in divinity, will promote him to some living or benefice that will make him rich for life. But let him have a care; that is what his friends would beg of him. Let him have a care that he be not corrupted by new-fangled disputings and questionings, which will benefit no man, and which are already disturbing the peace of the realm and the unity of the church. I would have him beware of these; touch not, taste not, handle not—that is my counsel to him. And if any have influence with him to warn or counsel I would that they should turn him away from such perilous paths, for if he tread them they may lead him to trouble and ruin."

Magdalen made no direct reply, and Arthur, looking earnestly into her face, became aware of its absorbed expression, and asked:

"Does this trouble you, sweet lady? Are you, too, aware of the peril in which he and others may stand if they intermeddle too much in forbidden matters?"

"Yes, I think I know somewhat of it; but what troubles me is that these things should be forbidden. Why may not each man be free in his own soul to read the Scriptures, and to seek to draw help, and light, and comfort from them for himself?"

"Ah, dear lady, that is too big a question for my wits to grapple with. I leave these matters to men who are capable of judging. All I say is that the church holds enough for me, that I shall never learn half she has to teach, and that within her fold is safety. Outside pastures may be pleasant to the eye; but who knows what ravening wolves may not be lurking there in the disguise of harmless sheep? The devil himself can appear in the guise of an angel of light; therefore it behoves us to walk with all wariness, and to commit ourselves into the keeping of those whom God has set over us in His Holy Church."

"Up to a certain point, yes," answered Magdalen earnestly; "hut there be times when—when—Ah, I cannot find words to say all I would. But methinks that, when such pure and stainless souls as that of Master Clarke are seeking for light and life, they cannot go far astray."

Arthur hoped and trusted such was the case, and he was regular in his attendance whenever Clarke preached in the little chapel, or gave lectures in some room of the house, to which many flocked. Dalaber was never absent; all his old zeal and love kindled anew. Several of the guests in that house, including Radley and Fitzjames, often sat up far into the night reading the Scriptures in their own language, and seeming to find new meaning in the fresh rendering, which their familiarity with the original tongues enabled them rightly to estimate.

Arthur Cole did not join these readings, though he did not interfere with them. Once he said to Magdalen, with a certain intonation of anxiety in his voice:

"I cannot see what they think they benefit thereby. Surely the tongue in which the Scriptures were written must be the best to study them in—for those who have learning to do so. Translators do their best, but errors must creep in. For the ignorant and unlettered we must translate, but why for such men as our friends here?"

"But the ignorant and unlettered are forbidden to read or buy the living Word?" said Magdalen quickly.

"Yes; because they would not understand, and would breed all sorts of pestilent heresies. The Scriptures are not of private interpretation. They must be taught by those appointed to that work. I grant you willingly that much is needed in the church—men able and willing for the task; but to put the Scriptures into the hands of every clown and hind and shopman who asks for a copy—no; there I say you do more hurt than good."

"Our friends here do not that," spoke Magdalen thoughtfully.

"No; if they did they would have to go elsewhere. I could not lend my house for such a purpose. As it is—"

He stopped short, and the girl looked quickly at him.

"As it is what?" she asked.

"Ah, well, it is naught. I only meant to say that, if the cardinal were aware of all that went on, even in his own college, he might find fault with much, and make inquisition in many places that would be perilous for many. But as things are I trow all is safe, if they will be content to go no farther."

"You speak of the distribution of books to others?" asked Magdalen, who, through Dalaber, had some knowledge of the work of the Christian Brothers.

"Yes; that is a very perilous course to take, and I fear many are disposed towards it. There is a man—his name is Garret; he was once a scholar of my college—Magdalen; they say he is one of the chiefest promoters of this dangerous traffic. I hope and trust he will keep himself away from here—from Oxford. He is a dangerous man, in that he works much upon the minds and feelings of others. I trust and hope he will never appear in Oxford to carry on such work as he has done in London. He has escaped hitherto; but if he becomes more mischievous, no man may know how it will end."

"But you would not betray him!" cried Magdalen suddenly.

He looked at her in some surprise, and she coloured under his gaze. She had not meant much by her words, but she saw that he fancied a purpose in them.

"Mistress Magdalen," he asked suddenly, "what do you know of this man and his work?"

"Very little; only what Anthony Dalaber and Master Clarke have sometimes told us when these matters have been spoken of—no more than you have told me yourself."

"But you have sympathy with him and his object?"

"Perhaps I have. In sooth, I scarce know how I feel about such matters. I know there is peril. I love not disobedience, nor scorn those set over us; but yet I feel for those who desire more, and would fain drink of the water of life out of new cisterns. But what I meant was that it grieved me that any should hold such men in reprobation, or should betray them into the hands of their enemies, should they be in any peril."

"It is what we are bidden to do sometimes," spoke Arthur gravely.

"I know; but I could not do it. I should shrink from any man who could obey such a mandate as that."

He looked at her long and earnestly, then he turned and took her hands in his, and stood facing her for a while in silence.

"And what would you do for the man who should, instead of betraying, warn, such conspirators of their peril, should he know that they stood in need of warning?"

She thrilled somewhat beneath his touch. There seemed a purpose in his words. The colour rose in her face.

"I should look upon him as a friend. I should call him noble. I should put my trust in him. Our Lord has promised His blessing to the merciful. Surely He would count that an act of mercy which should save those in peril from the hands of their foes."

She spoke with great earnestness and with kindling eyes. His clasp upon her hands tightened.

"And what reward would you give to such a man?" he asked; but then, seeming, as it were, to feel shame for these words, he added hastily, "It is thus, sweet lady, with me. Mine uncle is the proctor in Oxford—proctor for the south. Through him I ofttimes glean news unknown to other students. If I should hear of any peril menacing those who hold these new opinions, for which you, I can see, have such tenderness, I will not fail to warn them of it. If I know, they shall know likewise. Will that satisfy you?"

"It will," she answered, with a glance that thrilled him to his heart's core. "I thank you from my soul."



Chapter VI: For Love and the Faith

"Yes, Anthony, I love thee, and one day I will be thy wife!"

The words seemed to set themselves to joyous music in the ears of Anthony Dalaber as he hastened homeward through the miry and darkening streets towards his lodging in St. Alban Hall. He trod on air. He regarded neither the drizzling rain overhead nor the mire and dirt of the unpaved streets.

He had come from Dr. Langton's house. He had heard Freda pronounce these words, which made her all his own. For some months he had been feeding on hope. He knew that she loved him up to a certain point. But until today she had never openly declared herself. Today he had ventured to plead his cause with a new fervour, and she had given him the answer his heart so craved.

"I love thee, Anthony; one day I will be thy wife!"

He could have cried aloud in his joy and triumph.

"My wife, my wife, my wife! O blessed, blessed thought! For her sake I will achieve all, I will dare all, I will win all. I have talents—they have told me so; I will use them might and main to win myself fame and renown. I have friends; they will help me. Has not Cole spoken ofttimes of what he hoped to do for me in the matter of some appointment later on, when my studies shall be finished here? I have a modest fortune—not great wealth; but it will suffice for the foundation on which to build. Oh yes, fortune smiles sweetly and kindly upon me, and I will succeed for her sweet sake as well as for mine own.

"My Freda! my star! my pearl amongst women! How can it be that she loves me? Oh, it is a beautiful and gracious thing! And truly do I believe that it is our faith which has drawn us together; for do we not both believe in the right of free conscience for every man, and the liberty to read for himself, and in his own tongue, the words of the holy Book of Life? Do we not both long for the day when greed and corruption shall be banished from the church we both love, and she shall appear as a chaste virgin, without spot, or wrinkle, or any such thing, meet for the royal Bridegroom who waits for her, that He may present her spotless before His Father's throne?"

Dalaber was quoting unconsciously from an address recently delivered in Dr. Randall's house by Clarke to a select audience, who loved to listen to his words of hope and devotion. Clarke's spirit at such times would seem to soar into the heavenlies, and to uplift thither the hearts of all who heard him. He spoke not of strife and warfare; he railed not against the prevailing abuses, as did others; he ever spoke of the church as the Holy Mother, the beloved of the Lord, the spouse of Christ; and prayed to see her purified and cleansed of all the defilement which had gathered upon her during her pilgrimage in this world, after the departure of her Lord into the heavens, that she might be fit and ready for her espousals in the fulness of time, her eyes ever fixed upon her living Head in the heavens, not upon earthly potentates or even spiritual rulers on this earth, but ever waiting and watching for His coming, who would raise her in glory and immortality to sit at His right hand for evermore.

Anthony had heard this discourse, and had been fired by it, and had seen how Freda's eyes kindled, and how her breath came and went in the passion of her spiritual exaltation. They were drawn ever closer and more closely together by their sympathy in these holy hopes and aspirations, and her heart had gradually become his, she hardly knew when or how.

But the troth plight had been given. Dalaber could have sung aloud in the gladness of his heart. She was his own, his very own; and what a life they would live together! No cloud should ever touch their happiness, or mar their perfect concord. They were one in body, soul, and spirit, and nothing could come between them since they had so united their lives in one.

It was very dark as he turned at last into the familiar doorway, and mounted the dim staircase towards his own room—the lodging he and Hugh Fitzjames shared together. But just now Fitzjames was absent, paying one of his frequent visits to the Langtons. Dalaber had spoken to him there only a short while since, and he was therefore surprised to see a line of light gleaming out from under his door; for, since he was out, who else could be in possession of his room?

Opening the door hastily, he uttered a cry of surprise and welcome, and advanced with outstretched hands.

"Master Garret! You have come!"

The small, keen-faced priest with the eyes of fire came out of the circle of lamplight and took the extended hands.

"I have come, Anthony Dalaber; I have come, as I said. Have you a welcome for me, and for mine errand?"

"The best of welcomes," answered Dalaber, without a moment's hesitation; "I welcome you for your own sake, and for that of the cause in which we both desire to live, and, if need be, to die."

Yet even as he spoke the last word the young man's voice faltered for a moment, and he felt a thrill of cold disquiet run, as it were, through his frame. With Freda's kiss of love upon his lips, how could he think of death? No; life and light and love should be his portion. Did not fair fortune smile upon him with favouring eyes?

The keen eyes of the elder man instantly detected that some inward misgiving was possessing him. He spoke in his clear and cutting tones, so curiously penetrating in their quality.

"You speak of death, and then you shudder. You are not prepared to lay down your life in the cause?"

Dalaber was silent for a moment; a flood of recollection overwhelmed him. He heard a sweet voice speaking to him; he heard the very words used.

"Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life."

Suddenly he threw back his head and said:

"In a good and righteous cause I would face death gladly without shrinking."

The keen, flashing eyes were fixed full upon his face. The clear voice spoke on in terse, emphatic phrases.

"Be sure of thyself, Anthony Dalaber. Put not thy hand to the plough only to turn back. So far thou art safe. But I have come to do a work here that is charged with peril. Thou needest have no hand in it. Say the word, and I go forth from thy lodging and trouble thee no more. I ask nothing. I do but take thee at thy word. If thy heart has failed or changed, only say so. One word is enough. There are other spirits in Oxford strong enough to stand the test. I came first to thee, Anthony, because I love thee as mine own soul. But I ask nothing of thee. There is peril in harbouring such an one as I. Send me forth, and I will go. So wilt thou be more safe."

But even as Garret spoke all the old sense of fascination which this man had exercised upon him in London returned in full force upon Dalaber. The brilliant eyes held him by their spell, the fighting instinct rose hot within him. His heart had been full of thoughts of love and human bliss; now there arose a sense of coming battle, and the lust of fighting which is in every human heart, and which, in a righteous cause, may be even a God-like attribute, flamed up within him, and he cried aloud:

"I am on the Lord's side. Shall I fear what flesh can do unto me? I will go forth in the strength of the Lord. I fear not. I will be true, even unto death."

There was no quavering in his voice now. His face was aglow with the passion of his earnestness.

Next moment Garret was in the midst of one of his fiery orations. A fresh batch of pamphlets had come over from Germany. They exposed new and wholesale corruptions which prevailed in the papal court, and which roused the bitterest indignation amongst those who were banded together to uphold righteousness and purity. Unlike men of Clarke's calibre of mind, and full of the zeal which in later times blazed out in the movement of the Reformation, Garret could not regard the Catholic Church in its true and universal aspect, embracing all Christian men in its fold—the one body of which Christ is the head. He looked upon it as a corrupt organization of man's devising, a hierarchy of ambitious and scheming men, who, having lost hold of the truth, require to be scathingly denounced and their iniquity exposed; whilst those who thus held her in abhorrence heard the voice of the Spirit in their hearts saying, "Come out of her, my people, that ye be not partaker of her plagues."

The mystical unity of the Catholic Church was a thing understood by few in those days. The one party held themselves the true church, and anathematized their baptized and Christian brethren as heretics and outcasts; whilst, as a natural outcome of such a state of affairs, these outcasts themselves were disposed to repudiate the very name of Catholic. And to this very day, in spite of the light which has come to men, and the better understanding with regard to Christian unity, Romanists arrogate that title exclusively to themselves, whilst others in Protestant sections of the church accord them the name willingly, and repudiate it for themselves, with no sense of the anomaly of such repudiation.

But in these days there had been no open split between camp and camp in the Church Catholic, though daily it was growing more and more patent to men that if the abuses and corruptions within the fold were not rectified, some drastic attack from without must of necessity take place.

Garret was a man of action and a man of fire. He had pored over treatises, penned fiery diatribes, leagued himself with the oppressed, watched the movement of revolt from superstition and idolatry with the keenest interest. He was in danger, like so many pioneers and so many reformers, of being carried away by his own vehemence. He saw the idolatry of the Mass, but he was losing sight of the worship which underlay that weight of ceremonial and observance. Like the people who witnessed the office, the mass of symbolism and the confusion of it blinded his eyes to the truth and beauty of the underlying reality. He was a devout believer in all primitive truth; he had been, and in a sense still was, a devout priest; but he was becoming an Ishmaelite amongst those of his own calling.

He alarmed them by his lack of discretion, by his fierce attacks. He did not stop to persuade. He launched his thunderbolts very much after the same fashion as Luther himself; and the timid and wavering drew back from him in alarm and dismay, fearful whither he would carry them next.

And having, in a sense, made London too hot to hold him, he had left at the entreaty of the brethren themselves, and was now arrived at Oxford—his former alma mater—ready to embark upon a similar crusade there. Here he had some friends and confederates, and he hoped soon to make more. He knew that there were many amongst the students and masters eager to read the forbidden books, and to judge for themselves the nature of the controversy raging in other countries. But the work of distribution was attended with many and great dangers; and this visit was of a preliminary character, with a view to ascertaining where and with whom his stores of books (now secreted in a house in Abingdon) might be smuggled into the city and hidden there. And in Anthony Dalaber he found an eager and daring confederate, whose soul, being stirred to its depths by what he heard, was willing to go all lengths to assist in the forbidden traffic.

As the weeks flew by Dalaber grew more and more eager in his task—the more so as he became better acquainted with other red-hot spirits amongst the graduates and undergraduates, and heard more and more heated disquisition and controversy. Sometimes a dozen or more such spirits would assemble in his rooms to hear Garret hold forth upon the themes so near to their hearts; and they would sit far into the night listening to his fiery orations, and seeming each time to gain stronger convictions, and resolve to hold more resolutely to the code of liberty which they had embraced.

Somewhat apart from these excitable youths, yet in much sympathy with them, was a little band who met regularly, and had done so all through the winter months, in Clarke's rooms in Cardinal College, to listen to his readings and expositions of the holy Scriptures, and to discuss afterwards such matters as the readings had suggested. That there was peril even in such gatherings as these Clarke very well knew; but he earnestly warned all who asked leave to attend them of that possible peril, and some drew back faint-hearted. Still he always had as many as his room could well hold; and Dalaber was one of the most regular and eager of his pupils, and one most forward to speak in discussion.

The doctrine of transubstantiation was one of those which was troubling the minds of the seekers after truth.

"How can that wafer of bread and that wine in the cup become actual flesh and blood?" spoke Anthony once, with eager insistence, when in one of the readings the story of the Lord's passion had been read from end to end.

And he began to quote words from Luther and others bearing on the subject, whilst the students hung upon his words, and listened breathless, with a mingling of admiration and fear. For was not this, indeed, heresy of a terrible kind?

Clarke listened, too, very quietly and intently, and then took up the word.

"Our blessed Lord cannot lie, nor yet deceive; and He said, 'This is my body this is my blood.' And St. Paul rebuked the early Christians, because in partaking of the holy sacrament they did not discern the Lord's body. And how could they discern what was not present? Nay, let us devoutly and thankfully believe and know that we do in very truth partake of the Lord's body, but in a spiritual mystery, higher and holier than any visible miracle would be. The very essence of a sacrament is that it be spiritual and invisible—the visible symbol of the invisible reality. Real and corporate flesh and blood is sacrifice, not sacrament; but the true spiritual presence of the Lord's body is never absent in His holy rite. Let us, in all holiness and meekness of spirit, discern the Lord's body, and thankfully receive it. And instead of seeking words and formulas in which to express heavenly mysteries, which tongue of man can never utter, nor heart of man comprehend, let us seek for the guiding of the Spirit into all truth, that we may dwell in unity and love with all men, loving even where we see not alike, obeying in as far as we may in sincerity of heart those who are over us in the Lord, seeking the good and not the evil, and praying that the Lord Himself will quickly come to lead and guide His holy church into all the fulness of His own perfect stature."

This inculcation of obedience, which was one of Clarke's favourite maxims to his hearers, was by no means palatable to Dalaber, who had launched upon a crusade very contrary to all the commands of the authorities. His heart always kindled at the fervour and beauty of Clarke's teachings; but he was more disposed to a belligerent than a submissive attitude, and in that the influence of Garret was plainly to be felt. Garret was greatly in favour of Clarke's influence over the students—he considered that he paved the way with them, as he himself would be unable to do; but he also held that the young canon did not go far enough, and that more was wanted than he was disposed to teach. He was not in favour of too great insistence upon obedience. He thought that the world and the church had had somewhat too much of that. He was a hot advocate of the new doctrine that every man should think and judge for himself. And Dalaber's nature was one very ready to imbibe such teaching.

Clarke, though he believed that the more the Scriptures were read and understood by the people, the more would light pour into the church, was not one of those who was ready to conceal and distribute the forbidden books, whether words of holy Scripture or the writings of the Reformers upon them and upon controverted subjects and church abuses. He held that his own position as a canon forbade this action on his part, and he was also of opinion that there was danger in the too great independence of thought which these writings might engender amongst the unlearned and the hot-headed of the land. He loved to read and discourse upon holy things with men whose hearts were attuned to thoughts of devotion; but he was not one who would willingly stir up strife in the fold, and he clung earnestly to the hope that the church herself would awaken from her sleep and cleanse herself of her many impurities.

Yet he was a greater power than he guessed in Oxford, for he was regarded as somewhat of a saint by those who knew him; and of late the attention of the heads of the university had become attracted towards him. Quite unaware of this, he pursued the even tenor of his way, seeking to inspire devotion and love of purity and truth in all with whom he came into contact, but never overstepping the written or unwritten laws of the college, save perhaps that he knew something of the spread of heretical books and doctrines without betraying his knowledge to those in authority.

So the winter weeks flew by; and Dalaber, divided between his hours of bliss and love with Freda (to whom he told everything, and whose sympathies were all astir in the cause to which he was pledged) and his perilous work with Garret, whose visits to Oxford from Abingdon and other places were made in a more or less secret fashion, scarcely heeded the flight of time. He was taken out of himself by the excitement of the flying hours. He knew he was doing perilous work; but he knew that Freda's sympathy was with him, and that she regarded him as a hero in a noble cause. That was enough to keep him steadfast and fearless, even if the magnetic personality of Garret had not been so often brought to bear upon him. Whenever Garret was in Oxford—-and now he was more and more often there, for he had quite a following in the place eager to hear more from him and receive fresh books—he stayed either with Dalaber, or with Radley, the singing man; and in both their lodgings were cleverly-concealed hiding-places, where books could be stowed, that would defy all search, save that of the most stringent kind.

February had come, with its promise of hope, and springtide, and the longer daylight, so dear to the heart of students. Garret had recently appeared once more in Oxford, and was meeting almost daily with the confraternity there. He had brought a fresh consignment of books, some of which he lodged with Dalaber, and some with Radley, as was his wont. There were stolen meetings held in many places, but most often at those two lodgings; and the little band seemed growing in strength daily, when a sudden tempest broke upon it, falling like a bolt from the blue.

A meeting at Radley's house had broken up. Dalaber and Garret walked homewards in the dusk towards their quarters in St. Alban Hall. When Garret was in Oxford, Fitzjames gave up his share of Dalaber's lodging to him, and betook himself elsewhere; but when they reached the room they found somebody sitting there awaiting them in the dusk, and Dalaber hailed him as Fitzjames.

But as the stranger rose he saw that he had been mistaken. It was Arthur Cole, and his face was grave as he quietly closed the door.

"I have come to warn you, Master Garret," he said in a low voice. "Your doings in this place have become known, and have betrayed your whereabouts. Cardinal Wolsey himself has sent down a mandate for your arrest. The Dean of Cardinal College is even now in conference with the Commissary of the University and with Dr. London of New College. You know very well what mercy you are like to meet with if you fall into their hands."

Dalaber started and changed colour; but Garret had been a hunted man before this, and received the news quietly.

"They know I am in Oxford, then. Do they know where I may be found?" he asked quietly enough.

"Not yet. They are about to put the proctors on the scent. Tonight you are safe, but early on the morrow inquisition and search will commence. You will be speedily discovered and arrested if you are not far enough away by that time.

"Be warned, Master Garret. You are reckoned as a mischievous man. The cardinal is not cruel, but some of his colleagues and subordinates are. Men have been burnt at the stake before this for offences lighter than yours, for you not only hold heretical doctrines yourself, but you seek to spread them broadcast throughout the land. That is not an offence easily passed over."

Dalaber felt as though a cold stream of water were running down his back. His vivid imagination grasped in a moment all the fearful possibilities of the case, and he felt his knees fail for a moment under him. Yet it was not for himself he feared at that moment. He scarcely realized that this tracking down of Garret might lead to revelations which would be damaging to himself. His fears and his tremors were all for his friend—that friend standing motionless beside him as though lost in thought.

"You hold me a heretic, too, Master Cole?"

"I do," answered the young man at once, and without hesitation.

"And yet you come and warn me—a step that might cost you dear were it known to the authorities."

"Yes," answered Cole quietly; "I come to warn you, and that for two reasons, neither of which is sympathy with the cause you advocate. I warn you because you are a graduate of Magdalen College, and I had some knowledge of you in the past, and received some kindness at your hands long since, when I was a youthful clerk and you a regent master; and also because I have a great friendship for Dalaber here, and for Clarke, and for others known to you, and who would suffer grief, and fall perhaps into some peril were you to be taken. Also, I hold that it is ofttimes right to succour the weak against the strong, and I love not persecution in any form, though the contumacious and recalcitrant have to be sternly dealt with. So fare you well, and get you gone quickly, for after this night there will be no safety for you in Oxford."

With that Cole turned to depart; but he laid a hand on Dalaber's arm, and the latter, understanding the hint, went with him down the staircase, where they paused in the darkness.

"Have a care, Anthony, have a care," spoke Cole with energy. "I know not as yet whether you be suspected or not; but, truly, you have shown yourself something reckless in these matters, and there must be many in the place who could betray to the proctors your dealings with Garret. Send him forth without delay. Let there be no dallying or tarrying. Look well to it; and if you have any forbidden books, let them be instantly destroyed. Keep nothing that can be used as evidence against you, for I verily believe there will be close and strict search and inquest made, in accordance with the cardinal's mandate. I only hope and trust that our worthy friend Clarke may not fall into the hands of the bloodhounds, keen on the scent of heresy."

"God forbid!" cried Anthony quickly.

"God forbid indeed! But there is no knowing. He may be in peril, and others, too. But let there be an end tonight of all dallying with dangerous persons. Send Garret away forthwith, burn your books, and settle once more to your rightful studies. You have played with fire something too long, Anthony; let there be an end of it forthwith, lest the fire leap upon you in a fashion you think not of."



Chapter VII: In Peril

Dalaber stood a moment as though turned to stone as the full import of these words flashed into his mind. Again he was conscious of the sensation as though cold water were being poured upon him. He found himself shuddering strongly, and stepped out into the street to breathe the freshness of the air. Almost at the moment two of his comrades and confederates, Udel and Diet by name, both of Corpus Christi College, chanced to come along the street, and Dalaber, catching each by an arm, drew them into the shelter of the doorway, and whispered to them the peril in which they all stood more or less involved.

If an inquiry were set on foot none could say where it would cease, or who might be suspected. It was evident that Garret himself stood in imminent peril, and that to get him safely away from the city was the first duty incumbent upon them. As soon as ever the gates of the town were opened on the morrow he ought to start away to some place of safety.

But where could such a place be found? The three young men went upstairs to Dalaber's lodging, where Garret was standing by the darkening window, lost in thought.

"Yes, I must go," he said, in answer to their words. "I am no longer safe here, and for the sake of the cause I must needs hide myself awhile. And yet I sometimes think it might come as well soon as late, if come it must. And surely that will be the end. I have felt it for long."

"What end?" asked Dalaber, with a little shudder.

"Martyrdom," answered Garret, a quick flash in his eye, which the light, just kindled, seemed to reflect back. "I shall die for the faith at last. I know it, I feel it. And there be moments when I could wish that that day had come, and that I might take the crown which is promised to those who are faithful to the death. Yet something tells me again that this day has not yet come, that the Lord has other work for me to do. Therefore I will fly, and that speedily. Yet whither shall I go? There are many places closed to me already, and I shall be searched for far and wide."

Anthony stood hesitating, his hand upon a piece of paper; and then, as if making up his mind, he spoke eagerly and rapidly.

"Master Garret, I have here a letter written to me by my brother, who is priest of a parish in Dorsetshire; Stalbridge is the name of the place. But a week since, a clerk coming hither from those parts brought to me a letter from him, which I have here in mine hand; and as you will see, he earnestly begs me to find for him here in Oxford a suitable man to act as his curate. Now, if you were to change your name and go to him with a letter from me, no doubt he would incontinently receive you into his house and give you good welcome; and there you could lie hid and unsuspected till the tide of pursuit was over, after which you could make excuse to leave him again, and go back to where you will."

Garret seemed to be turning the matter over in his mind, whilst the other two students appeared to think this just the opportunity desired, and eagerly bade Dalaber commence the letter of introduction, whilst they offered to pack up some clothes and provision for the traveller.

"What manner of man is this brother of thine, Anthony?" asked Garret. "Doth he belong to us of the brethren?"

A slight flush rose to Dalaber's cheek, which else was unwontedly pale.

"Alas, no! He has no knowledge of those things which we prize. There is the trouble. He is a rank Papist. But yet he has a kind heart, and there would surely be no need to speak of such matters with him. You would have your duties to do, as in London, in church and parish. It may be that the Lord would send you thither to sow fresh seed by the wayside."

"If I thought that—" began Garret, with kindling eyes.

"And wherefore not?" questioned the other two eagerly; "it may even be the Lord's way of spreading the truth. Nay, Master Garret, do not hesitate or tarry. The danger is too sore and pressing, and this is, as it were, an open door of escape. Let us garb you something differently, give you a new name, which Anthony will write in his letter; the letter you will bear upon your person; and then, when you are once beyond the reach of pursuit, you can travel easily and pleasantly, sure that you will be believed, by token of the missive you bear to Master Dalaber of Stalbridge."

Garret's face was very set and thoughtful.

"Well, I will do it; I will try it," he answered. "It may be that it comes from the Lord. I like it not altogether; but it may be I have work to do for Him there. At least I will not tarry here, where I may be a source of peril to others. So, with the first of the morning light, I will go forth, and get me well on my way to the south ere the hue and cry begin."

There was no sleep that night in Anthony Dalaber's lodging. The news spread through the little brotherhood that Garret was in peril, that he was about to leave Oxford; and all through the night furtive visits were being paid him by those who desired his blessing, and to wish him well on his way.

As for Dalaber, he wrote his letter with a shaking hand, recommending his friend, one Edmund Thompson, as a curate to help his brother in his parish. Yet all the while he felt a strange sinking at heart which he could not explain or account for. And when, in the grey light of the dawn, he said adieu to his friend, and saw him vanish through the just opened gate and out into the dim murk of the frosty morning, there came over his ardent and impulsive spirit a strange sense of desolation and sinking; and when he returned to his chill and lonely rooms, the first thing he did was to fling himself upon his bed and break into tearless sobs, the revenge of an exhausted nature.

"Cui bono? cui bono?" was the voiceless cry of his heart, and at that moment it seemed as if everything were slipping away, even the faith and the love which had upheld him for so long.

Sleep surprised him as he thus lay, and he slept deeply for some hours, awaking somewhat refreshed, but full of anxious fears, both for the safety of his friend and for his own future.

It was scarcely possible, he argued, that, should Garret's movements be inquired into by the proctors and others, he could fail to fall under suspicion, as, having been much in his company, he would be doubtless suspected, and perhaps apprehended; and a shiver of natural fear and horror ran through him at such a prospect.

What had better be his course now? He mused of this as he got himself some food; and while he was thus musing the door opened hastily, and Fitzjames appeared, looking heated and nervous.

"Hast heard the news, Dalaber?"

"What news ?—not that Master Garret is taken?"

"No; but that strict search is to be made for him in and about Oxford. Is it true that he hath had warning, and is fled? I was told so, but scarce knew what to believe."

"I saw him forth from the gates at dawn. I marvel they were not watched; but he was something disguised, and travelled under another name, so I trust and hope he may escape pursuit. Is it only he for whom they are looking?"

"I have heard naught of others; but who knows where the thing may stop? Thou hadst better have a care to thyself, friend Anthony. It may be that peril will next menace thee."

Alone, Dalaber had felt qualms of fear and dread, but the very sight of a comrade's face restored him to confidence and courage.

"That may well be," he answered; "and if peril come, I trust I may have courage to endure all that may be put upon me. I have done naught of which my conscience accuses me. I can be strong in mine own integrity of heart."

"Yes; but why court danger?" persisted Fitzjames, who had a cordial liking for Dalaber. "Methinks you would be safer in some lodging without the walls, that in case of sudden peril you might the more readily fly. And if these rooms should become suspected and watched, it were better you should be elsewhere. Have you not already spoken of changing into a lodging in Gloucester College, there to prosecute your studies in law?"

"Truly yes," answered Dalaber eagerly; "and it was but two days since that Robert Ferrar told me I could have the chamber next to his, which is now vacant; but I have had so many things to think of since then that the matter has passed altogether from my mind."

"Then let us quickly remove your belongings thither," spoke Fitzjames, with some eagerness. "It were better you should be gone; and I will testify, if question arise, of your reason for moving, which is that you are relinquishing your divinity studies for those of the law, and desire to enter a college where there is a library and more facilities for the prosecution of these studies. It were better, indeed, since you have resigned all thoughts of the priesthood, to commence your new studies without further loss of time. We have had something too much, methinks, of controversy and questionings of late. Let us seek greater safety by leaving such matters alone for the nonce. If happier days dawn anon, we may be able to resume our readings and discussions; but for the moment—"

A significant gesture completed the sentence, and Dalaber made no remonstrance, for indeed he felt that his mind required a space of rest from these perilous controversies. Master Garret's stay had been fraught with intense spiritual excitement for him. As long as the personality of the man was brought to bear upon him his nerves were strung to a high pitch of tension; but the strain had been severe, and the reaction was setting in. He was half afraid of the lengths he had gone in some directions, and there came over him a desire for a breathing space, for a haven of peace and safety; and he felt that Fitzjames had counselled him well in advising a removal to fresh quarters.

In those days it was not unusual for a student to move from one hall or even college to another, if he were not upon the foundation of the latter. Gloucester College (where Worcester College now stands) was one of the many religious houses still to be found in Oxford; but it was open to youths who were neither in orders nor intending to enter the priesthood, but only to prosecute their secular studies. Dalaber had a friend there who was one of the inquirers after truth, and was also a friend of Garret. It was he who had told him of the vacant room so near to his own, and thither he and Fitzjames moved all his belongings during that day.

It was a pleasant chamber, and he was kindly welcomed by Ferrar, who heard with great concern of Garret's peril. He himself had not fallen under any suspicion as yet, so far as he knew; and he agreed with Fitzjames that Dalaber had better keep himself very quiet for the next few days, prosecuting his studies with zeal, and not showing himself much in the streets. It was to be hoped that the flight of Garret, when known, would avert further peril from Oxford; but as Dalaber had certainly been his closest comrade and companion during his visit, it behoved him to have a care that he excited no more suspicion.

"'When they persecute you in one city, flee unto another,'" quoted Fitzjames, as he settled his last load in Dalaber's new lodging, which was beginning to look a little habitable, though still in some confusion. "That is sound Scripture, is it not? and sound sense into the bargain. But the town seems quiet enough to me now; I have gone to and fro in many of the streets, and I have heard and seen nothing to alarm."

Dalaber heaved a sigh of relief. He was nerving himself to meet his fate bravely, whatever that fate might be; but the prospect of being arrested and charged with heresy or the circulation of forbidden books was sufficiently unnerving, and the more so to one whose life seemed opening out so full of promise and crowned with the blessing of love.

"I must see Freda!" he suddenly exclaimed, as the shades of evening began to fall. "What does she know of this matter, Fitzjames? has it reached her ears that I may be in any peril?"

"I trow not; I have told her nothing. She may have heard that the proctors are seeking Master Garret. I know not. When I came away this morn nothing was known at the Bridge House; but if she has heard aught since, she will be anxious for you and for him alike."

"Verily yes, and I will go and show myself, and reassure her," cried Dalaber, throwing on his cloak and cap. "I have time enough and to spare to set my things in order later. I have not seen Freda for full three days. I must e'en present myself tonight."

"I will go, too," answered Fitzjames; "and let us avoid the city walls and gates, and take the meadow paths past Durham College and Austin Friars, for it were best you did not show yourself abroad too much these next few days. I trust that afterwards all peril will be at an end."

There was a clear saffron sky above them, and the crescent moon hung there like a silver lamp. The peace and hush of eventide was in the air, and fell like a charm upon Dalaber's fevered spirit. The sound of the angelus bell was heard from several quarters, and as they passed St. Bernard's Chapel they stepped into the building, and remained kneeling there a brief while, as the vesper service was chanted.

Soothed and refreshed, and feeling more in harmony with life and its surroundings, Dalaber pursued his way, his arm linked in that of his friend.

Fitzjames was one of those who halted somewhat between two opinions. He was willing and ready to hear and receive much of that new teaching which was stirring men's hearts and beginning to arouse bitter opposition; but he was still one who called himself a true son of the church, and he had no wish to draw down upon himself the perils of excommunication and other punishment which threatened the obstinate heretics. He attended many of John Clarke's lectures; he discoursed much with Dalaber, for whom he had a sincere friendship and admiration; but he did not see why there should be strife and disruption. He thought the church could be trusted to cleanse herself of her errors and corruptions, and that her mandates should be obeyed, even if they were sometimes somewhat harsh and unreasonable, as notably in this matter of the circulation of the Scriptures amongst the people.

So he was more anxious for Dalaber to avoid drawing down notice upon himself than that he should play the part of hero and martyr with constancy and courage. And his friendly solicitude had been soothing to Anthony through the day, restoring his balance of mind, and quieting the nervous restlessness which had possessed him hitherto. And now he was approaching the house of his beloved, and her gentle sweetness and tender counsels would fill up the measure of his happiness, and restore that confidence in himself and his cause which had at one time been somewhat rudely shaken.

She met him on the threshold, and for the first time since the troth plight her arms were about his neck, and he felt the tremor of her whole slender frame.

"Anthony, Anthony, thou art safe!"

"Beloved, yes; wherefore didst thou fear for me?"

"How could I not fear, not knowing all, when such stories and rumours have been flying about?"

"What stories? what rumours?" he asked, feeling his heart begin to beat more rapidly.

She drew him into a little antechamber close at hand, and by the light of the flickering fire he saw that her face was pale and anxious, whilst her eyes looked as though they had shed tears.

"My Freda, what is the matter? Thou hast been weeping."

"Yes, for my heart has been heavy within me. How should it not be? And yet I know that the cause is holy and righteous, and I would have all men to be constant and full of courage. Cannot the Lord preserve His own?"

"Yes, yes; let us not fear!" cried Dalaber, his courage rising with the need to reassure his beloved. "But tell me, what hast thou heard?"

"Arthur Cole has been here; he has come thrice today, each time with fresh news. Thou dost know how he regards my sister Magda. None can fail to note his love for her; and I think he will win hers at the last. I trow he has well redeemed the pledge he gave her, and that he will get his reward—in time."

"His pledge?"

"Yes; he vowed to her that if he were able he would give warning to any of the brethren who might be in peril. He hears more than others of what is likely to pass, and he brought us word at daylight this morning that Master Garret was to be closely searched for."

"That is true; but he is fled."

"He was willing, then, to fly! Ah, I am glad, I am glad! It is not always the greatest thing to stand at bay and fall into peril. A man may rightly think of saving his life and those of his friends by flight. I am thankful he is away. Pray Heaven they get not on his track. They say if he fall into their hands he will perish at the stake."

Dalaber shuddered, but answered quietly:

"I think he will escape. Had they overtaken him we should have heard. But what else hath Cole told thee that thou shouldst fear and shed tears, thou who art so bold, and filled with spirit and constancy?"

"He spoke of Master Clarke," answered Freda, lowering her voice. "He is fearful of danger to him."

"Danger for Clarke!" cried Dalaber, almost hotly. "But he has never had aught to do with the sale or distribution of forbidden books. He knows of it, but he takes no part in it. What can they urge against him?"

"They only whisper it as yet, but Arthur says they suspect him of heresy. Men who have heard him lecture and preach have spoken of his doctrine, and others have pronounced it dangerous. Arthur himself is full of wrath, for he loves Master Clarke as a brother, and he says he has never heard aught but holy and pure teaching drop from his lips; and none may doubt that Arthur is a true son of the church. He went forth again for tidings; but he only learned that the Dean of Cardinal College, the Commissary of the University, Dr. London of New College, and a few others of like standing with themselves, have met in consultation more than once during the day, and that it is whispered abroad that whether or not they lay hands on Master Garret, they are going to make strict inquisition throughout Oxford for the discovery of heretical teachers and thinkers in the university, and take measures whereby the spread of the peril may be arrested."

Dalaber and Freda stood face to face in the flickering light, their eyes full upon each other. He bent down suddenly, and kissed her with an almost passionate intensity of feeling.

"If they make strict inquisition, my beloved, they may find that Anthony Dalaber is numbered amongst the heretics."

"I know it," Freda answered, and her voice was very low.

"And if they should hale him to prison what shall he say and do? Wouldst thou that he should save himself by submission and obedience? or shall he be bold to speak, let the consequences be what they may?"

He reached out and held her hands in his. Hers trembled, but his were steady.

"I would have Anthony Dalaber true to his soul and true to his friends. I would have him obey, inasmuch as he can do so with a clear conscience toward God and man, but no farther. O my love, my love, how I shall pray for thee now and ever!"

He clasped her in his arms, as once before he had done when they had been speaking almost upon this same subject, before the danger cloud hung lowering in the horizon of their sky.

"Thou dost bid me be faithful above all things, my Freda—faithful unto death?"

He felt the shudder that ran through her frame. It had been easy once to speak these words, but they sounded more terrible now. Yet for all her tremors her voice did not falter.

"It is the voice of the Spirit, Anthony; it is His word. But ah! how I hope and pray that such a trial of faith will not be thine! Faithful to death—to such a death! Anthony, my love, my love, how could I bear it?"

"Thou wouldst have the strength, as I trust I should, were such a choice before me," he answered gravely. "But why should we fear the worst, when so little has yet happened? All men say of the cardinal that he is not cruel, nor willingly a slayer of men for conscience' sake. He is the bitter foe of heresy; but it may be that it will suffice him that Garret be gone, and that those of us that have consorted with him remain quiet and silent. That we are willing to do. I have removed my lodging to Gloucester College, where I shall henceforth study the law, since I have abandoned all thoughts of the priesthood. It may well be that the storm will roll over our heads without breaking. And when it has passed away we can recommence our readings and discourses together, but quietly, so as not to arouse notice. Even the holy apostles themselves were content to abide quiet and silent amid perils that threatened their freedom and safety. They escaped out of various dangers, and used caution and carefulness; and if they, why not we?"

Freda heaved a long breath, as of relief from the over pressure of emotion. She had seen that Arthur Cole had entertained some fears on Dalaber's account, knowing the fiery nature of the man, and his quick, impulsive temperament. He had had misgivings lest he, by some rash act, should draw down the anger of the authorities upon himself, and be made a scapegoat, in the stead of the absent Garret.

Therefore Freda heard his words with a certain relief. Constancy and steadfastness she desired to see in him, but not the reckless defiance which rushes upon danger and courts martyrdom. She herself had scarcely known which course her lover would follow, and his appearance in this quiet and thoughtful mood was a great relief to her.

"That is how I feel, Anthony," she answered. "Any trial the Lord sends us we must bear for His sake with all constancy; but even He Himself was obedient and submissive, and careful in His words and acts. Let none have cause to accuse us as brawlers, or headstrong, or enemies to law and order; but yet let us, when the time come, be found faithful, even unto death."

He took her hand and kissed it, as though to seal the compact.



Chapter VIII: The Fugitive

Meantime, in the darkness of that February morning, Thomas Garret stepped forth from the sheltering walls of his still-beloved Oxford, and turned his rapid steps in a southerly and westerly direction.

His heart was hot within him as he pushed along, choosing the most unfrequented lanes and paths. This was not the first time he had been hunted, and he had acquired some of the instincts of the quarry. He knew how to lie hidden awhile in some sheltered nook, listening and watching, himself unseen. He knew how to avoid notice, and how to pass through public places with the quiet air of confidence which drew no sort of attention towards himself. His priest's gown and hood would be a protection to him after he had shaken himself clear of the pursuit which might be set afoot by the proctors. He had Anthony Dalaber's letter in his wallet, and bread sufficient for the day's needs. He could fearlessly present himself at any religious house when he had reached another county, and he was certain of being well received and cared for by the monks, who received all travellers kindly, but especially those of the "household of faith."

He spoke the words half aloud, and then a strange sound broke from his lips, half a laugh and half a groan.

"The household of faith! O my God! What would they say if they knew that he who came to them as one of the faithful, was flying an outcast from the wrath of the cardinal, branded as a dangerous heretic? O Lord, be with me, and guide me right. Am I not faithful? Do I not love Thee, O Lord? Am I not sworn to Thy holy service? O Thou who judgest the hearts of men, and knowest all from the beginning, teach me what I should speak and do. Teach me whither I should bend my steps. I am ready to suffer persecution and death for Thy sake and the truth's. Only make me to see what Thou wilt have of me, that I may know whether Thou hast set before me an open door elsewhere, and art driving me thither, or whether Thou wouldst that I should return whence I came, and abide there whatever may befall me."

For the farther Garret travelled, the more fearful did he become that he was doing wrong in taking flight after this sort. To fly before his persecutors was one thing—his conscience did not upbraid him for that; but to go into Dorsetshire, to present himself to Anthony Dalaber's brother under a false name, to become curate to a man whose own brother termed him a "rank Papist"—was that indeed his bounden duty? Was that a right or righteous course to pursue? But if he gave up that purpose, what next? He knew not whither to turn, or where he might go with safety. The arm of the cardinal was long. He had eyes that reached far and wide. All Garret's own haunts were likely to be closely watched.

The man felt the fire of zeal burning hotly within him. He looked up into the heavens above him, and he felt as though a great work yet lay before him. He broke out into songs of praise and thanksgiving. It seemed to him as though he saw written in the sky glorious promises for those who should endure steadfastly to the end.

There was something of the prophetic spirit in the man. At times the world about him would recede from him, and he would be left, as it were, alone upon some vast immeasurable height, seeing as in a dream the things of God and the mysteries of the heavenlies stretched out before him. Such a moment came upon him late in that day as he journeyed. He seemed to see a vast and mighty struggle—an overturning of thrones, principalities, and powers; a far-reaching upheaval in church and in state; a coming judgment, and a coming glory.

He awoke as from a trance, with his head on fire and his heart hot within him. Words sprang to his lips, and he gave them utterance with a sense of power not his own.

"The Lord will arise. He will judge between man and man, between good and evil, between truth and falsehood. The Lord Himself is our helper. Of whom shall we be afraid? He is the upholder of the righteous cause. Shall we fear what man can do unto us? The time will come when all shall come to the knowledge of the truth; He has promised, and His word cannot fail. Let us put our trust and confidence in Him, and fear no evil, even though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death. He will be with us to the end, and will overcome in us, when we are too weak to overcome for ourselves."

The shades of evening were beginning to fall, and when the reaction set in after this period of spiritual exultation, Garret found himself somewhat weary and exhausted. He had not slept at all during the previous night, and he had been afoot from earliest dawn. He had accomplished a long day's journey, and had only eaten a little bread and drunk of the water of the brooks he had passed on his road. He began to desire the shelter of a roof and the cheering warmth of a fire, for the wind had risen, and blew upon him with keen and nipping cold, and his feet were sore from his long travel over rough ground.

He had breasted the rise of a long incline, and now stood at its crest, looking rather wistfully and eagerly over the darkening landscape in search of some human habitation. He knew to a certain extent where he was, and that within some few miles there was a monastic establishment of some repute. But five miles seemed a weary way to him now, and a sense of repulsion had come over him at the thought of presenting himself at any monastery in his priestly garb. Not that he in any sort repudiated the sacred calling, but he felt that if the truth were known the monks would regard him as a wolf in sheep's clothing; and he was experiencing a sense of distaste for any sort of subterfuge, whilst hesitating about giving himself up, lest he should be deserting the cause he had at heart by robbing it of one of its most active members. If the Lord had work for him still to do, how gladly would he do it!

As he remained resting awhile on the hilltop, and gazing about him in search of some indication of human habitation, he suddenly saw the beam of some small light glimmering through the increasing darkness; and uttering an exclamation of pleasure, he bent his steps in its direction, confident of finding some human habitation at last.

It was not easy to keep the light always in view, but he managed to bear in that direction, and came at last into a region of meadow land, where there were some sheepfolds and pens, in which the flocks had been folded for the night, and which were watched over by a dog, who sprang barking towards Garret, but was pacified when he spoke gently to him, and showed by his actions that he had no intentions upon the sheep.

From where he stood he was able to see that the light glimmered out of an unglazed window in a wattled cabin, evidently the sleeping place of the shepherd. After Garret had quieted the dog, he remained gazing for a few minutes at this steady light, and then (he scarcely knew why) he crept up very softly towards the little cabin, and looked in at the orifice.

The sight that he saw aroused his quickened interest. The place was very small—only large enough to contain a few sacks of straw for the bed, over which a couple of fleeces had been thrown by way of covering, a small rough table, on which a rush light stood, together with a few wooden platters, a loaf of bread, and a pitcher. A box was the only seat, and upon it sat a grizzled, bent old man, with his back towards the window, and his head bent low over the table.

By shifting his position very slightly, Garret was able to see that he was bending over a book which lay open beneath the rush light, and that with his forefinger he was pointing slowly along the line.

Garret held his breath in astonishment. In towns, at this time, would be found here and there a humble artisan or labouring man who could read, and amongst such the desire for the printed Scriptures was always keen and ardent. But out here in these lonely wilds, far away from the haunts of man, it was a strange sight to see an old shepherd with a book before him. The boys of the rising generation were beginning to be taught reading and writing in the grammar schools now springing up in the towns, but hinds of the age of this man were generally absolutely ignorant of letters in any form whatever.

The sound of a voice broke the stillness. The old man had begun to read the words aloud.

"I will—smite the—shepherd—and the—sheep—shall be scattered—"

Suddenly a great wave of emotion came upon Garret, and he uttered a strangled cry. The old man hastily thrust his book into the bosom of his coarse tunic, and gazed out of the opening with a strange expression of doubt and fear.

"What was that?" he asked, as he rose to his feet; and Garret, flinging back his priest's hood, looked fearlessly in at the aperture.

"It is a friend, who loves the holy Word of God, and loves all who are bold enough to love and cherish it, also a man to whom a message has been sent through you, my worthy friend. Open the door and let us clasp hands, for I know that the Lord hath sent me hither, and hath put a word in thy mouth which is meant for me. What shall become of the sheep if the shepherd be smitten? But shall the shepherd flee, unless he be an hireling and love not the sheep? The shepherd must watch yet over his flock, even though he hold himself away from the hand of the smiter. I see it all—I see it all! The Lord hath given me light!"

Not one syllable of this eager torrent of words did the old shepherd comprehend; but be recognized the voice of friendship and comradeship in the unseen speaker, and he unfastened his rude door and bade the stranger enter. As Garret stepped into the light in his priest's gown the man gave a little start of surprise.

"Nay, fear not," answered Garret; "I am God's priest—not the Pope's. If thou dost own the words of Holy Writ, perchance thou hast even heard the name of Thomas Garret. It is he who stands before thee now."

The shepherd gazed at him for a moment as one in a dream, and then he seized his hand and pressed it to his lips.

"It is he! it is he! I see it now! It is he whose words awoke my sleeping soul! O sir, I heard you preach once in London town, whither I had been sent on a charge of sheep stealing, but was released. And, indeed, of that offence I was innocent. But my life had been full of other evils, and I might well have sunk into the bottomless pit of iniquity, but that I heard you preach; and those words of fire entered into my soul, and gave me no rest day or night. Then I heard of the Christian Brethren, and they received and comforted me; and when I could earn the money for it, I bought this copy of the Holy Gospels. I have had it these two years now. I had learned to read by that time, and when I had bought it I wanted nothing so much as a quiet life, away from the haunts of men, where I could read and ponder and study the blessed Word without fear of man."

"So you took to the life of a shepherd—a calm and peaceful life, that reminds us of many holy things."

"I had tended sheep in my youth, and in these parts, sir, before I took to those wilder ways which well-nigh cost me my life. I came back; and some remembered me, and I got employment as shepherd. And here I hope and trust to end my days in peace. But there be whispers abroad that the cardinal and the abbots and priors will make search after the precious books, and rob us of them, and brand us as evildoers and heretics."

"Alas, and that is all too true," answered Garret, with a deep sigh. "In me you see a fugitive from the wrath of the cardinal. I left Oxford at dawn of day, and have fled apace through the wildest paths ever since. I am weary and worn with travel, and seeing this light gleaming forth, I thought I would seek here for rest and shelter; but little did I hope to find one of the brethren in this lonely cabin, and one who may himself suffer in the cause of truth and righteousness."

"We shall not suffer more than the Lord did," answered the old man, with a sudden illumination of feature, "nor more than He sees good for us. It may be that He wants His martyrs in all generations and in all lands. Does it not speak somewhere in the blessed Book of being made perfect through suffering?"

It was wonderful to Garret to find such depth of comprehension and power of expression in this apparently illiterate and humble old man. To be sure, his accent was rough and homely, but the thoughts to which he gave utterance were deep and pure.

Soon Garret found himself sitting over the turf fire, sipping gratefully at the warm milk, in which his bread lay soaked, and telling the old man the whole history of his wanderings, his peril, and his doubts about the plan laid down for him with regard to the curacy he had been offered.

The more he talked, the more did Garret revolt against the idea of presenting himself to Master Dalaber in Dorsetshire under a false name and in false colours. He could not believe that this could be pleasing to God, and he saw that the old shepherd, though diffident of speech, was of the same opinion.

"I will not do it," he said at last, "I will not do it. I cannot. I will retrace my steps to Oxford, but will use all care and discretion to avoid notice. They will by this time have discovered my flight, and Oxford is the last place in which they will now be seeking me. I will enter it by night, slip into one of my old hiding places there, get speech with Anthony Dalaber, and tell him how I have changed my plan, so that he may know I am not with his brother. Then I will put off my priest's garb, and sally forth in the night, and make my way over to Wales, and then to Germany, where I can work with the faithful there, and perchance be of greater use to the cause than in this land, where for the present I am so watched and hunted.

"This priest's garb has become hateful to me. I feel in it as though I were acting a lie, albeit I shall ever hold myself the minister and priest of God. It deceives men, who look to see in every garbed priest a servile slave of cardinal and Pope. I can never, never be such an one; wherefore let me cast away the outer trappings, and cease to deceive the eyes of men."

The shepherd, who only partially followed this monologue, which Garret uttered half to himself, half to his companion, understood this last argument, and slowly nodded his head. There was beginning to grow up in the minds of many a fear and horror of the priesthood, not by any means always undeserved, though greatly exaggerated in many quarters.

But to go back to the perils of Oxford to secure a secular dress seemed a far cry; yet, when the men proceeded to talk the matter over, they saw no other way by which such garb could be obtained. Neither had any money; and it might be dangerous for Garret to show himself at any town to purchase secular raiment there, even if he could beg money at a monastery for his journey. He thought he knew the place well enough to make the experiment, without too much risk either to himself or to others, and before he stretched himself upon the shepherd's bed of straw that night his mind was fully made up.

But upon the morrow he was forced to admit that one day's rest would be necessary before he could make the return journey. He was so stiff and exhausted by his long day's travel, and the tension of nerve which had preceded it, and his feet were so sore in places, that he decided to remain with the shepherd for another day and night; and then at dawn, upon the following morning, which would be Friday, he would start forth again, reach Oxford after dark, find some hiding place there for the night, and after making the needful change in his dress, and advising his friends of the change of his plan, he would start forth a free man once more by night, and instead of tying his hands by allying himself with any Papist parish priest, he would cross the water, find himself amongst friends there, and return later to his native shores, bringing with him stores of precious books, which should be distributed to eager purchasers as they had been before.

The hours of the day did not seem long to the tired traveller as he mused upon these things. The shepherd went about his daily toil, but often came indoors for a while to talk with his guest; and by the time the second night arrived, Garret was so far rested and refreshed that he had no doubt about making good his return journey upon the morrow, reckoning that by that time, at least, all hue and cry after him in Oxford would be over.

He slept soundly and dreamlessly through the night, and was awakened at dawn by the old man, who had made him the best breakfast his humble house could furnish, and waited lovingly upon him till he had satisfied his hunger and was ready to start upon his way. Then Garret embraced him as a brother, thanked him heartily for his hospitality, gave him the blessing the old man begged, receiving one in return.

He set his face joyfully towards the city from which he had fled, for it seemed to him as though he had fled thence somewhat unworthily—as though he had not shown a rightful trust in God. It was a rash step he was taking now, but somehow that thought excited in him no anxiety. He felt a great longing to see his friend Dalaber again, to explain matters afresh to him, and to start forth free from all trammels and disguises.

He was not, however, rash in exposing himself to recognition by the way, and kept to those secluded byways which had served him so well on his other journey. He scarcely saw a soul the whole of the long day of travel, and although he grew very weary and his feet again gave him pain, he plodded on with a light heart, and was rewarded just before the last of the daylight failed him by a glimpse of the distant towers and buildings of Oxford.

His heart yearned over the place when he saw it. It came upon him that here he would stay and abide the consequences. He felt strong to endure all that might be laid upon him. If it were God's pleasure that he should suffer in the cause, would He not give him strength to bear all? For a moment he forgot the peril which might come to others from his apprehension. He only felt that if the martyr's crown were indeed to be his (a thing of which he had a strong presentiment), it might well come soon as late. And therefore, when he reached the city at dark, he slipped into the town itself, instead of lurking outside, as first he had intended, and made his way through the dark, narrow streets to a certain humble lodging, which he had used before, when Dalaber had not been able to receive him.

He met not a creature on his way. He did not think his entrance had been marked as he passed through the gates. A thick, drizzling rain was falling, which had wet him to the skin, and which seemed to be keeping every one within doors. He found the door of his old lodging unlocked and the place empty, save for a little firing in a closet, which he soon kindled into a warming blaze.

He had bought food at midday in a hamlet through which he passed, and there was enough left in his wallet to provide him with a frugal supper. He dried his clothes at the friendly warmth of the fire, and though the room was destitute of bedding, there were a few sacks on the floor. Laying himself down upon these before the fire, he was soon plunged in a deep and dreamless slumber.

How long he slept he never could have guessed. He afterwards knew that it was midnight when he woke. What roused him was the sound of trampling feet on the stairs outside, and the voices of persons ascending. He lay for a few moments in the darkness, which the few smouldering embers of the dying fire scarcely served to illuminate; and then in a sudden access of alarm be sprang to his feet and made for the door.

If escape had been in his mind, he was too late. Already the door was burst open. A flood of light from a couple of lanterns dazzled his eyes for some moments, so that he could only see that several men were in the room, and a stern voice exclaimed, "That is the man! Seize him!" Then he knew that his hour had come, and that he was arrested.

Next minute he saw clearly, and found himself confronted by the proctors of the university, who regarded him with stern faces. Who had given them warning that Garret had returned to Oxford has never, I believe, been known—at least there is no mention of this made in the history of the known facts. But some person must have recognized the man, tracked him to his lair, and set the bulldogs of the cardinal upon him. He was taken at midnight upon the night of his secret return, and now stood a helpless prisoner in the hands of those set upon his track.

He looked at them with calm fearlessness. His spirit rose to the peril, and his mien was dauntless.

"Upon what charge am I arrested?" he asked quietly.

"You will hear that at the right time and in the right place," was the stern reply; "we are not here to bandy words with you. Put on your gown and hood, though you so little deserve such garb, and come whither you are led. Force will not be used unless you compel it."

Garret resumed the outer garments he had laid aside for the night, and pronounced himself ready to follow them whither they would.

"Take him to Lincoln College," spoke the senior proctor to his servants. "Dr. London will keep him in ward, and deal with him in the first place."

A slight smile passed over Garret's face. Dr. London of Lincoln was well known as one of the most bitter persecutors of the new opinions, and was reported to have stocks and other implements of punishment in a room in his house, which were used upon the recalcitrant and obstinate according to his pleasure. If he were to be Dr. London's prisoner, then farewell to any hopes of mercy.

Nevertheless he uttered no word as the men led him through the silent streets. The rain had ceased, and the moon was shining in the sky. The whole city seemed asleep as they hastened along.

But as they approached Lincoln College signs of life appeared. In the rector's house lights gleamed from several windows; and as Garret was pushed in at a side door, which was securely locked behind him, and led into a large, square hall, he saw the stern and frowning face of Dr. London gazing at him from the stairway, and a loud and masterful voice exclaimed:

"Take him into the strong room, and lock him up for the night. I will have speech with him upon the morrow."

Garret was led down a short, flagged passage, and thrust through an open door into a perfectly dark room. The door was closed, the bolt shot home, and he was left in silence and blackness to the company of his own thoughts.



Chapter IX: A Steadfast Spirit

The day which was spent by Thomas Garret in retracing his steps back to Oxford was passed not unhappily by Anthony Dalaber, who, after the lapse of two uneventful days, began to draw breath again, and make sure of the safety of his friend.

He had matters of his own which occupied much of his attention. The store of forbidden books brought to Oxford by Garret had been divided pretty equally between him and Radley; and Dalaber had contrived a very ingenious hiding place just outside his lodging room in St. Alban Hall, where, by removing some planking of the floor, a cavity in the wall had been carefully excavated, and the books secreted there, where it would be difficult for any to find them who had not the clue to the hiding place.

It was safer to hide them outside the chamber, as, if discovered, their presence would not incriminate any one—so Dalaber believed. Even Fitzjames, though sharing his lodging and some of his views, did not know where he kept his store of books. They formed such a dangerous possession that Dalaber spoke of them only to those who were heart and soul in the movement. And he decided not to remove them with his other belongings to Gloucester College, as he had no safe repository there to hold them, and it seemed to him that for the present the time had gone by for any work of distribution. It would he needful for the present to keep very quiet, until the suspicions which had evidently been aroused in the minds of the authorities should be laid to rest.

It was with a certain sense of relief that Dalaber definitely decided to quit the study of theology and divinity, and to throw himself into that of the law. Religious controversy had become suddenly distasteful to him. The Questions and other books of the theological faculty appeared to him futile and unsatisfactory. He had definitely resolved upon the secular life for himself; and although that did not mean that his convictions were shaken, or that his faith was in any way less precious to him, it gave to him a certain sense of elasticity and freedom of thought and spirit.