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diff --git a/27962.txt b/27962.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e51d87a --- /dev/null +++ b/27962.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11043 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of One Snowy Night, by Emily Sarah Holt + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: One Snowy Night + Long ago at Oxford + +Author: Emily Sarah Holt + +Illustrator: M. Irwin + +Release Date: February 2, 2009 [EBook #27962] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ONE SNOWY NIGHT *** + + + + +Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England + + + + +One Snowy Night, by Emily Sarah Holt. + + + +PREFACE. + +The story of the following pages is one of the least known yet saddest +episodes in English history--the first persecution of Christians by +Christians in this land. When Boniface went forth from England to +evangelise Germany, he was received with welcome, and regarded as a +saint: when Gerhardt came from Germany to restore the pure Gospel to +England, he was cast out of the vineyard and slain. + +The spirit of her who is drunk with the blood of the martyrs of Jesus is +the same now that it was then. She does not ask if a man agree with the +Word of God, but whether he agree with _her_. "When the Church has +spoken"--this has been said by exalted ecclesiastical lips quite +recently--"we cannot appeal to Scripture against her!" + +But we Protestants can--we must--we will. The Church is not God, but +man. The Bible is not the word of man, but the Word of God (One +Thessalonians, two, verse 13; Ephesians, six, verse 17): therefore it +must be paramount and unerring. Let us hold fast this our profession, +not being moved away from the hope of the Gospel, nor entangled again +with the yoke of bondage, but stablished in the faith, grounded and +settled. "For we are made partakers of Christ, if we hold the beginning +of our confidence stedfast unto the end." + + + +CHAPTER ONE. + +SAINT MAUDLIN'S WELL. + + "For men must work, and women must weep, + And the sooner 'tis over, the sooner to sleep." + + Reverend Charles Kingsley. + +"Flemild!" + +"Yes, Mother." + +It was not a cross voice that called, but it sounded like a very tired +one. The voice which answered was much more fresh and cheerful. + +"Is Romund come in yet?" + +"No, Mother." + +"Nor Haimet either?" + +"I have not seen him, Mother." + +"Oh dear, those boys! They are never in the way when they are wanted." + +The speaker came forward and showed herself. She was a woman of some +forty years or more, looking older than she was, and evidently very +weary. She wore a plain untrimmed skirt of dark woollen stuff, short to +the ankles, a long linen apron, and a blue hood over her head and +shoulders. Resting her worn hands on the half-door, she looked drearily +up and down the street, as if in languid hope of catching a glimpse of +the boys who should have been there, and were not. + +"Well, there's no help for it!" she said at last, "Flemild, child, you +must go for the water to-night." + +"I? O Mother!" The girl's tone was one of manifest reluctance. + +"It can't be helped, child. Take Derette with you, and be back as quick +as you can, before the dusk comes on. The lads should have been here to +spare you, but they only think of their own pleasure. I don't know what +the world's coming to, for my part." + +"Father Dolfin says it's going to be burnt up," said a third voice--that +of a child--from the interior of the house. + +"Time it was!" replied the mother bluntly. "There's nought but trouble +and sorrow in it--leastwise I've never seen much else. It's just work, +work, work, from morning to night, and often no rest to speak of from +night to morning. You get up tireder than you went to bed, and you may +just hold your tongue for all that any body cares, as the saints know. +Well, well!--Come, make haste, child, or there'll be a crowd round Saint +Martin's Well." [Note 1.] + +"O Mother! mayn't I go to Plato's Well?" + +"What, and carry your budget four times as far? Nonsense, Flemild!" + +"But, Mother, please hear me a minute! It's a quiet enough way, when +you are once past the Bayly, and I can step into the lodge and see if +Cousin Stephen be at home. If he be, he'll go with me, I know." + +"You may go your own way," said the mother, not quite pleasantly. +"Young folks are that headstrong! I can't look for my children to be +better than other folks'. If they are as good, it's as much as one need +expect in this world." + +Flemild had been busily tying on a red hood while her mother spoke, and +signing to her little sister to do the same. Then the elder girl took +from a corner, where it hung on a hook, a budget or pail of boiled +leather, a material then much used for many household vessels now made +of wood or metal: and the girls went out into the narrow street. + +The street was called Kepeharme Lane, and the city was Oxford. This +lane ran, in old diction, from the Little Bayly to Fish Street--in +modern language, from New Inn Hall Street to Saint Aldate's, slightly +south of what is now Queen Street, and was then known as the Great +Bayly. The girls turned their backs on Saint Aldate's, and went +westwards, taking the way towards the Castle, which in 1159 was not a +ruined fortress, but an aristocratic mansion, wherein the great De Veres +held almost royal state. + +"Why don't you like Saint Martin's Well, Flemild?" demanded the child, +with childish curiosity. + +"Oh, for lots of reasons," answered her sister evasively. + +"Tell me one or two." + +"Well, there is always a crowd there towards evening. Then, very often, +there are ragamuffins on Penniless Bench [Note 2] that one does not want +to come too near. Then--don't you see, we have to pass the Jewry?" + +"What would they do to us?" asked the child. + +"Don't talk about it!" returned her sister, with a shudder. "Don't you +know, Derette, the Jews are very, very wicked people? Hasn't Mother +told you so many a time? Never you go near them--now, mind!" + +"Are they worse than we are?" + +Flemild's conscience pricked her a little as she replied, "Of course +they are. Don't you know they crucified our Lord?" + +"What, these Jews?" asked Derette with open eyes. "Old Aaron, and +Benefei at the corner, and Jurnet the fletcher, and--O Flemild, not, +surely not Countess and Regina? They look so nice and kind, I'm sure +they never could do any thing like that!" + +"No, child, not these people, of course. Why, it was hundreds and +hundreds of years ago. But these are just as bad--every one of them. +They would do it again if they had the chance." + +"Countess wouldn't, _I_ know," persisted the little one. "Why, Flemild, +only last week, she caught pussy for me, and gave her to me, and she +smiled so prettily. I liked her. If Mother hadn't said I must never +speak to any of them, I'd have had a chat with her; but of course I +couldn't, then, so I only smiled back again, and nodded for `thank +you.'" + +"Derette!" There was genuine terror in the tone of the elder sister. +"Don't you know those people are all wicked witches? Regular black +witches, in league with the Devil. There isn't one of them would not +cast a spell on you as soon as look at you." + +"What would it do to me?" inquired the startled child. + +"What wouldn't it do? you had better ask. Make you into a horrid black +snake, or a pig, or something you would not like to be, I can tell you." + +"I shouldn't quite like to be a black snake," said Derette, after a +minute's pause for reflection. "But I don't think I should much mind +being a pig. Little, tiny pigs are rather pretty things; and when they +lie and grunt, they look very comfortable." + +"Silly child!--you'd have no soul to be saved!" + +"Shouldn't I? But, Flemild, I don't quite see--if _I_ were the pig-- +would that be me or the pig?" + +"Hi, there! Where are you going?" + +Flemild was not very sorry to be saved the solution of Derette's +difficult problem. She turned to the youth of some fifteen years, who +had hailed her from the corner of Castle Street. + +"Where you should have gone instead, Haimet--with the budget for water. +Do go with me now." + +"Where on earth are you going--to Osney?" + +"No, stupid boy: to Plato's Well." + +"I'm not going there. I don't mind Saint Maudlin's, if you like." + +"We are out of the way to Saint Maudlin's, or else I shouldn't have +minded--" + +"No, my lady, I rather think you wouldn't have minded the chance of a +dance in Horsemonger Street. However, I'm not going to Plato's Well. +If you go with me, you go to Saint Maudlin's; and if you don't, you may +find your way back by yourselves, that's all." + +And laying his hands on the budget, Haimet transferred it from his +sister's keeping to his own. + +Plato's Well stood in Stockwell Street, on the further side of the +Castle, and on the south of Gloucester Hall, now Worcester College. +Fortified by her brother's presence, Flemild turned after him, and they +went up Castle Street, and along North Bayly Street into Bedford Lane, +now the northern part of New Inn Hall Street. When they reached the +North Gate, they had to wait to go out, for it was just then blocked by +a drove of cattle, each of which had to pay the municipal tax of a +halfpenny, and they were followed by a cart of sea-fish, which paid +fourpence. The gate being clear, they passed through it, Flemild +casting rather longing looks down Horsemonger Street (the modern Broad +Street), where a bevy of young girls were dancing, while their elders +sat at their doors and looked on; but she did not attempt to join them. +A little further, just past the Church of Saint Mary Magdalen, they came +to a small gothic building over a well. Here, for this was Saint +Maudlin's Well, Haimet drew the water, and they set forth on the return +journey. + +"Want to go after those damsels?" inquired the youth, with a nod in the +direction of the dancers, as they passed the end of the street. + +"N-o," said Flemild. "Mother bade me haste back. Beside, they won't be +out many minutes longer. It isn't worth while." + +"Like a woman," retorted Haimet with a satirical grin; "the real reason +always comes last." + +"What do you know about it?" answered his sister, not ill-humouredly, as +they paused again at the North Gate. "O Haimet, what are those?" + +A small company of about thirty--men, women, and a few children--were +coming slowly down Horsemonger Street. They were attired in rough short +tunics, warm sheepskin cloaks, heavy boots which had seen hard service, +and felt hats or woollen hoods. Each man carried a long staff, and all +looked as though they were ending a wearisome journey. Their faces had +a foreign aspect, and most of the men wore beards,--not a very common +sight in England at that date, especially with the upper classes. And +these men were no serfs, as was shown by the respectability of their +appearance, and the absence of the brazen neck-collar which marked the +slave. + +The man who walked first of the little company, and had a look of +intelligence and power, addressed himself to the porter at the gate in +excellent French--almost too excellent for comprehension. For though +French was at that date the Court tongue in England, as now in Belgium, +it was Norman French, scarcely intelligible to a Parisian, and still +less so to a Provencal. The porter understood only the general scope of +the query--that the speaker wished to know if he and his companions +might find lodging in the city. + +"Go in," said he bluntly. "As to lodgings, the saints know where you +will get them. There are dog-holes somewhere, I dare say." + +The leader turned, and said a few words to his friends in an unknown +tongue, when they at once followed him through the gate. As he passed +close by the girls, they noticed that a book hung down from his girdle-- +a very rare sight to their eyes. While they were watching the +foreigners defile past them, the leader stopped and turned to Haimet, +who was a little in advance of his sisters. + +"My master," he said, "would you for the love of God tell us strangers +where we can find lodging? We seek any honest shelter, and ask no +delicate fare. We would offend no man, and would gladly help with any +household work." + +Haimet hesitated, and gnawed his under lip in doubtful fashion. Flemild +pressed forward. + +"Master," she said, "if in truth you are content with plain fare and +lodging, I think my mother would be willing to give room to one or two +of the women among you, if they would pay her by aid in household work: +and methinks our next neighbour would maybe do as much. Thinkest thou +not so, Haimet?--Will you follow us and see?" + +"Most gladly, maiden," was the answer. + +"My word, Flemild, you are in for it!" whispered Haimet. "Mother will +be right grateful to you for bringing a whole army of strangers upon +her, who may be witches for all you know." + +"Mother will be glad enough of a woman's arms to help her, and let her +rest her own," replied Flemild decidedly; "and I am sure they look quite +respectable." + +"Well, look out for storms!" said Haimet. + +Flemild, who had acted on an impulse of compassionate interest, was +herself a little doubtful how her action would be received at home, +though she did not choose to confess it. They passed down North Gate +Street (now the Corn-market), and crossing High Street, went a few yards +further before they readied their own street. On their right hand stood +the cooks' shops, and afterwards the vintners', while all along on their +left ran the dreaded Jewry, which reached from High Street to what is +_now_ the chief entrance of Christ Church. The fletchers' and cutlers' +stalls stood along this side of the street. Eastwards the Jewry +stretched to Oriel Street, and on the south came very near the Cathedral +Church of Saint Frideswide. The (now destroyed) Church of Saint Edward +stood in the midst of it. + +As our friends turned into their own street, they passed a girl of some +seventeen years of age--a very handsome girl, with raven hair and dark +brilliant eyes. + +She smiled at Derette as she passed, and the child returned the silent +salutation, taking care to turn her head so that her sister should not +see her. A moment later they came to their own door, over which hung a +panel painted with a doubtful object, which charity might accept as the +walnut tree for which it was intended. Just as this point was reached, +their mother came to the door, carrying a tin basin, from which she +threw some dirty water where every body then threw it, into the gutter. + +"Saint Benedict be merciful to us!" she cried, nearly dropping the +basin. "What on earth is all this ado? And the children here in the +midst of it! Holy Virgin, help us! There is nothing but trouble for a +poor woman in this world. And me as good as a widow, and worse, too. +Haimet! Flemild! whatever are you about?" + +"Mother," said Flemild in politic wise, "I have brought you some help. +These good women here seek lodging for the night--any decent kind will +serve them--and they offer to pay for it in work. It will be such a +rest for you, Mother, if you will take in one or two; and don't you +think Franna would do the same, and old Turguia be glad of the chance?" + +Isel stood with the basin in her hand, and a look half vexed, half +amused, upon her face. + +"Well! what is to be will be," she said at last. "I suppose you've +arranged it all. It'll be grand rest to have every thing smashed in the +house. Come in, friends, as many of you as like. Those that can't find +straw to lie on can sit on a budget. Blessed saints, the shiftlessness +of girls!" + +And with a tone of voice which seemed to be the deeper depth below +despair itself, Isel led the way into the house. + +Derette had fallen a little back, entranced by a sight which always +attracted her. She loved any thing that she could pet, whether a baby +or a kitten; and had once, to the horror of her mother's housekeeping +soul, been discovered offering friendly advances to a whole family of +mice. In the arms of the woman who immediately followed the leader, lay +what seemed to Derette's eyes a particularly fascinating baby. She now +edged her way to her mother's side, with an imploring whisper of +"There's a baby, Mother!" + +"There's three, child. I counted them," was the grim reply. + +"But, Mother, there's one particular baby--" + +"Then you'd better go and fetch it, before you lose it," said Isel in +the same tone. + +Derette, who took the suggestion literally, ran out, and with many +smiles and encouraging nods, led in the baby and its mother, with a +young girl of about eighteen years, who came after them, and seemed to +belong to them. + +"I suppose I shall have to go with you, at any rate through this +street," said Haimet, returning after he had set down the bucket. "Our +folks here won't understand much of that lingo of yours. Come along." + +The tone was less rough than the words--it usually was with Haimet,--and +the little company followed him down the street, very ready to accept +the least attempt at kindness. + +Isel and Flemild were somewhat dismayed to discover that their chosen +guests could not understand a word they said, and were quite as +unintelligible to them. Derette's mute offer to hold the baby was +quickly comprehended; and when Isel, taking the woman and girl up the +ladder, showed them a heap of clean straw, on which two thick rough rugs +lay folded, they quite understood that their sleeping-place for the +night was to be there. Isel led the way down again, placed a bowl of +apples before the girl, laid a knife beside it, and beginning to pare +one of the apples, soon made known to her what she required. In a +similar manner she seated the woman in the chimney-corner, and put into +her hands a petticoat which she was making for Derette. Both the +strangers smiled and nodded, and went to work with a will, while Isel +set on some of the fresh water just brought, and began to prepare +supper. + +"Well, this is a queer fix as ever I saw!" muttered Isel, as she cleaned +her fish ready for boiling. "It's true enough what my grandmother used +to say--you never know, when you first open your eyes of a morning, what +they'll light on afore you shut them at night. If one could talk to +these outlandish folks, there'd be more sense in it. Flemild, I wonder +if they've come across your father." + +"O Mother, couldn't we ask them?" + +"How, child? If I say, `Have you seen aught of an Englishman called +Manning Brown?' as like as not they'll think I'm saying, `Come and eat +this pie.'" + +Flemild laughed. "That first man talks," she said. + +"Ay, and he's gone with the lot. Just my luck!--always was. My father +was sure to be killed in the wars, and my husband was safe to take it +into his head to go and fight the Saracens, instead of stopping at home +like a decent fellow to help his wife and bring up his children the way +they should go. Well!--it can't be helped, I suppose." + +"Why did Father go to fight the Saracens?" demanded Derette, looking up +from the baby. + +"Don't you know, Derette? It is to rescue our Lord's sepulchre," said +Flemild. + +"Does He want it?" replied Derette. + +Flemild did not know how to answer. "It is a holy place, and ought not +to be left in the hands of wicked people." + +"Are Saracens wicked people?" + +"Yes, of course--as bad as Jews. They are a sort of Jews, I believe; at +any rate, they worship idols, and weave wicked spells." [Note 3.] + +"Is all the world full of wicked people?" + +"Pretty nigh, child!" said her mother, with a sigh. "The saints know +that well enough." + +"I wonder if the saints do know," answered Derette meditatively, rocking +the baby in her arms. "I should have thought they'd come and mend +things, if they did. Why don't they, Mother?" + +"Bless you, child! The saints know their own business best. Come here +and watch this pan whilst I make the sauce." + +The supper was ready, and was just about to be dished up, when Haimet +entered, accompanied by the leader of the foreigners, to the evident +delight of the guests. + +"Only just in time," murmured Isel. "However, it is as well you've +brought somebody to speak to. Where's all the rest of them folks?" + +"Got them all housed at last," said Haimet, flinging his hat into a +corner. "Most in the town granary, but several down this street. Old +Turguia took two women, and Franna a man and wife: and what think you?-- +if old Benefei did not come forth and offer to take in some." + +"Did they go with him?" + +"As easy in their minds, so far as looks went, as if it had been my Lord +himself. Didn't seem to care half a straw." + +"Sweet Saint Frideswide! I do hope they aren't witches themselves," +whispered Isel in some perturbation. + +To open one's house for the reception of passing strangers was not an +unusual thing in that day; but the danger of befriending--and yet more +of offending--those who were in league with the Evil One, was an +ever-present fear to the minds of men and women in the twelfth century. + +The leader overheard the whisper. + +"Good friends," he said, addressing Isel, "suffer me to set your minds +at rest with a word of explanation. We are strangers, mostly of +Teutonic race, that have come over to this land on a mission of good and +mercy. Indeed we are not witches, Jews, Saracens, nor any evil thing: +only poor harmless peasants that will work for our bread and molest no +man, if we may be suffered to abide in your good country for this +purpose. This is my wife--" he laid his hand on the shoulder of the +baby's mother--"her name is Agnes, and she will soon learn your tongue. +This is my young sister, whose name is Ermine; and my infant son is +called Rudolph. Mine own name is Gerhardt, at your service. I am a +weaver by trade, and shall be pleased to exercise my craft in your +behalf, thus to return the kindness you have shown us." + +"Well, I want some new clothes ill enough, the saints know," said Isel +in answer; "and if you behave decent, and work well, and that, I don't +say as I might be altogether sorry for having taken you in. It's right, +I suppose, to help folks in trouble--though it's little enough help I +ever get that way, saints knows!--and I hope them that's above 'll bear +it in mind when things come to be reckoned up like." + +That was Isel's religion. It is the practical religion of a sadly large +number of people in this professedly Christian land. + +Agnes turned and spoke a few words in a low voice to her husband, who +smiled in answer. + +"My wife wishes me to thank you," he said, "in her name and that of my +sister, for your goodness in taking us strangers so generously into your +home. She says that she can work hard, and will gladly do so, if, until +she can speak your tongue, you will call her attention, and do for a +moment what you wish her to do. Ermine says the same." + +"Well, that's fair-spoken enough, I can't deny," responded Isel; "and +I'm not like to say I shan't be glad of a rest. There's nought but hard +work in this world, without it's hard words: and which is the uglier of +them I can't say. It'll be done one of these days, I reckon." + +"And then, friend?" asked Gerhardt quietly. + +"Well, if you know the answer to that, you know more than I do," said +Isel, dishing up her salt fish. "Dear saints, where ever is that boy +Romund? Draw up the form, Haimet, and let us have our supper. Say +grace, boy." + +Haimet obeyed, by the short and easy process of making a large cross +over the table, and muttering a few unintelligible words, which should +have been a Latin formula. The first surprise received from the foreign +guests came now. Instead of sitting down to supper, the trio knelt and +prayed in silence for some minutes, ere they rose and joined their hosts +at the table. Then Gerhardt spoke aloud. + +"God, who blessed the five barley loaves and the two fishes before His +disciples in the wilderness, bless this table and that which is set on +it, in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost." + +"Oh, you do say your prayers!" remarked Isel in a tone of satisfaction, +as the guests began their supper. "But I confess I'd sooner say mine +while the fish isn't getting cold." + +"We do, indeed," answered Gerhardt gravely. + +"Oh, by the way, tell me if you've ever come across an English traveller +called Manning Brown? My husband took the cross, getting on for three +years now, and I've never heard another word about him since. Thought +you might have chanced on him somewhere or other." + +"Whither went he, and which way did he take?" + +"Bless you, I don't know! He went to foreign parts: and foreign parts +are all one to me." + +Gerhardt looked rather amused. + +"We come from Almayne," he said; "some of us in past years dwelt in +Provence, Toulouse, and Gascony." + +"Don't tell me!" said Isel, holding up her hands. "It's all so much +gibberish. Have you met with my man?--that's all I want to know." + +"I have not," replied Gerhardt. "I will ask my friends, and see if any +of them have done so." + +Supper over, a second surprise followed. Again Gerhardt offered his +special blessing--"God, who has given us bodily food, grant us His +spiritual life; and may God be with us, and we always with Him!" Then +they once more knelt and silently prayed. Gerhardt drew his wife and +sister into a corner of the house, and opening his book, read a short +portion, after which they engaged in low-toned conversation. + +Derette, with the baby in her arms, had drawn near the group. She was +not at all bashful. + +"I wish I could understand you," she said. "What are you talking +about?" + +Gerhardt lifted his cap before answering. + +"About our blessed Lord Christ, my maiden," he said. + +Derette nodded, with an air of satisfaction at the wide extent of her +knowledge. "I know. He's holy Mary's Son." + +"Ay, and He is our Saviour," added Flemild. + +"Is He thy Saviour, little one?" asked Gerhardt. + +"I don't know what you mean," was the answer. + +"O Derette! you know well enough that our Lord is called the Saviour!" +corrected her sister in rather a shocked tone. + +"I know that, but I don't know what it means," persisted the child +sturdily. + +"Come, be quiet!" said her mother. "I never did see such a child for +wanting to get to the bottom of things.--Well, Romund! Folks that want +supper should come in time for it. All's done and put by now." + +"I have had my supper at the Lodge," responded a tall young man of +twenty-two, who had just entered. "Who are those people?" + +His mother gave the required explanation. Romund looked rather +doubtfully at the guests. Gerhardt, seeing that this was the master of +the house, at least under present circumstances, rose, and respectfully +raising his cap, apologised for their presence. + +"What can you do?" inquired Romund shortly. + +"My trade is weaving," replied Gerhardt, "but I can stack wood or cut +it, put up shelves, milk cows, or attend to a garden. I shall be glad +to do any thing in my power." + +"You may nail up the vine over the back door," said Romund, "and I dare +say my mother can find you some shelves and hooks to put up. The women +can cook and sew. You may stay for a few days, at any rate." + +Gerhardt expressed his thanks, and Romund, disappearing outside the back +door, returned with some pieces of wood and tools, which he laid down on +the form. He was trying to carve a wooden box with a pattern of oak +leaves, but he had not progressed far, and his attempts were not of the +first order. Haimet noticed Gerhardt's interested glance cast on his +brother's work. + +"Is that any thing in your line?" he asked with a smile. + +"I have done a little in that way," replied Gerhardt modestly. "May I +examine it?" he asked of Romund. + +The young carver nodded, and Gerhardt took up the box. + +"This is an easy pattern," he said. + +"Easy, do you call it?" replied Romund. "It is the hardest I have done +yet. Those little round inside bits are so difficult to manage." + +"May I try?" asked Gerhardt. + +It was not very willingly that Romund gave permission, for he almost +expected the spoiling of his work: but the carving-tool had not made +more than a few cuts in the German's fingers, before Romund saw that his +guest was a master in the art. The work so laborious and difficult to +him seemed to do itself when Gerhardt took hold of it. + +"Why, you are a first-class hand at it!" he cried. + +Gerhardt smiled. "I have done the like before, in my own country," he +said. + +"Will you teach me your way of working?" asked Romund eagerly. "I never +had any body to teach me. I should be as glad as could be to learn of +one that really knew." + +"Gladly," said Gerhardt. "It will give me pleasure to do any thing for +the friends who have been so kind to me." + +"Derette, it is your bedtime," came from the other corner--not by any +means to Derette's gratification. "Give the baby to its mother, and be +off." + +Very unwillingly Derette obeyed: but Gerhardt, looking up, requested +Isel's permission for his wife and sister to retire with the child. +They had had a long journey that day, and were quite worn out. Isel +readily assented, and Derette with great satisfaction saw them accompany +her up the ladder. + +The houses of the common people at that time were extremely poor. This +family were small gentlefolks after a fashion, and looked down upon the +tradesmen by whom they were surrounded as greatly their inferiors: yet +they dwelt in two rooms, one above the other, with a ladder as the only +means of communication. Their best bed, on which Isel and Flemild +slept, was a rough wooden box filled with straw, on the top of which +were a bed and a mattress, covered by coarse quilts and a rug of +rabbit-skin. Derette and the boys lay on sacks filled with chaff, with +woollen rugs over them. + +The baby was already asleep, and Agnes laid it gently on one of the +woollen rugs, while she and Ermine, to Derette's amazement, knelt and +prayed for some time. Derette herself took scarcely five minutes to her +prayers. Why should she require more, when her notion of prayer was not +to make request for what she wanted to One who could give it to her, but +to gabble over one Creed, six Paternosters, and the doxology, with as +much rapidity as she could persuade her lips to utter the words? Then, +in another five minutes, after a few rapid motions, Derette drew the +woollen rug over her, and very quickly knew nothing more, for that night +at least. + +The city of Oxford, as then inhabited, was considerably smaller than it +is now. The walls ran, roughly speaking, on the north, from the Castle +to Holywell Street, on the east a little lower than the end of Merton +Street, thence on the south to the other side of the Castle. Beyond the +walls the houses extended northwards somewhat further than to Beaumont +Street, and southwards about half-way to Friar Bacon's Tower. The +oldest church in the city is Saint Peter's in the East, which was +originally built in the reign of Alfred; the University sermons used to +be delivered in the stone pulpit of this church. + +There was a royal palace in Oxford, built by Henry First, who styled it +le Beau Mont; it stood in Stockwell Street, nearly on the site of the +present workhouse. It had not been visited by royalty since 1157, when +a baby was born in it, destined to become a mighty man of valour, and to +be known to all ages as King Richard Coeur-de-Lion. In 1317 King Edward +Second bestowed it on the White Friars, and all that now remains of it +is a small portion of the wall built into the workhouse. + +The really great man of the city was the Earl of Oxford, at that time +Aubrey de Vere, the first holder of the title. He had been married to a +lady who was a near relative of King Stephen, but his second and present +Countess, though of good family, came from a lower grade. + +Modern ideas of a castle are often inaccurate. It was not always a +single fortified mansion, but consisted quite as frequently of an +embattled wall surrounding several houses, and usually including a +church. The Castle of Oxford was of the latter type, the Church of +Saint George being on its western side. The keep of a castle was +occupied by the garrison, though it generally contained two or three +special chambers for the use of the owner, should necessity oblige him +and his family to take refuge there in a last extremity. The entrance +was dexterously contrived, particularly when the fortress consisted of a +single house, to present as much difficulty as possible to a besieger. +It was always at some height in the wall, and was reached by a winding, +or rather rambling, stairway leading from the drawbridge, and often +running round a considerable part of the wall. One or more gates in the +course of this stair could be closed at pleasure. A large and imposing +portal admitted the visitor to a small tower occupied by the guards, +through which the real entrance was approached. This stood in the +thickness of the outer wall, and was protected by another pair of gates +and a portcullis, just inside which was the porter's lodge. On the +ground-floor the soldiers were lodged; on the midmost were the state and +family apartments, while the uppermost accommodated the household +servants and attendants. A special tower was usually reserved for the +ladies of the family, and was often accompanied by a tiny garden. In +the partition wall a well was dug, which could be reached on every +floor; and below the vestibule was a dungeon. The great banqueting-hall +was the general sitting-room to which every one in the castle had +access; and here it was common for family, servants, and guard to take +together their two principal meals--dinner at nine a.m., supper at four +or five o'clock. The only distinction observed was that the board and +trestles for the family and guests were set up on the dais, for the +household and garrison below. The tables were arranged in the form of a +horse-shoe, the diners sitting on the outer or larger side, while the +servants waited on the inner. The ladies had, beside this, their own +private sitting-room, always attached to the bedchamber, and known as +the "bower," to which strangers were rarely admitted. Here they sat and +sang, gossiped, and worked their endless embroidery. The days were +scarcely yet over when English needlework bore the palm in Europe and +even in the East, while the first illuminators were the monks of +Ireland. Ladies were the spinners, weavers, surgeons, and readers of +the day; they were great at interpreting dreams, and dearly loved +flowers. The gentlemen looked upon reading as an occupation quite as +effeminate as sewing, war and hunting being the two main employments of +the lords of creation, and gambling the chief amusement. Priests and +monks were the exceptions to this rule, until Henry First introduced a +taste for somewhat more liberal education. Even more respectful to +letters was his grandson Henry Second, who had a fancy for resembling +his grandfather in every thing; yet he allowed the education of his sons +to be thoroughly neglected. + +The popular idea that the University of Oxford is older than King Alfred +is scarcely borne out by modern research. That there was some kind of +school there in Alfred's day is certain: but nothing like a university +arose before the time of Henry First, and the impetus which founded it +came from outside. A Frenchman with a Scotch education, and a Jewish +Rabbi, are the two men to whom more than any others must be traced the +existence of the University of Oxford. + +Theodore d'Etampes, a secular priest, and apparently a chaplain of Queen +Margaret of Scotland, arrived at Oxford about the year 1116, where he +taught classes of scholars from sixty to a hundred in number. But every +thing which we call science came there with the Jews, who settled under +the shadow of Saint Frideswide shortly after the Conquest. Hebrew, +astronomy, astrology, geometry, and mathematics, were taught by them, at +their hostels of Lombard Hall, Moses Hall, and Jacob Hall; while law, +theology, and the "humanities," engaged the attention of the Christian +lecturers. Cardinal Pullus, Robert de Cricklade, and the Lombard jurist +Vacario, each in his turn made Oxford famous, until King Stephen closed +the mouth of "the Master" of civil law, and burned at once the law-books +and the Jews. Henry Second revived and protected the schools, in the +churchyard outside the west door of Saint Mary's Church; the scriveners, +binders, illuminators, and parchmenters, occupying Schools Street, which +ran thence towards the city wall. + +The special glory of Oxford, at that time, was not the University, but +the shrine of Saint Frideswide. This had existed from the eighth +century, when the royal maiden whom it celebrated, after declining to +fulfil a contract of matrimony which her father had made for her (as she +was much too holy to be married), had added insult to injury by +miraculously inflicting blindness on her disappointed lover when he +attempted to pursue her. She had, however, the grace to restore his +sight on due apologies being made. Becoming Prioress of the convent +which she founded, she died therein on October 14th, 740, which day was +afterwards held as a gaudy day. Possibly because her indignant lover +was a king, it was held ominous for any monarch to enter the Chapel of +Saint Frideswide in her convent church. King John, who was as +superstitious on some points as he was profane on others, never dared to +pass the threshold. + +His father, being gifted with more common sense, was present at the +translation of the saint in 1180. The bones of Saint Frideswide still +sleep in Christ Church; but at the Reformation they were purposely +mingled with those of Katherine Vermilia, wife of Peter Martyr, and on +the grave where the two were interred was carved the inscription, "Here +lieth Religion with Superstition." Of course the object of this was to +prevent any further worship of the relics, as it would be impossible to +discern the bones of the saint from those of the heretic. It is not +improbable that both were good women according to their light; but the +saint was assuredly far the less enlightened. To common sense, apart +from tradition and sentiment, it is difficult to understand why a +certain group of persons, who lived in an age when education was very +limited, superstition and prejudice very rife, spirituality almost +dormant, and a taste for childish follies and useless hair-splitting the +commonest things in literature, should be singled out for special +reverence as "saints," or under the honourable name of "the Fathers," be +deemed higher authorities in respect to the interpretation of Holy Writ +than the far more intelligent and often far more spiritual writers of +later date. If this curious hero-worship were confined to the +generation immediately following the Apostles, it would be a little more +intelligible; as such men might possibly have derived some of their +ideas from apostolic oral teaching. But to those who know the history +of the early ages of Christianity, and are not blinded by prejudice, it +is simply amazing that the authority of such men as Basil, Cyprian, and +Jerome, should be held to override that of the spiritual giants of the +Puritan era, and of those who have deeply and reverently studied +Scripture in our own times. To appeal to the views held by such men as +decisive of the burning questions of the day, is like referring matters +of grave import to the judgment of little children, instead of +consulting men of ripe experience. We know what followed a similar +blunder on the part of King Rehoboam. Yet how often is it repeated! It +would seem that not only is "no prophet accepted in his own country," +but also in his own day. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Note 1. Saint Martin's Well stood in the junction of the "four-ways" +from which Carfax takes its name. + +Note 2. Penniless Bench, which ran along the east end of Carfax Church, +was the original of all "penniless benches." It was not always occupied +by idle vagrants, for sometimes the scholars of the University used to +congregate there, as well as the Corporation of the city. + +Note 3. All Christians believed this at that date. + + + +CHAPTER TWO. + +VALIANT FOR THE FAITH. + + "As labourers in Thy vineyard, + Send us out, Christ, to be, + Content to bear the burden + Of weariness for Thee. + + "We ask no other wages + When Thou shalt call us Home, + But to have shared the travail + Which makes Thy kingdom come." + +It is popularly supposed that surnames only came into existence with the +reign of King John. This is not quite an accurate assertion. They +existed from the Conquest, but were chiefly personal, and apart from the +great feudal families, only began at that date to consolidate and +crystallise into hereditary names. So far as common people were +concerned, in the reign of Henry the Second, a man's surname was usually +restricted to himself. He was named either from one of his parents, as +John William-son, or John Fitz-mildred; from his habitation, as John by +the Brook; from his calling, as John the Tanner; from some peculiarity +in his costume, as John Whitehood,--in his person, as John Fairhair,--in +his mind, as John Lovegood,--in his tastes, as John Milk-sop,--or in his +habits, as John Drinkdregs. If he removed from one place to another, he +was likely to change his name, and to become known, say at Winchester, +as John de Nottingham; or if his father were a priest who was a +well-known person, he would not improbably be styled John +Fiz-al-Prester. [Note 1.] It will readily be seen that the majority of +these names were not likely to descend to a second generation. The son +of John William-son would be Henry John-son, or Henry Alice-son; he +might or might not retain the personal name, or the trade-name; but the +place-name he probably would inherit. This explains the reason why so +large a majority of our modern surnames are place-names, whether in +respect of a town, as Nottingham, Debenham, Brentwood: or of a country +locality, as Brook, Lane, Hill, etcetera. Now and then a series of +Johns in regular descent would fix the name of Johnson on the family; or +the son and grandson pursuing the same calling as the father, would turn +the line into Tanners. All surnames have arisen in such a manner. + +Our friends in Kepeharme Lane knew nothing of surnames otherwise than +personal, apart from the great territorial families of Norman +immigration, who brought their place-names with them. Manning Brown was +so termed from his complexion; his elder son, not being specially +remarkable, was known merely as Romund Fitz-Manning; but the younger, in +his boyhood of a somewhat impetuous temper, had conferred on him the +epithet of Haimet Escorceueille, or Burntown. The elder brother of +Manning was dubbed Gilbert Cuntrevent, or Against-the-Wind; and his two +sons, of whom one was the head porter, and another a watchman, at the +Castle, were called Osbert le Porter and Stephen Esueillechien, or +Watchdog,--the last term evidently a rendering of English into +_dog-French_. Our forefathers were apt hands at giving nicknames. +Their epithets were always direct and graphic, sometimes highly +satirical, some very unpleasant, and some very picturesque. Isel, who +was recognised as a woman of a complaining spirit, was commonly spoken +of as Isel the Sweet; while her next neighbour, who lorded it over a +very meek husband, received the pungent appellation of Franna +Gillemichel. [Note 2.] + +The day after the arrival of the Germans, the porter's wife came down to +see her kindred. + +"What, you've got some of those queer folks here?" she said in a loud +whisper to Isel, though Gerhardt was not present, and his wife and +sister could not understand a word she spoke. + +"Ay, they seem decentish folks," was the reply, as Isel washed her +eel-like lampreys for a pie--the fish which had, according to tradition, +proved the death of Henry the First. + +"Oh, do they so? You mind what you are after. Osbert says he makes no +account of them. He believes they're Jews, if not worse." + +"Couldn't be worse," said Isel sententiously. "Nothing of the sort, +Anania. They say their prayers oftener than we do." + +"Ay, but what to? Just tell me that. Old Turguia has some in her +house, and she says they take never a bit of notice of our Lady nor +Saint Helen, that she has upstairs and down; they just kneel down and +fall a-praying anywhere. What sort of work do you call that?" + +"I don't know as I wish to call it anything in particular, without +you're very anxious," replied Isel. + +"But I am anxious about it, Aunt. These folks are in your house, and if +they are witches and such like, it's you and the girls who will suffer." + +"Well, do you think it's much matter?" asked Isel, putting aside the +lampreys, and taking up a bushel basket of Kentish pearmains. "If our +Lady could hear me in one corner, I reckon she could hear me in +another." + +"But to turn their backs on them!" remonstrated Anania. + +"Well, I turn mine on her, when I'm at work, many a time of a day." + +"Work--ay. But not when you're at prayer, I suppose?" + +"Oh, it'll be all right at last, I hope," said Isel a little uneasily. + +"Hope's poor fare, Aunt. But I tell you, these folks are after no good. +Why, only think! five of them got taken in by those rascals of Jews-- +three in Benefei's house, and two at Jurnet's. _They'd_ never have +taken them in, depend on it, if they hadn't known they weren't so much +better than they should be." + +Agnes and Ermine understood none of these words, though they saw readily +enough that the looks Anania cast upon them were not friendly. But +Derette spoke up for her friends. + +"They're much better than you, Cousin Anania!" said that downright young +woman. + +"Keep a civil tongue in your head," replied Anania sharply. + +"I'd rather have a true one," was the child's answer; "and I'm not sure +they always go together." + +"Osbert says," pursued Anania, ignoring Derette, "that he expects +there'll be a stir when my Lord comes to hear of them. Much if they +don't get turned out, bag and baggage. Serve 'em right, too!" + +"They haven't got any bags," said literal Derette. "I don't think +they've any of them any clothes but what they wear. Only Gerard's got a +book." + +"A book! What is it about?" cried Anania. "Is he a priest?--surely +not!" + +Only a priest or monk, in her eyes, could have any business with a book. + +"Oh no, he's no priest; he's a weaver." + +"Then what on earth is he doing with a book? You get hold of it, Aunt! +I'll warrant you it's some sort of wickedness--safe to be! Black spells +to turn you all into ugly toads, or some such naughty stuff--take my +word for it!" + +"I'd rather not, Cousin Anania, for you haven't seen it, so your word +isn't much good," said Derette calmly. + +"It's not like to do us much good when we do see it," observed Isel, +"because it will be in their own language, no doubt." + +"But if it's a witch-book, it's like to have horoscopes and all manner +of things in it!" said Anania, returning to the charge. + +"Then it is not, for I have seen it," said Flemild. "It is in a foreign +language; but all in it beside words is only red lines ruled round the +pages." + +"He read me a piece out of it," added Derette; "and it was a pretty +story about our Lady, and how she carried our Lord away when He was a +baby, that the wicked King should not get hold of Him. It wasn't bad at +all, Cousin Anania. You are bad, to say such things when you don't know +they are true." + +"Hush, child!" said her mother. + +"I'll hush," responded Derette, marching off to Agnes and the baby: "but +it's true, for all that." + +"That girl wants teaching manners," commented Anania. "I really think +it my duty, Aunt, to tell you that nearly every body that knows you is +talking of that child's forward manners and want of respect for her +betters. You don't hear such remarks made, but I do. She will be +insufferable if the thing is not stopped." + +"Oh, well, stop it, then!" said Isel wearily, "only leave me in peace. +I'm just that tired!--" + +"I beg your pardon, Aunt! Derette is not my child. I have no right to +correct her. If I had--" + +Anania left it to be understood that the consequences would not be to +her little cousin's taste. + +"She'll get along well enough, I dare say. I haven't time to bother +with her," said Isel. + +"She will just be a bye-word in the whole town, Aunt. You don't know +how people talk. I've heard it said that you are too idle to take any +pains with the child." + +"Idle?--me!" cried poor Isel. "I'm up long before you, and I don't get +a wink of sleep till the whole town's been snoring for an hour or more: +and every minute of the time as full as it can be crammed. I'll tell +you what, Anania, I don't believe you know what work means. If you'd +just change with me for a week, you'd have an idea or two more in your +head at the end of it." + +"I see, Aunt, you are vexed at what I told you," replied Anania in a +tone of superior virtue. "I am thankful to say I have not my house in +the mess yours is, and my children are decently behaved. I thought it +only kind to let you know the remarks that are being made: but of +course, if you prefer to be left ignorant, I don't need to stay. Good +morrow! Pray don't disturb yourself, Flemild--I can let myself out, as +you are all so busy. You'll be sorry some day you did not take advice. +But I never obtrude my advice; if people don't want it, I shall not +trouble them with it. It's a pity, that's all." + +"Oh deary, deary!" cried poor Isel, as Anania sailed away with her head +held rather higher than usual. "Why ever did she come to plague me, +when I've got my hands as full already!--And what on earth does she +mean, calling me names, and Derette too? The child's good enough--only +a bit thoughtless, as children always are. I do wonder why folks can't +let a body alone!" + +For three days the Germans rested peacefully in their new quarters. At +the end of that time, Gerhardt called on all his little company, and +desired them to meet him early on the following morning on a piece of +vacant ground, a few miles from the city. They met as agreed, eighteen +men and eleven women, of all ages, from young Conrad whose moustache was +little more than down, to old Berthold who carried the weight of +threescore and fifteen years. + +"My friends," said Gerhardt, "let us speak to our God, before we say +anything to each other." + +All knelt, and Gerhardt poured forth a fervent prayer that God would be +with them and aid them in the work which they had undertaken; that He +would supply them with bread to eat, and raiment to put on; that He +would keep the door of their lips, that they should speak neither guile, +discourtesy, nor error, yet open their mouths that with all boldness +they might preach His Word; that none of them might be ashamed to +confess the faith of Christ crucified, nor seek to hide the offence of +the cross for the sake of pleasing men. A whole-hearted Amen was the +response from the group around him. + +They rose, and Gerhardt repeated by heart three Psalms--the fifteenth, +the forty-sixth, and the ninetieth--not in Latin, but in sonorous +German, many of his compatriots taking up the words and repeating them +with him, in a style which made it plain that they were very familiar. +Then Gerhardt spoke. + +"I will but shortly remind you, my friends," he said, "of the reason for +which we are here. Hundreds of years ago, it pleased God to send to us +Germans a good English pastor, who name was Winfrid, when we were poor +heathens, serving stocks and stones. He came with intent to deliver us +from that gloomy bondage, and to convert us to the faith of Christ. God +so blessed his efforts that as their consequence, Germany is Christian +at this day; and he, leaving his English name of Winfrid, the +Peace-Conqueror (though a truer name he could never have had), is known +among us as Boniface, the doer of good deeds. Since his day, four +hundred years have passed, and the Church of Christ throughout the world +has woefully departed from the pure faith. We are come out, like the +Apostles, a little company,--like them, poor and unlearned,--but rich in +the knowledge of God, and of Jesus our Lord; we are come to tread in +their steps, to do the work they did, and to call the world back to the +pure truth of the earliest days of Christendom. And we come here, +because it is here that our first duty is due. We come to give back to +England the precious jewel of the true faith which she gave to us four +hundred years ago. Let every one of us clearly understand for what we +are to be ready. We tread in our Master's steps, and our Master was not +flattered and complimented by the world. He came bringing salvation, +and the world would none of it, nor of Him. So, if we find the world +hates us, let us be neither surprised nor afraid, but remember that it +hated Him, and that as He was, so are we in this world. Let us be +prepared to go with Him, if need be, both into prison and to death. If +we suffer with Him, we shall reign. Brethren, if we seek to reign, we +must make account first to suffer." + +"We are ready!" cried at least a dozen voices. + +"Will ye who are foremost now, be the foremost in that day?" asked +Gerhardt, looking round upon them with a rather compassionate smile. +"God grant it may be so! Now, my friends, I must further remind you-- +not that ye know it not, but that ye may bear its importance in mind-- +that beyond those beliefs common to all Christians, our faith confesses +three great doctrines which ye must teach. + +"First, that Holy Scripture alone containeth all things necessary to +salvation; and nothing is to be taught as an article of faith but what +God has revealed. + +"Secondly, the Church of God consists of all who hear and understand the +Word of God. All the saved were elect of God before the foundation of +the world; all who are justified by Christ go into life eternal. +Therefore it follows that there is no Purgatory, and all masses are +damnable, especially those for the dead. And whosoever upholds free +will--namely, man's capacity to turn to God as and when he will--denies +predestination and the grace of God. Man is by nature utterly depraved; +and all the evil that he doth proceeds from his own depravity. + +"Thirdly, we acknowledge one God and one Mediator--the Lord Jesus +Christ; and reject the invocation of saints or angels. We own two +Sacraments--baptism and the Supper of the Lord; but all Church +observances not ordained by Christ and the Apostles, we reject as idle +superstitions and vain traditions of men. [Note 3.] + +"This is our faith. Brethren, do ye all stand banded together in this +faith?" + +Up went every right arm, some quietly, some impetuously. + +"Furthermore," continued the leader, "as to conduct. It is incumbent +upon us to honour all secular powers, with subjection, obedience, +promptitude, and payment of tribute. On the Sabbath, cease ye from all +worldly labours, abstain from sin, do good works, and pay your devotions +to God. Remember, to pray much is to be fervent in prayer, not to use +many words nor much time. Be orderly in all things; in attire, so far +as lies in your power, avoid all appearance of either pride or squalor. +We enter no trade, that we may be free from falsehood: we live by the +labour of our hands, and are content with necessaries, not seeking to +amass wealth. Be ye all chaste, temperate, sober, meek: owe no man +anything; give no reason for complaint. Avoid taverns and dancing, as +occasions of evil. The women among you I charge to be modest in manners +and apparel, to keep themselves free from foolish jesting and levity of +the world, especially in respect of falsehood and oaths. Keep your +maidens, and see that they wander not; beware of suffering them to deck +and adorn themselves. `We serve the Lord Christ.' `Watch ye, stand +fast in the faith, quit you like men, be strong!' Read the Scriptures, +serve God in humility, be poor in spirit. Remember that Antichrist is +all that opposeth Christ. `Love not the world, neither the things of +the world.' `Stand fast in the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us +free,' and bear in mind that ye are sent forth as sheep in the midst of +wolves, as under-shepherds to seek for His strayed sheep. Beware that +ye glorify not yourselves, but Him. + +"Berthold, Arnulph, and Guelph, ye tarry in this city with me, going +forth to preach in the surrounding villages, as the Lord shall grant us +opportunity. Heinrich, Otho, Conrad, and Magnus, ye go northward to +evangelise in like manner. Friedrich, Dietbold, Sighard, and Leopold, +ye to the south; Albrecht, Johann, and Hermann, ye to the east; Wilhelm, +Philipp, and Ludwig, ye to the west. Every man shall take with him wife +and children that hath them. The elder women among us--Cunegonde, +Helena, Luitgarde, Elisabeth, and Margarethe--I especially exhort to +instruct the young women, as the Apostle bids, and to evangelise in such +manner as women may, by modest and quiet talking with other women. Once +in the year let us meet here, to compare experiences, resolve +difficulties, and to comfort and edify one another in our work. And now +I commend you to God, and to the Word of His grace. Go ye forth, strong +in the Lord, and in the power of His might, always abounding in the work +of the Lord, teaching all to observe whatsoever He has commanded. For +lo! He is with us always, even unto the end of the world." + +Another fervent prayer followed the address. Then each of the little +company came up in turn to Gerhardt, who laid his hand upon the head of +every one, blessing them in the name of the Lord. As each thus took +leave, he set out in the direction which he had been bidden to take, +eight accompanied by their wives, and three by children. Then Gerhardt, +with Agnes and Ermine, turned back into the town; Berthold, with his +wife Luitgarde, and his daughter Adelheid, followed; while Arnulph and +Guelph, who were young unmarried men, went off to begin their preaching +tour in the villages. + +The day afterwards, the priest of Saint Aldate's rapped at the door of +the Walnut Tree. It was opened by Flemild, who made a low reverence +when she saw him. With hand uplifted in blessing, and--"Christ save all +here!"--he walked into the house, where Isel received him with an +equally respectful courtesy. + +"So I hear, my daughter, you have friends come to see you?" + +"Well, they aren't friends exactly," said Isel: "leastwise not yet. May +be, in time--hope they will." + +"Whence come they, then, if they be strangers?" + +"Well," replied Isel, who generally began her sentences with that +convenient adverb, "to tell truth, Father, it beats me to say. They've +come over-sea, from foreign parts; but I can't get them outlandish names +round my tongue." + +"Do they speak French or English?" + +"One of 'em speaks French, after a fashion, but it's a queer fashion. +As to English, I haven't tried 'em." + +The Reverend Dolfin (he had no surname) considered the question. + +"They are Christians, of course?" + +"That they are, Father, and good too. Why, they say their prayers +several times a day." + +The priest did not think that item of evidence so satisfactory as Isel +did. But he had not come with any intention of ferreting out doubtful +characters or suspicious facts. He was no ardent heretic-hunter, but a +quiet, peaceable man, as inoffensive as a priest could be. + +"Decent and well-behaved?" he asked. + +"As quiet and sensible as any living creature in this street," Isel +assured him. "The women are good workers, and none of them's a talker, +and that's no small blessing!" + +"Truly, thou art right there, my daughter," said the priest, who, +knowing nothing about women, was under the impression that they rarely +did any thing but talk, and perform a little desultory housework in the +intervals between the paragraphs. "So far, good. I trust they will +continue equally well-behaved, and will give no scandal to their +neighbours." + +"I'll go surety for that," answered Isel rather warmly; "more than I +will for their neighbours giving them none. Father, I'd give a silver +penny you'd take my niece Anania in hand; she'll be the death of me if +she goes on. Do give her a good talking-to, and I'll thank you all the +days of my life!" + +"With what does she go on?" asked the priest, resting both hands on his +silver-headed staff. + +"Words!" groaned poor Isel. "And they bain't pretty words, Father--not +by no manner of means. She's for ever and the day after interfering +with every mortal thing one does. And her own house is just right-down +slatternly, and her children are coming up any how. If she'd just spend +the time a-scouring as she spends a-chattering, her house 'd be the +cleanest place in Oxfordshire. But as for the poor children, I'm that +sorry! Whatever they do, or don't do, they get a slap for it; and then +she turns round on me because I don't treat mine the same. Why, there's +nothing spoils children's tempers like everlasting scolding and slapping +of 'em. I declare I don't know which to be sorriest for, them that +never gets no bringing up at all, or them that's slapped from morning to +night." + +"Does her husband allow all that?" + +"Bless you, Father, he's that easy a man, if she slapped _him_, he'd +only laugh and give it back. It's true, when he's right put out he'll +take the whip to her; but he'll stand a deal first that he'd better not. +Biggest worry I have, she is!" + +"Be thankful, my daughter, if thy biggest worry be outside thine own +door." + +"That I would, Father, if I could keep her outside, but she's always +a-coming in." + +The priest laughed. + +"I will speak to my brother Vincent about her," he said. "You know the +Castle is not in my parish." + +"Well, I pray you, Father, do tell Father Vincent to give it her strong. +She's one o' them that won't do with it weak. It'll just run off her +like water on a duck's back. Father, do you think my poor man 'll ever +come back?" + +The priest grew grave when asked that question. + +"I cannot tell, my daughter. Bethink thee, that if he fall in that holy +conflict, he is assured of Heaven. How long is it since his departing?" + +"It's two years good, Father--going in three: and I'm glad enough he +should be sure of Heaven, but saving your presence, I want him here on +earth. It's hard work for a lone woman to bring up four children, never +name boys, that's as rampageous as young colts, and about as easy to +catch. And the younger and sillier they are, the surer they are to +think they know better than their own mother." + +"That is a standing grievance, daughter," said the priest with a smile, +as he rose to take leave. "Well, I am glad to hear so good a report of +these strangers. So long as they conduct themselves well, and come to +church, and give no offence to any, there can be no harm in your giving +them hospitality. But remember that if they give any occasion of +scandal, your duty will be to let me know, that I may deal with them. +The saints keep you!" + +No occasion of scandal required that duty from Isel. Every now and then +Gerhardt absented himself--for what purpose she did not know; but he +left Agnes and Ermine behind, and they never told the object of his +journeys. At home he lived quietly enough, generally following his +trade of weaving, but always ready to do any thing required by his +hostess. Isel came to congratulate herself highly on the presence of +her quiet, kindly, helpful guests. In a house where the whole upper +floor formed a single bedchamber, divided only by curtains stretched +across, and the whole ground-floor was parlour and kitchen in one, a few +inmates more or less, so long as they were pleasant and peaceable, were +of small moment. Outwardly, the Germans conducted themselves in no way +pointedly different from their English hosts. They indulged in rather +longer prayers, but this only increased the respect in which they were +held. They went to church like other people; and if they omitted the +usual reverences paid to the images, they did it so unobtrusively that +it struck and shocked no one. + +The Roman Church, in 1160, was yet far from filling the measure of her +iniquity. The mass was in Latin, but transubstantiation was only a +"pious opinion;" there were invocation of saints and worship of images, +prayers for the dead, and holy water; but dispensations and indulgences +were uninvented, the Inquisition was unknown, numbers of the clergy were +married men, and that organ of tyranny and sin, termed auricular +confession, had not yet been set up to grind the consciences and torment +the hearts of those who sought to please God according to the light they +enjoyed. Without that, it was far harder to persecute; for how could a +man be indicted for the belief in his heart, if he chose to keep the +door of his lips? + +The winter passed quietly away, and Isel was--for her--well pleased with +her new departure. The priest, having once satisfied himself that the +foreign visitors were nominal Christians, and gave no scandal to their +neighbours, ceased to trouble himself about them. Anania continued to +make disagreeable remarks at times, but gradually even she became more +callous on the question, and nobody else ever said any thing. + +"I do wonder if Father Vincent have given her a word or two," said Isel. +"She hasn't took much of it, if he have. If she isn't at me for one +thing, she's at me for another. If it were to please the saints to make +Osbert the Lord King's door-keeper, so as he'd go and live at London or +Windsor, I shouldn't wonder if I could get over it!" + +"Ah, `the tongue can no man tame,'" observed Gerhardt with a smile. + +"I don't so much object to tongues when they've been in salt," said +Isel. "It's fresh I don't like 'em, and with a live temper behind of +'em. They don't agree with me then." + +"It is the live temper behind, or rather the evil heart, which is the +thing to blame. `Out of the heart proceed evil thoughts,' which grow +into evil words and deeds. Set the heart right, and the tongue will +soon follow." + +"I reckon that's a bit above either you or me," replied Isel with a +sigh. + +"A man's thoughts are his own," interposed Haimet rather warmly. +"Nobody has a right to curb them." + +"No man can curb them," said Gerhardt, "unless the thinker put a curb on +himself. He that can rule his own thoughts is king of himself: he that +never attempts it is `a reed driven with the wind and tossed.'" + +"Oh, there you fly too high for me," said Haimet. "If my acts and words +are inoffensive, I have a right to my thoughts." + +"Has any man a right to evil thoughts?" asked Gerhardt. + +"What, you are one of those precise folks who make conscience of their +thoughts? I call that all stuff and nonsense," replied Haimet, throwing +down the hammer he was using. + +"If I make no conscience of my thoughts, of what am I to make +conscience?" was the answer. "Thought is the seed, act the flower. If +you do not wish for the flower, the surest way is not to sow the seed. +Sow it, and the flower will blossom, whether you will or no." + +"That sort of thing may suit you," said Haimet rather in an irritated +tone. "I could never get along, if I had to be always measuring my +thoughts with an ell-wand in that fashion." + +"Do you prefer the consequences?" asked Gerhardt. + +"Consequences!--what consequences?" + +"Rather awkward ones, sometimes. Thoughts of hatred, for instance, may +issue in murder, and that may lead to your own death. If the thoughts +had been curbed in the first instance, the miserable results would have +been spared to all the sufferers. And `no man liveth to himself': it is +very seldom that you can bring suffering on one person only. It is +almost sure to run over to two or three more. And as the troubles of +every one of them will run over to another two or three, like circles in +the water, the sorrow keeps ever widening, so that the consequences of +one small act or word for evil are incalculable. It takes God to reckon +them." + +"Eh, don't you, now!" said Isel with a shudder. "Makes me go all creepy +like, that does. I shouldn't dare to do a thing all the days of my +life, if I looked at every thing that way." + +"Friend," said Gerhardt gravely, "these things _are_. It does not +destroy them to look away from them. It is not given to us to choose +whether we will act, but only how we will act. In some manner, for good +or for ill, act we must." + +"I declare I won't listen to you, Gerard. I'm going creepy-crawly this +minute. Oh deary me! you do make things look just awful." + +"Rubbish!" said Haimet, driving a nail into the wall with unnecessary +vehemence. + +"It is the saying of a wise man, friends," remarked Gerhardt, "that `he +that contemneth small things shall fall by little and little.' And with +equal wisdom he saith again, `Be not confident in a plain way.'" [Note +5.] + +"But it is all nonsense to say `we must act,'" resumed Haimet. "We need +not act in any way unless we choose. How am I acting if I sit here and +do nothing?" + +"Unless you are resting after work is done, you are setting an example +of idleness or indecision. Not to do, is sometimes to do in a most +effectual way. Not to hinder the doing of evil, when it lies in your +power, is equivalent to doing it." + +Haimet stared at Gerhardt for a moment. + +"What a wicked lot of folks you would make us out to be!" + +"So we are," said Gerhardt with a quiet smile. + +"Oh, I see!--that's how you come by your queer notions of every man's +heart being bad. Well, you are consistent, I must admit." + +"I come by that notion, because I have seen into my own. I think I have +most thoroughly realised my own folly by noting in how many cases, if I +were endued with the power of God, I should not do what He does: and in +like manner, I most realise my own wickedness by seeing the frequent +instances wherein my will raises itself up in opposition to the will of +God." + +"But how is it, then, that I never see such things in myself?" + +"Your eyes are shut, for one thing. Moreover, you set up your own will +as the standard to be followed, without seeking to ascertain the will of +God. Therefore you do not see the opposition between them." + +"Oh, I don't consider myself a saint or an angel. I have done foolish +things, of course, and I dare say, some things that were not exactly +right. We are all sinners, I suppose, and I am much like other people. +But taking one thing with another, I think I am a very decent fellow. I +can't worry over my `depravity,' as you do. I am not depraved. I know +several men much worse than I am in every way." + +"Is that the ell-wand by which God will measure you? He will not hold +you up against those men, but against the burning snow-white light of +His own holiness. What will you look like then?" + +"Is that the way you are going to be measured, too?" + +"I thank God, no. Christ our Lord will be measured for me, and He has +fulfilled the whole Law." + +"And why not for me?" said Haimet fiercely. "Am I not a baptised +Christian, just as much as you?" + +"Friend, you will not be asked in that day whether you were a baptised +Christian, but whether you were a believing Christian. Sins that are +laid on Christ are gone--they exist no longer. But sins that are not so +destroyed have to be borne by the sinner himself." + +"Well, I call that cowardice," said Haimet, drawing a red herring across +the track, "to want to burden somebody else with your sins. Why not +have the manliness to bear them yourself?" + +"If you are so manly," answered Gerhardt with another of his quiet +smiles, "will you oblige me, Haimet, by taking up the Castle, and +setting it down on Presthey?" + +"What are you talking about now? How could I?" + +"Much more easily than you could atone for one sin. What do you call a +man who proposes to do the impossible?" + +"A fool." + +"And what would you call the bondman whose master had generously paid +his debt, and who refused to accept that generosity, but insisted on +working it out himself, though the debt was more than he could discharge +by the work of a thousand years?" + +"Call him what you like," said Haimet, not wishing to go too deeply into +the question. + +"I will leave you to choose the correct epithet," said Gerhardt, and +went on with his carving in silence. + +The carving was beginning to bring in what Isel called "a pretty penny." +Gerhardt's skill soon became known, and the Countess of Oxford employed +him to make coffers, and once sent for him to the Castle to carve +wreaths on a set of oak panels. He took the work as it came, and in the +intervals, or on the summer evenings, he preached on the village greens +in the neighbourhood. His audiences were often small, but his doctrines +spread quietly and beneath the surface. Not one came forward to join +him openly, but many went away with thoughts that they had never had +before. Looked on from the outside, Gerhardt's work seemed of no value, +and blessed with no success. Yet it is possible that its inward +progress was not little. There may have been silent souls that lived +saintly lives in that long past century, who owed their first awakening +or their gradual edification to some word of his; it may be that the +sturdy resistance of England to Papal aggression in the subsequent +century had received its impetus from his unseen hand. Who shall say +that he achieved nothing? The world wrote "unsuccessful" upon his work: +did God write "blessed"? One thing at least I think he must have +written--"Thou hast been faithful in a few things." And while the +measure of faithfulness is not that of success, it is that of the +ultimate reward, in that Land where many that were first shall be last, +and the last first. "They that are with" the Conqueror in the last +great battle, are not the successful upon earth, but the "called and +chosen and faithful." + +"If any man serve Me, let him follow Me,"--and what work ever had less +the appearance of success than that which seemed to close on Calvary? + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Note 1. "William, son of the fat priest," occurs on the Pipe Roll for +1176, Unless "Grossus" is to be taken as a Christian name. + +Note 2. Servant or slave of Michael. The Scottish _gillie_ comes from +the same root. + +Note 3. These are the tenets of the ancient Waldensian Church, with +which, so far as they are known, those of the German mission agreed. +(They are exactly those of the Church of England, set forth in her +Sixth, Ninth, Tenth, Eleventh, Seventeenth, Nineteenth, Twentieth, +Twenty-Second, Twenty-Fifth, and Thirty-First Articles of Religion.) +She accepted two of our three Creeds, excluding the Nicene. + +Note 4. Ecclesiasticus nineteen 1, and thirty-two 21. The Waldensian +Church regarded the Apocrypha as the Church of England does--not as +inspired Scripture, but as a good book to be read "for example of life +and instruction of manners." + + + +CHAPTER THREE. + +THE JEWISH MAIDEN'S VOW. + + "To thine own self be true! + And it must follow, as the night the day, + Thou canst not then be false to any man." + + Shakespeare. + +"There's the Mayor sent orders for the streets to be swept clean, and +all the mud carted out of the way. You'd best sweep afore your own +door, and then maybe you'll have less rate to pay, Aunt Isel." + +It was Stephen the Watchdog who looked in over the half-door to give +this piece of information. + +"What's that for?" asked Isel, stopping in the work of mopping the brick +floor. + +"The Lady Queen comes through on her way to Woodstock." + +"To-day?" said Flemild and Derette together. + +"Or to-morrow. A running footman came in an hour ago, to say she was at +Abingdon, and bid my Lord hold himself in readiness to meet her at the +East Gate. The vintners have had orders to send in two tuns of Gascon +and Poitou wine; and Henry the Mason tells me a new cellar and chimney +were made last week in the Queen's chamber at Woodstock. Geoffrey the +Sumpter was in town yesterday, buying budgets, coffers, and bottles. So +if you girls want to see her, you had better make haste and get your +work done, and tidy yourselves up, and be at the East Gate by noon or +soon after." + +"Get their work done! Don't you know better than that, Stephen? A +woman's work never is done. It's you lazy loons of men that stop +working and take your pleasure when night comes. Work done, indeed!" + +"But, Isel, I will finish de work for you. Go you and take your +pleasure to see de Queen, meine friend. You have not much de pleasure." + +"You're a good soul, Agnes, and it was a fine day for me when I took you +in last winter. But as for pleasure, it and me parted company a smart +little while ago. Nay, let the maids go; I'll tarry at home. You can +go if you will.--Stephen! are you bound elsewhere, or can you come and +look after the girls?" + +"I can't, Aunt Isel; I'm on duty in the Bayly in half an hour, and when +I shall be free again you must ask my Lord or Master Mayor." + +"Never mind: the boys are safe to be there. Catch them missing a show! +Now, Flemild, child, drop that washing; and leave the gavache [Note 1], +Ermine, and get yourselves ready. It's only once in three or four years +at most that you're like to see such a sight. Make haste, girls." + +There was little need to tell the girls to make haste. Flemild hastily +wrung out the apron she was washing, and pinned it on the line; Ermine +drew the thread from her needle--the entire household owned but one of +those useful and costly articles--and put it carefully away; while +Derette tumbled up the ladder at imminent risk to her limbs, to fling +back the lid of the great coffer at the bed-foot, and institute a +search, which left every thing in wild confusion, for her sister's best +kerchief and her own. Just as the trio were ready to start, Gerhardt +came in. + +"Saint Frideswide be our aid! wherever are them boys?" demanded Isel of +nobody in particular. + +"One on the top of the East Gate," said Gerhardt, "and the other playing +at quarter-staff in Pary's Mead." + +Pary's Mead lay between Holywell Church and the East Gate, on the north +of the present Magdalen College. + +"Lack-a-daisy! but however are the girls to get down to the gate? I +daren't let 'em go by themselves." + +The girls looked blank: and two big tears filled Derette's eyes, ready +to fall. + +"If all you need is an escort, friend, here am I," said Gerhardt; "but +why should the girls go alone? I would fain take you and Agnes too." + +"Take Agnes and welcome," said Isel with a sigh; "but I'm too old, I +reckon, and poor company at best." + +A little friendly altercation followed, ended by Gerhardt's decided +assertion that Agnes should not go without her hostess. + +"But who's to see to Baby?" said Derette dolefully. + +"We will lock up the house, and leave Baby with old Turguia," suggested +Isel. + +"Nay, she tramped off to see the show an hour ago." + +"Never mind! I'll stop with Baby," said Derette with heroic +self-abnegation. + +"Indeed you shall not," said Ermine. + +A second war of amiability seemed likely to follow, when a voice said at +the door-- + +"Do you all want to go out? I am not going to the show. Will you trust +me with the child?" + +Isel turned and stared in amazement at the questioner. + +"I would not hurt it," pleaded the Jewish maiden in a tremulous voice. +"Do trust me! I know you reckon us bad people; but indeed we are not so +black as you think us. My baby brother died last summer; and my aims +are so cold and empty since. Let me have a little child in them once +more!" + +"But--you will want to see the show," responded Isel, rather as an +excuse to decline the offered help than for any more considerate reason. + +"No--I do not care for the show. I care far more for the child. I have +stood at the corner and watched you with him, so often, and have longed +so to touch him, if it might be but with one finger. Won't you let me?" + +Agnes was looking from the girl to Gerhardt, as if she knew not what to +do. + +"Will you keep him from harm, and bring him back as soon as we return, +if you take him?" asked Gerhardt. "Remember, the God in whom we both +believe hears and records your words." + +"Let Him do so to me and more also," answered Countess solemnly, "if I +bring not the child to you unhurt." + +Gerhardt lifted little Rudolph from his mother's arms and placed him in +those of the dark-eyed maiden. + +"The Lord watch over thee and him!" he said. + +"Amen!" And as Countess carried away the baby close pressed to her +bosom, they saw her stoop down and kiss it almost passionately. + +"Holy Virgin! what have you done, Gerard?" cried Isel in horror. "Don't +you know there is poison in a Jew's breath? They'll as sure cast a +spell upon that baby as my name's Isel." + +"No, I don't," said Gerhardt a little drily. "I only know that some men +say so. I have placed my child in the hands of the Lord; and He, not I, +has laid it in that maiden's. It may be that this little kindness is a +link in the chain of Providence, whereby He designs to bring her soul to +Him. Who am I, if so, that I should put my boy or myself athwart His +purpose?" + +"Well, you're mighty pious, I know," said Isel. "Seems to me you should +have been a monk, by rights. However, what's done is done. Let's be +going, for there's no time to waste." + +They went a little way down Fish Street, passing the Jewish synagogue, +which stood about where the northernmost tower of Christ Church is now, +turned to the left along Civil School Lane--at the south end of Tom +Quad, coming out about Canterbury Gate--pursued their way along Saint +John Baptist Street, now Merton Street, and turning again to the left +where it ended, skirted the wall till they reached the East Gate. Here +a heterogeneous crowd was assembled, about the gate, and on the top were +perched a number of adventurous youths, among whom Haimet was descried. + +"Anything coming?" Gerhardt called to him. + +"Yes, a drove of pigs," Haimet shouted back. + +The pigs came grunting in, to be sarcastically greeted by the crowd, who +immediately styled the old sow and her progeny by the illustrious names +of Queen Eleonore and the royal children. Her Majesty was not very +popular, the rather since she lived but little in England, and was known +greatly to prefer her native province of Aquitaine. Still, a show was +always a show, and the British public is rarely indifferent to it. + +The pigs having grunted themselves up Cat Street--running from the east +end of Saint Mary's to Broad Street--a further half-hour of waiting +ensued, beguiled by rough joking on the part of the crowd. Then Haimet +called down to his friends-- + +"Here comes Prester John, in his robes of estate!" + +The next minute, a running footman in the royal livery--red and gold-- +bearing a long wand decorated at the top with coloured ribbons, sped in +at the gate, and up High Street on his way to the Castle. In ten +minutes more, a stir was perceptible at the west end of High Street, and +down to the gate, on richly caparisoned horses, came the Earl and +Countess of Oxford, followed by a brilliant crowd of splendidly-dressed +officials. It was evident that the Queen must be close at hand. + +All eyes were now fixed on the London Road, up which the royal cavalcade +was quickly seen approaching. First marched a division of the guard of +honour, followed by the officials of the household, on horseback; then +came the Queen in her char, followed by another bearing her ladies. The +remainder of the guard brought up the rear. + +The char was not much better than a handsomely-painted cart. It had no +springs, and travelling in it must have been a trying process. But the +horses bore superb silken housings, and the very bits were gilt. [Note +2.] Ten strong men in the royal livery walked, five on each side of the +char; and their office, which was to keep it upright in the miry +tracks--roads they were not--was by no means a sinecure. + +The royal lady, seated on a Gothic chair which made the permanent seat +of the char, being fixed to it, was one of the most remarkable women who +have ever reigned in England. If a passage of Scripture illustrative of +the life and character were to be selected to append to the statue of +each of our kings and queens, there would be little difficulty in the +choice to be made for Eleonore of Aquitaine. "Whatsoever a man soweth, +that shall he also reap." She sowed the wind, and she reaped the +whirlwind. A youth of the wildest giddiness was succeeded by a middle +life of suffering and hardship, and both ended in an old age of +desolation. + +But when Eleonore rode in that spring noon-day at the East Gate of +Oxford, the reaping-time was not yet. The headstrong giddiness was a +little toned down, but the terrible retribution had not begun. + +The Queen's contemporaries are eloquent as to her wondrous loveliness +and her marvellous accomplishments. "Beauty possessed both her mind and +body," says one writer who lived in the days of her grandson, while +another expatiates on her "_clairs et verds yeux_," and a third on her +"exquisite mouth, and the most splendid eyes in the world." Her Majesty +was attired with equal stateliness and simplicity, for that was not an +era of superb or extravagant dress. A close gown with tight sleeves was +surmounted by a pelisse, the sleeves of which were very wide and full, +and the fur trimming showed the high rank of the wearer. A long white +veil came over her head, and fell around her, kept in its place by a +jewelled fillet. The gemmed collar of gold at the neck, and the thick +leather gloves (with no partitions for the fingers) heavily embroidered +on the back, were also indicative of regal rank. + +The Queen's char stopped just within the gate, so that our friends had +an excellent view of her. She greeted the Earl and Countess of Oxford +with a genial grace, which she well knew how to assume; gave her hand to +be kissed to a small selection of the highest officials, and then the +char passed on, and the sight was over. + +Isel and her friends turned homewards, not waiting for the after portion +of the entertainment. There was to be a bull-baiting in the afternoon +on Presthey--Christ Church Meadow--and a magnificent bonfire at night in +Gloucester Meadows--Jericho; but these enjoyments they left to the boys. +There would be plenty of women, however, at the bull-baiting; as many +as at a Spanish _corrida_. The idea of its being a cruel pastime, or +even of cruelty being at all objectionable or demoralising, with very +few exceptions, had not then dawned on the minds of men. + +They returned by the meadows outside the city, entering at the South +Gate. As they came up Fish Street, they could see Countess on a low +seat at her father's door, with little Rudolph on her knee, both parties +looking very well content with their position. On their reaching the +corner, she rose and came to meet them. + +"Here is the baby," she said, smiling rather sadly. "See, I have not +done him any harm! And it has done me good. You will let me have him +again some day?--some time when you all want to go out, and it will be a +convenience to you. Farewell, my pretty bird!" + +And she held out the boy to Agnes. Little Rudolph had shown signs of +pleasure at the sight of his mother; but it soon appeared that he was +not pleased by any means at the prospect of parting with his new friend. +Countess had kept him well amused, and he had no inclination to see an +abrupt end put to his amusement. He struggled and at last screamed his +disapprobation, until it became necessary for Gerhardt to interfere, and +show the young gentleman decidedly that he must not always expect to +have his own way. + +"I t'ank you"--Agnes began to say, in her best English, which was still +imperfect, though Ermine spoke it fluently now. But Countess stopped +her, rather to her surprise, by a few hurried words in her own tongue. + +"Do not thank me," she said, with a flash of the black eyes. "It is I +who should thank you." + +And running quickly across Fish Street, the Jewish maiden disappeared +inside her father's door. + +All European nations at that date disliked and despised the hapless sons +of Israel: but the little company to whom Gerhardt and Agnes belonged +were perhaps a shade less averse to them than others. They were to some +extent companions in misfortune, being themselves equally despised and +detested by many; and they were much too familiar with the Word of God +not to recognise that His blessing still rested on the seed of Abraham +His friend, hidden "for a little moment" by a cloud, but one day to +burst into a refulgence of heavenly sunlight. When, therefore, Flemild +asked Ermine, as they were laying aside their out-door garb--"Don't you +hate those horrid creatures?" it was not surprising that Ermine paused +before replying. + +"Don't you?" repeated Flemild. + +"No," said Ermine, "I do not think I do." + +"_Don't_ you?" echoed Flemild for the third time, and with emphasis. +"Why, Ermine, they crucified our Lord." + +"So did you and I, Flemild; and He bids us love one another." + +Flemild stood struck with astonishment, her kerchief half off her head. + +"I crucified our Lord!" she exclaimed. "Ermine, what can you mean?" + +"Sin crucified Him," said Ermine quietly; "your sins and mine, was it +not? If He died not for our sins, we shall have to bear them ourselves. +And did He not die for Countess too?" + +"I thought He died for those who are in holy Church; and Countess is a +wicked heathen Jew." + +"Yes, for holy Church, which means those whom God has chosen out of the +world. How can you know that Countess is not some day to be a member of +holy Church?" + +"Ermine, they are regular wicked people!" + +"We are all wicked people, till God renews us by His Holy Spirit." + +"I'm not!" cried Flemild indignantly; "and I don't believe you are +either." + +"Ah, Flemild, that is because you are blind. Sin has darkened our eyes; +we cannot see ourselves." + +"Ermine, do you mean to say that you see me a wicked creature like a +Jew?" + +"By nature, I am as blind as you, Flemild." + +"`By nature'! What do you mean? _Do_ you see me so?" + +"Flemild, dear friend, what if God sees it?" + +Ermine had spoken very softly and tenderly, but Flemild was not in a +mood to appreciate the tenderness. + +"Well!" she said in a hard tone. "If we are so dreadfully wicked, I +wonder you like to associate with us." + +"But if I am equally wicked?" suggested Ermine with a smile. + +"I wonder how you can hold such an opinion of yourself. I should not +like to think myself so bad. I could not bear it." + +Flemild entertained the curious opinion--it is astonishing how many +people unwittingly hold it--that a fact becomes annihilated by a man +shutting his eyes to it. Ermine regarded her with a look of slight +amusement. + +"What difference would it make if I did not think so?" she asked. + +Flemild laughed, only then realising the absurdity of her own remark. +It augured well for her good sense that she could recognise the +absurdity when it was pointed out to her. + +Coming down the ladder, they found Anania seated below. + +"Well, girls! did you see the Queen?" + +"Oh, we had a charming view of her," said Flemild. + +"Folks say she's not so charming, seen a bit nearer. You know Veka, the +wife of Chembel? She told me she'd heard Dame Ediva de Gathacra say the +Queen's a perfect fury when she has her back up. Some of the scenes +that are to be seen by nows and thens in Westminster Palace are enough +to set your hair on end. And her extravagance! Will you believe it, +Dame Ediva said, this last year she gave over twenty pounds for one +robe. How many gowns would that buy you and me, Aunt Isel?" + +At the present value of money, Her Majesty's robe cost rather more than +500. + +"Bless you, I don't know," was Isel's answer. "Might be worth cracking +my head over, if I were to have one of 'em when I'd done. But there's +poor chance of that, I reckon; so I'll let it be." + +"They say she sings superbly," said Flemild. + +"Oh, very like. Folks may well sing that can afford to give twenty +pound for a gown. If she'd her living to earn, and couldn't put a bit +of bread in her mouth, nor in her children's, till she'd worked for it, +she'd sing o' t'other side her mouth, most likely." + +"Anania, don't talk so unseemly. I'm sure you've a good enough place." + +"Oh, are you? I dress in samite, like the Queen, don't I?--and eat +sturgeon and peacocks to my dinner?--and drive of a gilt char when I +come to see folks? I should just like to know why she must have all the +good things in life, and I must put up with the hard ones? I'm as good +a woman as she is, I'm sure of that." + +"Cousin Anania," said Derette in a scandalised tone, "you should not +tell us you're a good woman; you should wait till we tell you." + +"Then why didn't you tell me?" snapped Anania. + +"_I_ didn't tell you so because I don't think so," replied Derette with +severity, "if you say such things of the Queen." + +"Much anybody cares what you think, child. Why, just look!--tuns and +tuns of Gascon wine are sent to Woodstock for her: and here must I make +shift with small ale and thin mead that's half sour. She's only to ask +and have." + +"Well, I don't know," said Isel. "I wouldn't give my quiet home for a +sup of Gascon wine--more by reason I don't like it. `Scenes at +Westminster Palace' are not things I covet. My poor Manning was +peaceable enough, and took a many steps to save me, and I doubt if King +Henry does even to it. Eh dear! if I did but know what had come of my +poor man! I should have thought all them Saracens 'd have been dead and +buried by now, when you think what lots of folks has gone off to kill +'em. And as to `asking and having'--well, that hangs on what you ask +for. There's a many folks asks for the moon, but I never heard tell as +any of 'em had it." + +"Why do folks go to kill the Saracens?" demanded Derette, still +unsatisfied on that point. + +"Saints know!" said her mother, using her favourite comfortable +expletive. "I wish _he_ hadn't ha' gone--I do so!" + +"It's a good work, child," explained Anania. + +"Wouldn't it have been a good work for Father to stay at home, and save +steps for Mother?" + +"I think it would, my child," said Gerhardt; "but God knoweth best, and +He let thy father go. Sometimes what seems to us the best work is not +the work God has appointed for us." + +Had Gerhardt wished to drive away Anania, he could not have taken a +surer method than by words which savoured of piety. She resembled a +good many people in the present day, who find the Bread of Life very dry +eating, and if they must swallow a little of it, can only be persuaded +to do so by a thick coating of worldly butter. They may be coaxed to +visit the church where the finest anthem is sung, but that where the +purest Gospel is preached has no attraction for them. The porter's +wife, therefore, suddenly discovered that she had plenty to do at home, +and took her departure, much to the relief of the friends on whom she +inflicted herself. She had not been gone many minutes when Stephen +looked in. + +"Lads not come in yet?" said he. "Well, have you seen the grand sight? +The Queen's gone again; she only stayed for supper at the Castle, and +then off to Woodstock. She'll not be there above a month, they say. +She never tarries long in England at once. But the King's coming back +this autumn--so they say." + +"Who say?" asked Gerhardt. + +"Oh, every body," said Stephen with a laugh, as he leaned over the +half-door. + +"_Every_ body?" inquired Gerhardt drily. + +"Oh, come, you drive things too fine for me. Every body, that is +anybody." + +"I thought every body was somebody." + +"Not in this country: maybe in yours," responded Stephen, still +laughing. "But I'm forgetting what I came for. Aunt Isel, do you want +either a sheep or a pig?" + +"Have you got 'em in that wallet on your back?" + +"Not at present, but I can bring you either if you want it." + +"What's the price, and who's selling them?" + +"Our neighbour Veka wants to sell three or four bacon pigs and +half-a-dozen young porkers; Martin le bon Fermier, brother of Henry the +Mason, has a couple of hundred sheep to sell." + +"But what's the cost? Veka's none so cheap to deal with, though she +feeds her pigs well, I know." + +"Well, she wants two shillings a-piece for the bacons, and four for the +six porkers." + +"Ay, I knew she'd clap the money on! No, thank you; I'm not made of +gold marks, nor silver pennies neither." + +"Well, but the sheep are cheap enough; he only asks twopence halfpenny +each." + +"That's not out of the way. We might salt one or two. I'll think about +it. Not in a hurry to a day or two, is he?" + +"Oh, no; I shouldn't think so." + +"Has he any flour or beans to sell, think you? I could do with both +those, if they were reasonable." + +"Ay, he has. Beans a shilling a quarter, and flour fourteen pence a +load. [Note 3.] Very good flour, he says it is." + +"Should be, at that price. Well, I'll see: maybe I shall walk over one +of these days and chaffer with him. Any way, I'm obliged to you, +Stephen, for letting me know of it." + +"Very good, Aunt Isel; Martin will be glad to see you, and I'll give +Bretta a hint to be at home when you come, if you'll let me know the day +before." + +This was a mischievous suggestion on Stephen's part, as he well knew +that Martin's wife was not much to his aunt's liking. + +"Don't, for mercy's sake!" cried Isel. "She's a tongue as long as a +yard measure, and there isn't a scrap of gossip for ten miles on every +side of her that she doesn't hand on to the first comer. She'd know all +I had on afore I'd been there one Paternoster, and every body else 'd +know it too, afore the day was out." + +The space of time required to repeat the Lord's Prayer--of course as +fast as possible--was a measure in common use at that day. + +"Best put on your holiday clothes, then," said Stephen with a laugh, and +whistling for his dog, which was engaged in the pointing of Countess's +kitten, he turned down Fish Street on his way to the East Gate. + +Stephen's progress was arrested, as he came to the end of Kepeharme +Lane, by a long and picturesque procession which issued from the western +door of Saint Frideswide. Eight priests, fully robed, bore under a +canopy the beautifully-carved coffer which held the venerated body of +the royal saint, and they were accompanied by the officials of the +Cathedral, the choir chanting a litany, and a long string of nuns +bringing up the rear. Saint Frideswide was on her way to the bedside of +a paralysed rich man, who had paid an immense sum for her visit, in the +hope that he might be restored to the use of his faculties by a touch of +her miracle-working relics. As the procession passed up the street, a +door opened in the Jewry, and out came a young Jew named Dieulecresse +[Note 4], who at once set himself to make fun of Saint Frideswide. +Limping up the street as though he could scarcely stir, he suddenly drew +himself erect and walked down with a free step; clenching his hands as +if they were rigid, he then flung his arms open and worked his fingers +rapidly. + +"O ye men of Oxford, bring me your oblations!" he cried. "See ye not +that I am a doer of wonders, like your saint, and that my miracles are +quite as good and real as hers?" + +The procession passed on, taking no notice of the mockery. But when, +the next day, it was known that Dieulecresse had committed suicide in +the night, the priests did not spare the publication of the fact, with +the comment that Saint Frideswide had taken vengeance on her enemy, and +that her honour was fully vindicated from his aspersions. + +"Ah!" said Gerhardt softly, "`those eighteen, on whom the tower in +Siloam fell!' How ready men are to account them sinners above all men +that dwell in Jerusalem! Yet it may be that they who thus judge are the +worse sinners of the two, in God's eyes, however high they stand in the +world's sight." + +"Well, I don't set up to be better than other folks," said Stephen +lightly. He had brought the news. "I reckon I shall pass muster, if +I'm as good." + +"That would not satisfy me," said Gerhardt. "I should want to be as +good as I could be. I could not pass beyond that. But even then--" + +"That's too much trouble for me," laughed Stephen. "When you've done +your work, hand me over the goodness you don't want." + +"I shall not have any, for it won't be enough." + +"That's a poor lookout!" + +"It would be, if I had to rely on my own goodness." + +Stephen stared. "Why, whose goodness are you going to rely on?" + +Gerhardt lifted his cap. "`There is none good but One,--that is, God.'" + +"I reckon that's aiming a bit too high," said Stephen, with a shake of +his head. "Can't tell how you're going to get hold of that." + +"Nor could I, unless the Lord had first laid hold of me. `_He_ hath +covered me with the robe of righteousness'--I do not put it on myself." + +Gerhardt never made long speeches on religious topics. He said what he +had to say, generally, in one pithy sentence, and then left it to carry +its own weight. + +"I say, Gerard, I've wondered more than once--" + +"Well, Stephen?" + +"No offence, friend?" + +"Certainly not: pray say all you wish." + +"Whether you were an unfrocked priest." + +"No, I assure you." + +"Can't tell how you come by all your notions!" said Stephen, scratching +his head. + +"Notions of all kinds have but two sources," was the reply: "the Word of +God, and the corruption of man's heart." + +"Come, now, that won't do!" objected Stephen. "You've built your door a +mile too narrow. I've a notion that grass is green, and another that my +new boots don't fit me: whence come they?" + +"The first," said Gerhardt drily, "from the Gospel of Saint Mark; the +second from the Fourteenth Psalm." + +"The Fourteenth Psalm makes mention of my boots!" + +"Not in detail. It saith, `There is none that doeth good,--no, not +one.'" + +"What on earth has that to do with it?" + +"This: that if sin had never entered the world, both fraud and suffering +would have tarried outside with it." + +"Well, I always did reckon Father Adam a sorry fellow, that he had no +more sense than to give in to his wife." + +"I rather think he gave in to his own inclination, at least as much. If +he had not wanted to taste the apple, she might have coaxed till now." + +"Hold hard there, man! You are taking the woman's side." + +"I thought I was taking the side of truth. If that be not one's own, it +is quite as well to find it out." + +Stephen laughed as he turned away from the door of the Walnut Tree. + +"You're too good for me," said he. "I'll go home before I'm infected +with the complaint." + +"I'd stop and take it if I were you," retorted Isel. "You're off the +better end, I'll admit, but you'd do with a bit more, may be." + +"I'll leave it for you, Aunt Isel," said Stephen mischievously. "One +shouldn't want all the good things for one's self, you know." + +The Queen did not remain for even a month at Woodstock. In less than +three weeks she returned to London, this time without passing through +Oxford, and took her journey to Harfleur, the passage across the Channel +costing the usual price of 7 pounds, 10 shillings equivalent in modern +times to 187 pounds, 10 shillings. + +Travelling seems to have been an appalling item of expense at that time. +The carriage of fish from Yarmouth to London cost 9 shillings (11 +pounds, 5 shillings); of hay from London to Woodstock, 60 shillings (75 +pounds); and of the Queen's robes from Winchester to Oxford, 8 shillings +(10 pounds). Yet the Royal Family were perpetually journeying; the hams +were fetched from Yorkshire, the cheeses from Wiltshire, and the +pearmain apples from Kent. Exeter was famous for metal and corn; +Worcester and London for wheat; Winchester for wine--there were +vineyards in England then; Hertford for cattle, and Salisbury for game; +York for wood; while the speciality of Oxford was knives. + +An old Jew, writing to a younger some thirty years later, in the reign +of Henry Second, and giving him warning as to what he would find in the +chief towns of southern England, thus describes such as he had visited: +"London much displeases me; Canterbury is a collection of lost souls and +idle pilgrims; Rochester and Chichester are but small villages; Oxford +scarcely (I say not satisfies, but) sustains its clerks; Exeter +refreshes men and beasts with corn; Bath, in a thick air and sulphurous +vapour, lies at the gates of Gehenna!" + +But if travelling were far more costly than in these days, there were +much fewer objects on which money could be squandered. Chairs were +almost as scarce as thrones, being used for little else, and chimneys +were not more common. [Note 5.] Diamonds were unknown; lace, velvet, +and satin had no existence, samite and silk being the costly fabrics; +and the regal ermine is not mentioned. Dress, as has been said, was not +extravagant, save in the item of jewellery, or of very costly +embroidery; cookery was much simpler than a hundred years later. Plate, +it is true, was rich and expensive, but it was only in the hands of the +nobles and church dignitaries. On the other hand, fines were among the +commonest things in existence. Not only had every breach of law its +appropriate fine, but breaches of etiquette were expiated in a similar +manner. False news was hardly treated: 13 shillings 4 pence was exacted +for that [Pipe Roll, 12 Henry Third] and perjury [Ibidem, 16 ib] alike, +while wounding an uncle cost a sovereign, and a priest might be slain +for the easy price of 4 shillings 9 pence [Ibidem, 27 ib]. The Prior of +Newburgh was charged three marks for excess of state; and poor Stephen +de Mereflet had to pay 26 shillings 8 pence for "making a stupid reply +to the King's Treasurer"! [Pipe Roll, 16 Henry Third] It was reserved +for King John to carry this exaction to a ridiculous excess, by taking +bribes to hold his tongue on inconvenient topics, and fining his +courtiers for not having reminded him of points which he happened to +forget. [Misae Roll, I John.] + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Note 1. A long undergarment then worn by men and women alike. + +Note 2. "For gilding the King's bit (_frenum_), 56 shillings." (Pipe +Roll, 31 Henry First.) + +Note 3. Reckoned according to modern value, these prices stand about +thus:--Bacon pig, 2 pounds, 10 shillings; porkers, 5 pounds; sheep, 5 +shillings 3 pence; quarter of beans, 25 shillings; load of flour, 30 +shillings. + +Note 4. "_Dieu L'encroisse_," a translation of Gedaliah, and a very +common name among the English Jews at that time. This incident really +occurred about twenty-five years later. + +Note 5. Some writers deny the existence of chimneys at this date; but +an entry, on the Pipe Roll for 1160, of money expended on "the Queen's +chamber and chimney and cellar," leaves no doubt on the matter. + + + +CHAPTER FOUR. + +THE FAIR OF SAINT FRIDESWIDE. + + "That's what I always say--if you wish a thing to be well done, + You must do it yourself, you must not leave it to others." + + Longfellow. + +The month of May was the liveliest and gayest of the year at Oxford, for +not only were the May Day games common to the whole country, but another +special attraction lay in Saint Frideswide's Fair, held on Gloucester +Green early in that month. Oxford was a privileged town, in respect of +the provision trade, the royal purveyors being forbidden to come within +twenty miles of that city. In those good old times, the King was first +served, then the nobility, lay and clerical, then the gentry, and the +poor had to be content with what was left. It was not unusual, when a +report of anything particularly nice reached the monarch--such as an +import of wine, a haul of fish, or any other dainty,--for the Sheriff of +that place to receive a mandate, bidding him seize for the royal use a +portion or the whole thereof. Prices, too, were often regulated by +proclamation, so that tradesmen not unfrequently found it hard to live. +If a few of our discontented and idle agitators (I do not mean those who +would work and cannot) could spend a month or two in the olden time, +their next speeches on Tower Hill might be somewhat differently +flavoured. + +Saint Frideswide's Fair was a sight to see. For several days before it +was held, a multitude of carpenters were employed in putting up wooden +booths and stalls, and Gloucester Green became a very lively place. +Fairs in the present day, when they are held at all, are very different +exhibitions from what they were seven hundred years ago. The stalls +then were practically shops, fully stocked with goods of solid value. +There was a butcher's row, a baker's row, a silversmith's row, and a +mercer's row--ironmongers, saddlers, shoemakers, vintners, coopers, +pelters (furriers), potters, hosiers, fishmongers, and cooks +(confectioners)--all had their several streets of stalls. The Green-- +larger than now--became a town within a town. As the fair was held by +licence of Saint Frideswide, and was under her especial protection, the +Canons of that church exacted certain dues both from the Crown and the +stall-holders, which were duly paid. From the Crown they received 25 +shillings per annum. It was deemed a point of honour to keep the best +of everything for the fair; and those buyers who wished to obtain good +value for their money put off their purchases when it grew near fair +time. When the third of May came, they all turned out in holiday +costume to lay in necessaries, so far as possible, for the year--meat +excepted, which could be purchased again at the cattle fair in the +following September. + +There was one serious inconvenience in shopping at that time, of which +we know nothing at the present day. With the exception of the penny and +still smaller coins (all silver) there was no money. The pound, though +it appears on paper, was not a coin, but simply a pound weight of pence; +the mark was two-thirds, and the noble (if used so early) one-third of +that amount. When a woman went out to buy articles of any value, she +required to carry with her an enormous weight of small silver cash. +Purses were not therefore the toys we use, but large bags of heavy +leather, attached to the girdle on the left side; and the aim of a +pickpocket was to cut the leather bag away from its metal fastening-- +hence the term _cut-purse_. + +Every woman in Kepeharme Lane--and it might be added, in Oxford-- +appeared in the street with a basket on her arm as soon as daylight had +well dawned. The men went at their own time and convenience. For many +of them a visit to the fair was merely amusement; but the ladies were on +business. Even Derette followed her mother, armed with a smaller basket +than the rest. Little Rudolph was left with Countess, who preferred him +to the fair; and such is the power of habit that our friends had now +become quite accustomed to this, and would give a nod and a smile to +Countess when they met, just as they did to any other neighbour. This +does not mean that they entertained an atom less of prejudice against +Jews in general; they had merely got over their prejudice in the case of +that one Jewish girl in particular. + +Isel's business was heavy enough. She wanted a pig, half an ox, twenty +ells of dark blue cloth, a cloak for herself and capes for her +daughters, thirty pairs of slippers--a very moderate allowance for three +women, for slippers were laid in by the dozen pairs in common--fifty +cheeses (an equally moderate reckoning) [Note 1], a load of flour, +another of oatmeal, two quarters of cabbage for salting, six bushels of +beans, five hundred herrings, a barrel of ale, two woollen rugs for +bedclothes, a wooden coffer, and a hundred nails. She had already +bought and salted two sheep from Martin, so mutton was not needed. + +"Now, Agnes, what do you want?" she asked. + +Agnes, who was following with another basket, replied that she wanted +some stuff for a dress, some flannel for Rudolph, and a few pairs of +shoes. Shoes must have worn only a very short time, considering the +enormous quantity of them usually bought at once. + +"And you, Ermine?" + +"Nothing but a hood, Mother Isel." + +"You're easily satisfied. Well, I'll go first after my pig." + +They turned into the Butcher's Row, where in a minute they could +scarcely hear each other speak. The whole air seemed vocal with grunts, +lowing, and bleating, and, the poulterers' booths lying close behind, +crowing and cackling also. + +"How much for a good bacon pig?" screamed Isel to a fat butcher, who was +polishing a knife upon a wooden block. + +"Hertford kids? I have none." + +"Bacon pig!" screamed Isel a little louder. + +"Oh! Well, look you, there's a nice one--twenty pence; there's a rare +fine one--twenty-two; there's a--" + +"Bless thee, man! dost thou think I'm made of money?" + +"Shouldn't wonder if you'd a pot laid by somewhere," said the butcher +with a knowing wink. He was an old acquaintance. + +"Well, I haven't, then: and what's more, I've plenty to do with the few +marks I have. Come now, I'll give you sixteen pence for that biggest +fellow." + +The butcher intimated, half in a shout and half by pantomime, that he +could not think of such a thing. + +"Well, eighteen, then." + +The butcher shook his head. + +"Nineteen! Now, that's as high as I'll go." + +"Not that one," shouted the butcher; "I'll take nineteen for the other." + +Isel had to execute a gymnastic feat before she could answer, to save +herself from the horns of an inquisitive cow which was being driven up +the row; while a fat pig on the other side was driving Flemild nearly +out of the row altogether. + +"Well! I'll agree to that," said Isel, when she had settled with the +cow. + +A similar process having been gone through for the half ox, for which +Isel had to pay seventeen pence [Salted cow was much cheaper, being only +2 shillings each.]--a shameful price, as she assured her companions--the +ladies next made their way to Drapers' Row. The draper, then and for +some centuries later, was the manufacturer of cloth, not the retail +dealer only: but he sold retail as well as wholesale. Isel found some +cloth to her mind, but the price was not to her mind at all, being +eighteen pence per ell. + +"Gramercy, man! wouldst thou ruin me?" she demanded. + +A second battle followed with the draper, from which Isel this time +emerged victorious, having paid only 1 shilling 5 pence per ell. They +then went to the clothier's, where she secured a cloak for a mark (13 +shillings 4 pence) and capes for the girls at 6 shillings 8 pence each. +At the shoemaker's she laid in her slippers for 6 pence per pair, with +three pairs of boots at a shilling. The cheeses were dear, being a +halfpenny each; the load of flour cost 14 pence, and of meal 2 +shillings; the beans were 1 shilling 8 pence, the cabbage 1 shilling 2 +pence, the herrings 2 shillings. The coffer came to 5 shillings, the +nails to 2 shillings 4 pence. [Note 2.] Isel looked ruefully at her +purse. + +"We must brew at home," she said, easily dismissing that item; "but how +shall I do for the rugs?" + +Rugs were costly articles. There was no woollen manufacture in England, +nor was there to be such for another hundred years. A thick, +serviceable coverlet, such as Isel desired, was not to be bought much +under two pounds. + +"We must do without them," she said, with a shake of her head. "Girls, +you'll have to spread your cloaks on the bed. We must eat, but we +needn't lie warm if we can't afford it." + +"Isel, have you de one pound? Look, here is one," said Agnes timidly, +holding out her hand. + +"But you want that, my dear." + +"No, I can do widout. I will de gown up-mend dat I have now. Take you +de money; I have left for de shoes and flannel." + +She did not add that the flannel would have to be cut down, as well as +the new dress resigned. + +"And I can do very well without a hood," added Ermine quickly. "We must +help Mother Isel all we can." + +"My dears, I don't half like taking it." + +"We have taken more from you," said Ermine. + +Thus urged, Isel somewhat reluctantly took the money, and bought one +rug, for which she beat down the clothier to two marks and a half, and +departed triumphant, this being her best bargain for the day. It was +then in England, as it yet is in Eastern lands, an understood thing that +all tradesmen asked extortionate prices, and must be offered less as a +matter of course: a fact which helps to the comprehension of the +Waldensian objection to trade as involving falsehood. + +Isel returned to Agnes the change which remained out of her pound, which +enabled her to get all the flannel she needed. Their baskets being now +well filled, Isel and her party turned homewards, sauntering slowly +through the fair, partly because the crowd prevented straightforward +walking, but partly also because they wished to see as much as they +could. Haimet was to bring a hand-cart for the meat and other heavy +purchases at a later hour. + +Derette, who for safety's sake was foremost of the girls, directly +following her mother and Agnes, trudged along with her basket full of +slippers, and her head full of profound meditation. Had Isel known the +nature of those meditations, she certainly would never have lingered at +the silversmiths' stalls in a comfortable frame of mind, pointing out to +her companions various pretty things which took her fancy. But she had +not the remotest idea of her youngest daughter's private thoughts, and +she turned away from Gloucester Green at last, quite ignorant of the +fashion wherein her feelings of all sorts were about to be outraged. + +Derette was determined to obtain a dress for Agnes. She had silently +watched the kindly manner in which the good-natured German gave up the +thing she really needed: for poor Agnes had but the one dress she wore, +and Derette well knew that no amount of mending would carry it through +another winter. But how was a penniless child to procure another for +her? If Derette had not been a young person of original ideas and very +independent spirit, the audacious notion which she was now entertaining +would never have visited her mind. + +This was no less than a visit to the Castle, to beg one of the cast-off +gowns of the women of the household. Dresses wore long in the Middle +Ages, and ladies of rank were accustomed to make presents of half-worn +ones to each other. Derette was not quite so presumptuous as to think +of addressing the Countess--that, even in her eyes, seemed a +preposterous impossibility; but surely one of her waiting-women might be +reached. How was she to accomplish her purpose? + +That she must slip away unseen was the first step to be taken. Her +mother would never dream of allowing such an errand, as Derette well +knew; but she comforted herself, as others have done beside her, with +the reflection that the excellence of her motive quite compensated for +the unsatisfactory details of her conduct. Wedged as she was in the +midst of the family group, and encumbered with her basket, she could not +hope to get away before they reached home; but she thought she saw her +chance directly afterwards, when the baskets should have been discharged +of their contents, and every body was busy inspecting, talking about, +and putting away, the various purchases that had been made. + +Young girls were never permitted to go out alone at that time. It was +considered less dangerous in town than country, and a mere run into a +neighbouring house might possibly have been allowed; but usually, when +not accompanied by some responsible person, they were sent in groups of +three or four at once. Derette's journey must be taken alone, and it +involved a few yards of Milk Street, as far as Saint Ebbe's, then a run +to Castle Street and up to the Castle. That was the best way, for it +was both the shortest and comparatively the quietest. But Derette +determined not to go in at the entrance gate, where she would meet +Osbert and probably Anania, but to make for the Osney Gate to the left, +where she hoped to fall into the kindlier hands of her cousin Stephen. +The danger underlying this item was that Stephen might have gone to the +fair, in which case she would have to encounter either the rough joking +of Orme, or the rough crustiness of Wandregisil, his fellow-watchmen. +That must be risked. The opportunity had to be bought, and Derette made +up her mind to pay the necessary price. + +The Walnut Tree was reached, the baskets laid down, and while Agnes was +divesting herself of her cloak, and Isel reiterating her frequent +assertion that she was "that tired," Derette snatched her chance, and +every body's back being turned for the moment, slipped out of the door, +and sped up Kepeharme Lane with the speed of a fawn. Her heart beat +wildly, and until she reached Milk Street, she expected every instant to +be followed and taken back. If she could only get her work done, she +told herself, the scolding and probable whipping to follow would be +easily borne. + +Owing to its peculiar municipal laws, throughout the Middle Ages, Oxford +had the proud distinction of being the cleanest city in England. That +is to say, it was not quite so appallingly smothered in mire and filth +as others were. Down the midst of every narrow street ran a gutter, +which after rain was apt to become a brook, and into which dirt of every +sort was emptied by every householder. There were no causeways; and +there were frequent holes of uncertain depth, filled with thick mud. +Ownerless dogs, and owned but equally free-spoken pigs, roamed the +streets at their own sweet will, and were not wont to make way for the +human passengers; while if a cart were met in the narrow street, it was +necessary for the pedestrian to squeeze himself into the smallest +compass possible against the wall, if he wished to preserve his limbs in +good working order. Such were the delights of taking a walk in the good +old times. It may reasonably be surmised that unnecessary walks were +not frequently taken. + +Kepeharme Lane left behind, where the topography of the holes was +tolerably familiar, Derette had to walk more guardedly. After getting +pretty well splashed, and dodging a too attentive pig which was intent +on charging her for venturing on his beat, Derette at last found herself +at the Osney Gate. She felt now that half her task was over. + +"Who goes there?" demanded the welcome voice of Stephen, when Derette +rapped at the gate. + +"It's me, Stephen,--Derette: do let me in." + +The gate stood open in a moment, and Stephen's pleasant face appeared +behind it, with a look of something like consternation thereon. + +"Derette!--alone!--whatever is the matter?" + +"Nothing, Stephen; oh, nothing's the matter. I only came alone because +I knew Mother wouldn't let me if I asked her." + +"Hoity-toity!--that's a nice confession, young woman! And pray what are +you after, now you have come?" + +"Stephen--dear, good Stephen, will you do me a favour?" + +"Hold off, you coaxing sinner!" + +"Oh, but I want it so much! You see, she gave it up because Mother +wanted a rug, and she let her have the money--and I know it won't mend +up to wear any thing like through the winter--and I do want so to get +her another--a nice soft one, that will be comfortable, and--You'll help +me, won't you, Steenie?" + +And Derette's small arms came coaxingly round her cousin's wrist. + +"I'm a heathen Jew if I have the shadow of a notion what I'm wanted to +help! `A nice soft one!' Is it a kitten, or a bed-quilt, or a sack of +meal, you're after?" + +"O Stephen!--what queer things you guess! It's a gown--." + +"I don't keep gowns, young woman." + +"No, but, Steenie, you might help me to get at somebody that does. One +of the Lady's women, you know. I'm sure you could, if you would." + +Steenie whistled. "Well, upon my word! _You'll_ not lose cakes for +want of asking for. Why don't you go to Anania?" + +"You know she'd only be cross." + +"How do you know I sha'n't be cross?" asked Stephen, knitting his brows, +and pouting out his lips, till he looked formidable. + +"Oh, because you never are. You'll only laugh at me, and you won't do +that in an ugly way like some people. Now, Steenie, you _will_ help me +to get a gown for Agnes?" + +"Agnes, is it? I thought you meant Flemild." + +"No, it's Agnes; and Ermine gave up her hood to help: but Agnes wants +the gown worse than Ermine does a hood. You like them, you know, +Steenie." + +"Who told you that, my Lady Impertinence? Dear, dear, what pests these +children are!" + +"Now, Stephen, you know you don't think any thing of the sort, and you +are going to help me this minute." + +"How am I to help, I should like to know? I can't leave my gate." + +"You can call somebody. Now do, Steenie, there's a darling cousin!--and +I'll ask Mother to make you some of those little pies you like so much. +I will, really." + +"You outrageous wheedler! I suppose I shall have no peace till I get +rid of you.--Henry!" + +A lad of about twelve years old, who was crossing the court-yard at the +other side, turned and came up at the call. + +"Will you take this maid in, and get her speech of Cumina? She's very +good-natured, and if you tell her your story, Derette, I shouldn't +wonder if she helps you." + +"Oh, thank you, Steenie, so much!" + +Derette followed Henry, who made faces at her, but gave her no further +annoyance, into the servants' offices at the Castle, where he turned her +unceremoniously over to the first person he met--a cook in a white cap +and apron--with the short and not too civil information that-- + +"She wants Cumina." + +The cook glanced carelessly at Derette. + +"Go straight along the passage, and up the stairs to the left," he said, +and then went on about his own business. + +Never before had Derette seen a house which contained above four rooms +at the utmost. She felt in utter confusion amid stairs, doors, and +corridors. But she managed to find the winding staircase at the end of +the passage, and to mount it, wishing much that so convenient a mode of +access could replace the ladder in her mother's house. She went up till +she could go no further, when she found herself on the top landing of a +round tower, without a human creature to be seen. There were two doors, +however; and after rapping vainly at both, she ventured to open one. It +led to the leads of the tower. Derette closed this, and tried the +other. She found it to open on a dark fathomless abyss,--the Castle +well [Note 3], had she known it--and shut it quickly with a sensation of +horror. After a moment's reflection, she went down stairs to the next +landing. + +Here there were four doors, and from one came the welcome sound of human +voices. Derette rapped timidly on this. It was opened by a girl about +the age of Flemild. + +"Please," said Derette, "I was to ask for Cumina." + +"Oh, you must go to the still-room," answered the girl, and would have +shut the door without further parley, had not Derette intercepted her +with a request to be shown where the still-room was. + +With an impatient gesture, the girl came out, led Derette a little way +along the corridor running from the tower, and pointed to a door on the +left hand. + +Derette's hopes rose again. She was one of those persons whom delays +and difficulties do not weary out or render timid, but rather inspire to +fresh and stronger action. + +"Well, what do you want?" asked the pleasant-faced young woman who +answered Derette's rap. "Please, is there somebody here called Cumina?" + +"I rather think there is," was the smiling answer. "Is it you?" + +"Ay. Come in, and say what you wish." Derette obeyed, and poured out +her story, rather more lucidly than she had done to Stephen. Cumina +listened with a smile. + +"Well, my dear, I would give you a gown for your friend if I had it," +she said good-humouredly; "but I have just sent the only one I can spare +to my mother. I wonder who there is, now--Are you afraid of folks that +speak crossly?" + +"No," said Derette. "I only want to shake them." Cumina laughed. +"You'll do!" she said. "Come, then, I'll take you to Hagena. She's not +very pleasant-spoken, but if any body can help you, she can. The only +doubt is whether she will." + +Derette followed Cumina through what seemed to her endless corridors +opening into further and further corridors, till at last she asked in a +tone of astonishment-- + +"How can you ever find your way?" + +"Oh, you learn to do that very soon," said Cumina, laughing, as she +opened the door of a long, low chamber. "Now, you must tread softly +here, and speak very respectfully." + +Derette nodded acquiescence, and they went in. + +The room was lined with presses from floor to ceiling. On benches which +stood back to back in its midst, several lengths of rich silken stuffs +were spread out; and on other benches near the windows sat two or three +girls busily at work. Several elder ladies were moving about the room, +and one of them, a rather stout, hard-featured woman, was examining the +girls' work. Cumina went up to her. + +"If you please, Hagena," she said, "is there any where an old gown which +it would please you to bestow on this girl, who has asked the boon?" + +Hagena straightened herself up and looked at Derette. + +"Is she the child of one of my Lord's tenants?" + +"No," answered Derette. "My mother's house is her own." + +"Well, if ever I heard such assurance! Perchance, Madam, you would like +a golden necklace to go with it?" + +If Derette had not been on her good behaviour, Hagena would have +received as much as she gave. But knowing that her only chance of +success lay in civil and submissive manners, she shut her lips tight and +made no answer. + +"Who sent you?" pursued Hagena, who was the Countess's mistress of the +household, and next in authority to her. + +"Nobody. I came of myself." + +"_Ha, chetife_! I do wonder what the world's coming to! The impudence +of the creature! How on earth did she get in? Just get out again as +fast as you can, and come on such an errand again if you dare! Be off +with you!" + +Derette's voice trembled, but not with fear, as she turned back to +Cumina. To Hagena she vouchsafed no further word. + +"I did not know I was offending any body," she said, in a manner not +devoid of childish dignity. "I was trying to do a little bit of good. +I think, if you please, I had better go home." + +Derette's speech infuriated Hagena. The child had kept her manners and +her dignity too, under some provocation, while the mistress of the +household was conscious that she had lost hers. + +"How dare--" she was beginning, when another voice made her stop +suddenly. + +"What has the child been doing? I wish to speak with her." + +Cumina hastily stopped Derette from leaving the room, and led her up to +the lady who had spoken and who had only just entered. + +"What is it, my little maid?" she said kindly. + +"I beg your pardon," said the child. She was but a child, and her brave +heart was failing her. Derette was very near tears. "I did not mean +any harm. Somebody had given up having a new gown--and she wanted it +very much--to let somebody else have the money; and I thought, if I +could beg one for her--but I did not mean to be rude. Please let me go +home." + +"Thou shalt go home, little one," answered the lady; "but wait a moment. +Does any one know the child?" + +Nobody knew her. + +"Stephen the Watchdog knows me," said Derette, drawing a long breath. +"He is my cousin. So is Osbert the porter." + +The lady put her arm round Derette. + +"What sort of a gown wouldst thou have, my child?" + +Derette's eyes lighted up. Was she really to succeed after all? + +"A nice one, please," she said, simply, making every one smile except +Hagena, who was still too angry for amusement. "Not smart nor grand, +you know, but warm and soft. Something woollen, I suppose, it should +be." + +The lady addressed herself to Hagena. + +"Have I any good woollen robe by the walls?" + +When a dress was done with, if the materials were worth using for +something else, it was taken to pieces; if not, it was hung up "by the +walls," ready to give away when needed. + +Hagena had some difficulty in answering properly. + +"No, Lady; the last was given to Veka, a fortnight since." + +"Then," was the quiet answer, which surprised all present, "it must be +one of those I am wearing. Let Cumina and Dora bring such as I have." + +Derette looked up into the face of her new friend. + +"Please, are you the Lady Countess?" + +"Well, I suppose I am," replied the Countess with a smile. "Now, little +maid, choose which thou wilt." + +Seven woollen gowns were displayed before the Countess and Derette, all +nearly new--blue, green, scarlet, tawny, crimson, chocolate, and +cream-colour. Derette looked up again to the Countess's face. + +"Nay, why dost thou look at me? Take thine own choice." + +The Countess was curious to see what the child's selection would be. + +"I looked to see which you liked best," said Derette, "because I +wouldn't like to choose that." + +"True courtesy here!" remarked the Countess. "It is nothing to me, my +child. Which dost thou like?" + +"I like that one," said Derette, touching the crimson, which was a rich, +soft, dark shade of the colour, "and I think Agnes would too; but I +don't want to take the best, and I am not sure which it is." + +"Fold it up," said the Countess to Cumina, with a smile to Derette; "let +it be well lapped in a kerchief; and bid Wandregisil go to the Osney +Gate, so that Stephen can take the child home." + +The parcel was folded up, the Countess's hand kissed with heartfelt +thanks, and the delighted Derette, under the care of Cumina, returned to +the Osney Gate with her load. + +"Well, you are a child!" exclaimed Stephen. "So Cumina has really found +you a gown? I thought she would, if she had one to give away." + +"No," said Derette, "it is the Countess's gown." + +"And who on earth gave you a gown of the Lady's?" + +"Her own self!--and, Stephen, it is of her own wearing; she hadn't done +with it; but she gave it me, and she was so nice!--so much nicer than +all the others except Cumina." + +"Well, if ever I did!" gasped Stephen. "Derette, you are a terrible +child! I never saw your like." + +"I don't know what I've done that's terrible," replied the child. "I'm +sure Agnes won't think it terrible to have that pretty gown to wear. +What is terrible about it, Stephen?" + +They had left the Castle a few yards behind, were over the drawbridge, +and winding down the narrow descent, when a sharp call of "Ste-phen!" +brought them to a standstill. + +"Oh dear, that's Cousin Anania!" exclaimed Derette. "Let me run on, +Stephen, and you go back and see what she wants." + +"Nay, I must not do that, child. The Lady sent orders that I was to see +you home. You'll have to go back with me." + +"But she'll worry so! She'll want to know all about the gown, and then +she'll want it undone, and I'm sure she'll mess it up--and Cumina folded +it so smooth and nice:" urged Derette in a distressed tone. + +"We won't let her," answered Stephen, quietly, as they came to the +entrance gate. "Well, what's up, Anania?" + +"What's Derette doing here? Who came with her? Where are you going?-- +and what's in that fardel?" + +"Oh, is that all you're after? I'll answer those questions when I come +back. I've got to take Derette home just now." + +"You'll answer them before you go an inch further, if you please. That +child's always in some mischief, and you aid and abet her a deal too +often." + +"But I don't please. I am under orders, Anania, and I can't stop now." + +"At least you'll tell me what's in the fardel!" cried Anania, as Stephen +turned to go on his way without loosing his hold of the parcel. + +"A gown which the Lady has given to Derette," said Stephen +mischievously, "and she sent commands that I was to escort her home with +it." + +"A gown!--the Lady!--Derette!" screamed Anania. "Not one of her own?-- +why on earth should she give Derette a gown?" + +"That's the Lady's business, not mine." + +"Yes, one of her own," said Derette proudly. + +"But what on earth for? She hasn't given me a gown, and I am sure I +want it more than that child--and deserve it, too." + +"Perhaps you haven't asked her," suggested Derette, trotting after +Stephen, who was already half-way across the bridge. + +"Asked her! I should hope not, indeed--I know my place, if you don't. +You never mean to say you asked her?" + +"I can't stop to talk, Cousin Anania." + +"But which gown is it?--tell me that!" cried Anania, in an agony of +disappointed curiosity. + +"It's a crimson woollen one. Good morrow." + +"What! never that lovely robe she had on yesterday? Saints bless us +all!" was the last scream that reached them from Anania. + +Stephen laughed merrily as Derette came up with him. + +"We have got clear of the dragon this time," said he. + +A few minutes brought them to the Walnut Tree. + +"Haimet--Oh, it's Stephen!" cried Isel in a tone of sore distress, as +soon as he appeared at the door. "Do, for mercy's sake--I'm just at my +wits' end to think whatever--Oh, there she is!" + +"Yes, Mother, I'm here," said Derette demurely. + +"Yes, she's here, and no harm done, but good, I reckon," added Stephen. +"Still, I think it might be as well to look after her a bit, Aunt Isel. +If she were to take it into her head to go to London to see the Lady +Queen, perhaps you mightn't fancy it exactly." + +"What has she been doing?" asked Isel in consternation. + +"Only paying a visit to the Countess," said Stephen, laughing. + +By this time Derette had undone the knots on the handkerchief, and the +crimson robe was revealed in all its beauty. + +"Agnes," she said quietly, but with a little undertone of decided +triumph, "this is for you. You won't have to give up your gown, though +you did give Mother the money." + +A robe, in the Middle Ages, meant more than a single gown, and the +crimson woollen was a robe. Under and upper tunics, a mantle, and a +corset or warm under-bodice, lay before the eyes of the amazed Agnes. + +"Derette, you awful child!" exclaimed her mother almost in terror, "what +have you been after, and where did you get all that? Why, it's a new +robe, and fit for a queen!" + +"Don't scold the child," said Stephen. "She meant well, and I believe +she behaved well; she got more than she asked for, that's all." + +"Please, it isn't quite new, Mother, because the Lady wore it yesterday; +but she said she hadn't one done with, so she gave me one she was +wearing." + +Bit by bit the story was told, while Isel held up her hands in horrified +astonishment, which she allowed to appear largely, and in inward +admiration of Derette's spirit, of which she tried to prevent the +appearance. She was not, however, quite able to effect her purpose. + +"_Meine Kind_!" cried Agnes, even more amazed and horrified than Isel. +"Dat is not for me. It is too good. I am only poor woman. How shall I +such beautiful thing wear?" + +"But it is for you," pleaded Derette earnestly, "and you must wear it; +because, you see, if you did not, it would seem as if I had spoken +falsely to the Lady." + +"Ay, I don't see that you can do aught but take it and wear it," said +Stephen. "Great ladies like ours don't take their gifts back." + +Gerhardt had come in during the discussion. + +"Nor does the Lord," he said, "at least not from those who receive them +worthily. Take it from Him, dear, with thankfulness to the human +instruments whom He has used. He saw thy need, and would not suffer +thee to want for obeying His command." + +"But is it not too fine, Gerhardt?" + +"It might be if we had chosen it," answered Gerhardt with a smile; "but +it seems as if the Lord had chosen it for thee, and that settles the +matter. It is only the colour, after all." + +There was no trimming on the robe, save an edging of grey fur,--not even +embroidery: and no other kind of trimming was known at that time. Agnes +timidly felt the soft, fine texture. + +"It is beautiful!" she said. + +"Oh, it is beautiful enough, in all conscience," said Isel, "and will +last you a life-time, pretty nigh. But as to that dreadful child--" + +"Now, Mother, you won't scold me, will you?" said Derette coaxingly, +putting her arms round Isel's neck. "I haven't done any harm, have I?" + +"Well, child, I suppose you meant well," said Isel doubtfully, "and I +don't know but one should look at folks' intentions more than their +deeds, in especial when there's no ill done; but--" + +"Oh, come, let's forgive each other all round!" suggested Stephen. +"Won't that do?" + +Isel seemed to think it would, for she kissed Derette. + +"But you must never, never do such a thing again, child, in all the days +of your life!" said she. + +"Thank you, Mother, I don't want to do it again just now," answered +Derette in a satisfied tone. + +The afternoon was not over when Anania marched into the Walnut Tree. + +"Well, Aunt Isel! I hope you are satisfied _now_!" + +"With what, Anania?" + +"That dreadfully wicked child. Didn't I tell you? I warned you to look +after her. If you only would take good advice when folks take the +trouble to give it you!" + +"Would you be so good as to say what you mean, Anania? I'm not at all +satisfied with dreadfully wicked children. I'm very much dissatisfied +with them, generally." + +"I mean Derette, of course. I hope you whipped her well!" + +"What for?" asked Isel, in a rather annoyed tone. + +"`What for?'" Anania lifted up her hands. "There now!--if I didn't +think she would just go and deceive you! She can't have told you the +truth, of course, or you could never pass it by in that light way." + +"If you mean her visit to the Castle," said Isel in a careless tone, +"she told us all about it, of course, when she got back." + +"And you take it as coolly as that?" + +"How did you wish me to take it? The thing is done, and all's well that +ends well. I don't see that it was so much out of the way, for my part. +Derette got no harm, and Agnes has a nice new gown, and nobody the +worse. If anybody has a right to complain, it is the Countess; and I +can't see that she has so much, either; for she needn't have given the +robe if she hadn't liked." + +"Oh, she's no business to grumble; she has lots more of every thing. +She could have twenty robes made like that to-morrow, if she wanted +them. I wish I'd half as many--I know that!" + +Agnes came down the ladder at that moment, carrying one of her new +tunics, which she had just tried on, and was now going to alter to fit +herself. + +"That's it, is it?" exclaimed Anania in an interested voice. "I thought +it was that one. Well, you are in luck! That's one of her newest +robes, I do believe. Ah, folks that have more money than they know what +to do with, can afford to do aught they fancy. But to think of throwing +away such a thing as that on _you_!" + +Neither words nor tone were flattering, but the incivility dropped +harmless from the silver armour of Agnes's lowly simplicity. + +"Oh, but it shall not away be t'rown," she said gently; "I will dem all +up-make, and wear so long as they will togeder hold. I take care of +dat, so shall you see!" + +Anania looked on with envious eyes. + +"How good lady must de Countess be!" added Agnes. + +"Oh, she can be good to folks sometimes," snarled Anania. "She's just +as full of whims as she can be--all those great folks are--proud and +stuck-up and crammed full of caprice: but they say she's kind where she +_takes_, you know. It just depends whether she takes to you. She never +took to me, worse luck! I might have had that good robe, if she had." + +"I shouldn't think she would," suddenly observed the smallest voice in +the company. + +"What do you mean by that, you impudent child?" + +"Because, Cousin Anania, I don't think there's much in you to take to." + +Derette's prominent feeling at that moment was righteous indignation. +She could not bear to hear the gentle, gracious lady, who had treated +her with such unexpected kindness, accused of being proud and full of +whims, apparently for no better reason than because she had not "taken +to" Anania--a state of things which Derette thought most natural and +probable. Her sense of justice--and a child's sense of justice is often +painfully keen--was outraged by Anania's sentiments. + +"Well, to be sure! How high and mighty we are! That comes of visiting +Countesses, I suppose.--Aunt Isel, I told you that child was getting +insufferable. There'll be no bearing her very soon. She's as stuck-up +now as a peacock. Just look at her!" + +"I don't see that she looks different from usual," said Isel, who was +mixing the ingredients for a "bag-pudding." + +Anania made that slight click with her tongue which conveys the idea of +despairing compassion for the pitiable incapacity of somebody to +perceive patent facts. + +Isel went on with her pudding, and offered no further remark. + +"Well, I suppose I'd better be going," said Anania--and sat still. + +Nobody contradicted her, but she made no effort to go, until Osbert +stopped at the half-door and looked in. + +"Oh, you're there, are you?" he said to his wife. "I don't know whether +you care particularly for those buttons you bought from Veka, but Selis +has swallowed two, and--" + +"_Those_ buttons! Graven silver, as I'm a living woman! I'll shake him +while I can stand over him! And only one blessed dozen I had of them, +and the price she charged me--The little scoundrel! Couldn't he have +swallowed the common leaden ones?" + +"Weren't so attractive, probably," said Osbert, as Anania hurried away, +without any leave-taking, to bestow on her son and heir, aged six, the +shaking she had promised. + +"But de little child, he shall be sick!" said Agnes, looking up from her +work with compassionate eyes. + +"Oh, I dare say it won't hurt him much," replied Osbert coolly, "and +perhaps it will teach him not to meddle. I wish it might teach his +mother to stay at home and look after him, but I'm afraid that's +hopeless. Good morrow!" + +Little Selis seemed no worse for his feast of buttons, beyond a fit of +violent indigestion, which achieved the wonderful feat of keeping Anania +at home for nearly a week. + +"You've had a nice quiet time, Aunt Isel," said Stephen. "Shall I see +if I can persuade Selis to take the rest of the dozen?" + +Life went on quietly--for the twelfth century--in the little house in +Kepeharme Street. That means that nobody was murdered or murderously +assaulted, the house was not burned down nor burglariously entered, and +neither of the boys lost a limb, and was suffered to bleed to death, for +interference with the King's deer. In those good old times, these +little accidents were rather frequent, the last more especially, as the +awful and calmly-calculated statistics on the Pipe Rolls bear terrible +witness. + +Romund married, and went to live in the house of his bride, who was an +heiress to the extent of possessing half-a-dozen houses in Saint Ebbe's +parish. Little Rudolph grew to be seven years old, a fine fearless boy, +rather more than his quiet mother knew how to manage, but always +amenable to a word from his grave father. The Germans had settled down +peaceably in various parts of the country, some as shoemakers, some as +tailors, some as weavers, or had hired themselves as day-labourers to +farmers, carpenters, or bakers. Several offers of marriage had been +made to Ermine, but hitherto, to the surprise of her friends, all had +been declined, her brother assenting to this unusual state of things. + +"Why, what do you mean to do, Gerard?" asked Isel of her, when the last +and wealthiest of five suitors was thus treated. "You'll never have a +better offer for the girl than Raven Soclin. He can spend sixty pound +by the year and more; owns eight shops in the Bayly, and a brew-house +beside Saint Peter's at East Gate. He's no mother to plague his wife, +and he's a good even-tempered lad, as wouldn't have many words with her. +Deary me! but it's like throwing the fish back into the sea when +they've come in your net! What on earth are you waiting for, I should +just like to know?" + +"Dear Mother Isel," answered Ermine softly, "we are waiting to see what +God would have of me. I think He means me for something else. Let us +wait and see." + +"But there is nothing else, child," returned Isel almost irritably, +"without you've a mind to be a nun; and that's what I wouldn't be, take +my word for it. Is that what you're after?" + +"No, I think not," said Ermine in the same tone. + +"Then there's nothing else for you--nothing in this world!" + +"This is not the only world," was the quiet reply. + +"It's the only one I know aught about," said Isel, throwing her beans +into the pan; "or you either, if I'm not mistaken. You'd best be wise +in time, or you'll go through the wood and take the crookedest stick you +can find." + +"I hope to be wise in time, Mother Isel; but I would rather it were +God's time than mine. And we Germans, you know, believe in +presentiments. Methinks He has whispered to me that the way He has +appointed for my treading is another road than that." + +Ermine was standing, as she spoke, by the half-door, her eyes fixed on +the fleecy clouds which were floating across the blue summer sky. + +"Can you see it, Aunt Ermine?" cried little Rudolph, running to her. +"Is it up there, in the blue--the road you are going to tread?" + +"It is down below first," answered Ermine dreamily. "Down very low, in +the dim valleys, and it is rough. But it will rise by-and-bye to the +everlasting hills, and to the sapphire blue; and it leads straight to +God's holy hill, and to His tabernacle." + +They remembered those words--seven months later. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Note 1. The Pipe Rolls speak of _large_ cheeses, which cost from +threepence to sixpence each, and the ordinary size, of which two or +three were sold for a penny. They were probably very small. + +Note 2. Modern value of above prices:--Pig, 1 pound, 19 shillings 7 +pence; half ox, 1 pound, 15 shillings 5 pence; cloth, 1 pound 16 +shillings 5 and a half pence per ell; cloak, 13 pounds 6 shillings 8 +pence; cape, 6 pounds, 13 shillings 4 pence; pair of slippers, 12 +shillings 6 pence; boots, per pair, 25 shillings; cheeses, 2 shillings 1 +penny each; flour and cabbage, each 1 pound 9 shillings 2 pence; meal +and herrings, each 2 pounds, 10 shillings; beans, 2 pounds 1 shilling 8 +pence; coffer, 6 pounds, 5 shillings; nails, 2 pounds, 18 shillings 4 +pence; rug, 50 pounds. It will be seen that money was far cheaper than +now, and living much more expensive. + +Note 3. For the sinking of which King Henry paid 19 pounds, 19 +shillings 5 pence near this time. + + + +CHAPTER FIVE. + +WARNED. + + "Though briars and thorns obstruct the way, + Oh, what are thorns and briars to me, + If Thy sweet words console and stay, + If Thou but let me go with Thee?" + + "G.E.M." + +In the house of Henry the Mason, six doors from the Walnut Tree, three +of the Germans had been received--old Berthold, his wife Luitgarde, and +their daughter Adelheid. Two years after their coming, Luitgarde had +died, and Berthold and his daughter were left alone Adelheid, though ten +years the elder, was a great friend of Ermine, and she seemed about as +much averse to matrimony as the latter, though being less well-favoured, +she had received fewer incentives to adopt it. Raven Soclin, however, +did not allow his disappointment in love to affect his spirits, nor to +have much time for existence. Ermine's refusal was barely six weeks old +when he transferred his very transferable affections to Flemild, and +Romund, the family dictator, did not allow any refusal of the offer. In +fact, Flemild was fairly well satisfied with the turn matters had taken. +She knew she must be either wife or nun--there was no third course open +for a woman in England at that day--and she certainly had no proclivity +for the cloister. Derette, on the other hand, had expressed herself in +terms of great contempt for matrimony, and of decided intention to adopt +single life, in the only form in which it was then possible. It was +therefore arranged by Romund, and obediently sanctioned by Isel--for +that was an age of obedient mothers, so far as sons were concerned--that +Flemild should marry Raven Soclin, and Derette should become a novice at +Godstowe, in the month of September shortly about to open. + +Nothing had yet been heard of Manning, the absent husband and father. +Isel still cherished an unspoken hope of his return; but Romund and +Flemild had given him up for dead, while the younger children had almost +forgotten him. + +Another person who had passed out of their life was the Jewish maiden, +Countess. She had been married the year after the arrival of the +Germans, and had gone to live at Reading: married to an old Jew whom she +only knew by name, then no unusual fate for girls of her nation. From +little Rudolph, who was just beginning to talk, she had parted most +unwillingly. + +"Ah! if you would give him to me!" she had said in German to Agnes, with +a smile on her lips, yet with tears in the dark eyes. "I know it could +not be. Yet if time should come that trouble befel you, and you sought +refuge for the child, my heart and my arms would be open. Ah, you +think, what could a poor Jewess do for you? Well, maybe so. Yet you +know the fable of the mouse that gnawed the net in which the lion was +caught. It might be, some day, that even poor Countess--" + +Gerhardt laid his hand on the arm of the young Jewess, and Isel, who saw +the action, trembled for the consequences of his temerity. + +"Friend," he said, "I would, if so were, confide my child to you sooner +than to any other outside this house, if your word were given that he +should not be taught to deride and reject the Lord that died for him." + +"You would take my word?" The dark eyes flashed fire. + +"I would take it, if you would give it." + +"And you know that no Court in this land would receive the witness of a +Jew! You know it?" she repeated fierily. + +"I know it," he answered, rather sadly. + +"Yet you would take mine?" + +"God would know if you spoke truth. He is the Avenger of all that have +none other." + +"He has work to do, then!" replied Countess bitterly. + +"He would not be too busy, if need were, to see to my little Rudolph. +But I do not believe in the need: I think you true." + +"Gerhardt, you are the strangest Christian that I ever knew! Do you +mean what you say?" + +"I mean every word of it, Countess." + +"Then--you shall not repent it." And she turned away. + +Little Rudolph fretted for a time after his nurse and playfellow. But +as the months passed on, her image grew fainter in his memory, and now, +at seven years old, he scarcely remembered her except by name, Ermine +having spoken of her to him on several occasions. + +"I wonder you talk of the girl to that child!" Isel remonstrated. "It +were better that he should forget her." + +"Pardon me, Mother Isel, but I think not so. The good Lord brought her +in our way, and how do I know for what purpose? It may be for Rudolph's +good, no less than hers; and she promised, if need arose, to have a care +of him. I cannot tell what need may arise, wherein it would be most +desirable that he should at least recall her name." + +"But don't you see, Ermine, even on your own showing, our Lord has taken +her out of your way again?" + +"Yes, now. But how do I know that it is for always?" + +"Why, child, how can Countess, a married woman, living away at Reading, +do anything to help a child at Oxford?" + +"I don't know, Mother Isel. The Lord knows. If our paths never cross +again, it will not hurt Rudolph to remember that a young Jewess named +Countess was his loving friend in childhood: if they should meet +hereafter, it may be very needful. And--" that dreamy look came into +Ermine's eyes--"something seems to whisper to me that it may be needed. +Do not blame me if I act upon it." + +"Well, with all your soft, gentle ways, you have a will of your own, I +know," said Isel; "so you must e'en go your own way. And after +September, Ermine, you'll be the only daughter left to me. Ah me! +Well, it's the way of the world, and what is to be must be. I am sure +it was a good wind blew you in at my door, for I should have been +dreadful lonely without you when both my girls were gone." + +"But, dear Mother Isel, Flemild is not going far." + +"Not by the measuring-line, very like; but she's going far enough to be +Raven's wife, and not my daughter. It makes a deal of difference, that +does. And Derette's going further, after the same fashion. I sha'n't +see her, maybe, again, above a dozen times in my life. Eh dear! this is +a hard world for a woman to live in. It's all work, and worry, and +losing, and giving up, and such like." + +"There is a better world," said Ermine softly. + +"There had need be. I'm sure I deserve a bit of rest and comfort, if +ever a hard-working woman did. I'll say nought about pleasure; more by +reason that I'm pretty nigh too much worn out and beat down to care +about it." + +"Nay, friend," said Gerhardt; "we sinners deserve the under-world. The +road to the upper lieth only through the blood and righteousness of our +Lord Christ." + +"I don't know why you need say that," returned Isel with mild +resentment. "I've been as decent a woman, and as good a wife and +mother, as any woman betwixt Grandpont and Saint Maudlin, let the other +be who she may,--ay, I have so, though I say it that hadn't ought. But +you over-sea folks seem to have such a notion of everybody being bad, as +I never heard before--not even from the priest." + +The Church to which Gerhardt belonged held firmly, as one of her most +vital dogmas, that strong view of human depravity which human depravity +always opposes and resents. Therefore Gerhardt did but enunciate a +foundation-article of his faith when he made answer-- + +"`All the evil which I do proceeds from my own depravity.'" + +"Come, you're laying it on a bit too thick," said Isel, with a shake of +her head. + +"He only speaks for himself, don't you hear, Mother?" suggested Haimet +humorously. + +Gerhardt smiled, and shook his head in turn. + +"Well, but if all the ill we do comes of ourselves, I don't see how you +leave any room for Satan. He's busy about us, isn't he?" + +"He's `a roaring lion, that goeth about, seeking whom he may devour'; +but he can devour no man without his own participation." + +"Why, then, you make us all out to be witches, for it's they who enter +into league with Satan." + +"Do you know, Gerard," said Haimet suddenly, "some folks in the town are +saying that you belong to those over-sea heretics whose children are +born with black throats and four rows of teeth, and are all over hair?" + +"I don't see that Rudolph resembles that description," was the calm +reply of Gerhardt. "Do you?" + +"Oh, of course we know better. But there are some folks that say so, +and are ready to swear it too. It would be quite as well if you stayed +quiet at home for a while, and didn't go out preaching in the villages +so much. If the Bishop comes to hear of some things you've said--" + +Isel and her daughters looked up in surprise. They had never imagined +that their friend's frequent journeys were missionary tours. Haimet, +who mixed far more with the outer world, was a good deal wiser on many +points. + +"What have I said?" quietly replied Gerhardt, stopping his carving-- +which he still pursued in an evening--to sweep up and throw into the +corner the chips which he had made. + +"Well, I was told only last week, that you had said when you spoke at +Abingdon, that `Antichrist means all that is in contrast to Christ,' and +that there was no such thing as a consecrated priest in the world." + +"The first I did say: can you disprove it? But the second I did not +say. God forbid that I ever should!" + +"Oh, well, I am glad to hear it: but I can tell you, Halenath the +Sacristan said he heard you." + +"I wish that old chattering magpie would hold his tongue!" exclaimed +Isel, going to the door to empty the bowl in which she had been washing +the cabbages for supper. "He makes more mischief than any man within +ten miles of the Four-Ways." + +"Haimet," said Gerhardt, looking up from the lovely wreath of +strawberry-blossom which he was carving on a box, "I must not leave you +to misapprehend me as Halenath has done. I never said there was no such +thing as a consecrated priest: for Christ our Priest is one, of the +Order of Melchizedek, and by His one offering He hath perfected His +saints for ever. But I did say that the priests of Rome were not +rightly consecrated, and that the Pope's temporal power had deprived the +Church of true consecration. I will stand as firmly to that which I +have said, as I will deny the words I have not spoken." + +Isel stood aghast, looking at him, while the spoon in her hand went down +clattering on the brick floor. + +"Dear blessed saints!" seemed to be all she could say. + +"Why, whatever do you call that?" cried Haimet. "It sounds to me just +as bad as the other, if it isn't worse. I should think, if anything, it +were a less heresy to say there were no consecrated priests, than to say +that holy Church herself had lost true consecration. Not that there's +very much to choose between them, after all; only that you cunning +fellows can split straws into twenty bits as soon as we can look at +them." + +"Do you mean to say that the Church of England has lost true +consecration?" gasped Isel. + +"If he means one, he means the other," said Haimet, "because our Church +is subject to the holy Father." + +"There is one Church, and there are many Churches," answered Gerhardt. +"One--holy, unerring, indivisible, not seen of men. This is the Bride, +the Lamb's wife; and they that are in her are called, and chosen, and +faithful. This is she that shall persevere, and shall overcome, and +shall receive the crown of life. But on earth there are many Churches; +and these may err, and may utterly fall away. Yea, there be that have +done it--that are doing it now." + +"I don't understand you a bit!" exclaimed Isel. "I always heard of the +Catholic Church, that she was one and could not err; that our Lord the +Pope was her head, and the Church of England was a branch of her. Isn't +that your doctrine?" + +"You mean the same thing, don't you, now?" suggested Flemild, trying to +make peace. "I dare be bound, it's only words that differ. They are so +queer sometimes. Turn 'em about, and you can make them mean almost +anything." + +Gerhardt smiled rather sadly, as he rose and put away his carving on one +of the broad shelves that ran round the house-place, and served the uses +of tables and cupboards. + +"Words can easily be twisted," he said, "either by ignorance or malice. +But he is a coward that will deny his words as he truly meant them. God +help me to stand to mine!" + +"Well, you'd better mind what I tell you about your preaching," +responded Haimet. "Leave preaching to the priests, can't you? It is +their business, not a weaver's. You keep to your craft." + +"Had you not once a preacher here named Pullus?" asked Gerhardt, without +replying to the question. + +"I think I have heard of him," said Haimet, "but he was before my time." + +"I have been told that he preached the Word of God in this city years +ago," said Gerhardt. + +"Whom did you say? Cardinal Pullus?" asked Isel, standing up from her +cooking. "Ay, he did so! You say well, Haimet, it was before your day; +you were only beginning to toddle about when he died. But I've listened +to him many a time at Saint Martin's, and on Presthey, too. He used to +preach in English, so that the common folks could understand him. Many +professed his doctrines. I used to like to hear him, I did--when I was +younger. He said nice words, though I couldn't call 'em back now. No, +I couldn't." + +"I am sorry to hear it; I rather hoped you could," replied Gerhardt. + +"Bless you! I never heard aught of that sort yet, that I could tell you +again, a Paternoster after I'd gone forth of the door. Words never stay +with me; they run in at one ear and out at the other. Seem to do me +good, by times; but I never can get 'em back again, no more than you can +the rain when it has soaked into the ground." + +"If the rain and the words bring forth good fruit, you get them back in +the best way of all," said Gerhardt. "To remember the words in your +head only, were as fruitless as to gather up rain-drops from the stone +or metal into which they cannot penetrate." + +"Well, I never had nought of a head-piece," returned Isel. "I've heard +my mother tell that I had twenty wallopings ere she could make me say +the Paternoster; and I never could learn nought else save the Joy and +the Aggerum." + +"What do you mean by the `Aggerum,' Mother?" inquired Haimet. + +"Well, isn't that what you call it? Aggerum or Adjerum, or some such +outlandish name. It's them little words that prayers begin with." + +"`_Deus, in adjutorium_,'" said Gerhardt quietly. + +Haimet seemed exceedingly amused. He had attended the schools long +enough to learn Latin sufficient to interpret the common prayers and +Psalms which formed the private devotions of most educated people. This +was because his mother had wished him to be a priest. But having now, +in his own estimation, arrived at years of discretion, he declined the +calling chosen for him, preferring as he said to go into business, and +he had accordingly been bound apprentice to a moneter, or money-changer. +Poor Isel had mourned bitterly over this desertion. To her mind, as to +that of most people in her day, the priesthood was the highest calling +that could be attained by any middle-class man, while trade was a very +mean and despicable occupation, far below domestic service. She +recognised, however, that Haimet was an exception to most rules, and was +likely to take his own way despite of her. + +Isel's own lack of education was almost as unusual as Haimet's +possession of it. At that time all learning was in the hands of the +clergy, the monastic orders, and the women. By the Joy, she meant the +Doxology, the English version of which substituted "joy" for "glory;" +while the _Adjutorium_ denoted the two responses which follow the Lord's +Prayer in the morning service, "O God, make speed to save us," "O Lord, +make haste to help us." + +"Can't you say _adjutorium_, Mother?" asked the irreverent youth. + +"No, lad, I don't think I can. I'll leave that for thee. One's as good +as t'other, for aught I see." + +Haimet exploded a second time. + +"Good evening!" said Romund's voice, and a cloaked figure, on whose +shoulders drops of rain lay glittering, came in at the door. "I thought +you were not gone up yet, for I saw the light under the door. Derette, +I have news for you. I have just heard that Saint John's anchoritess +died yesterday, and I think, if you would wish it, that I could get the +anchorhold for you. You may choose between that and Godstowe." + +Derette scarcely stood irresolute for a moment. + +"I should like the anchorhold best, Brother. Then Mother could come to +me whenever she wanted me." + +"Is that the only reason?" asked Haimet, half laughing. + +"No, not quite," said Derette, with a smile; "but it is a good one." + +"Then you make up your mind to that?" questioned Romund. + +"Yes, I have made up my mind," replied Derette. + +"Very good: then I will make application for it. Good night! no time to +stay. Mabel? Oh, she's all right. Farewell!" + +And Romund shut the door and disappeared. + +"Deary me, that seems done all of a hurry like!" said Isel. "I don't +half like such sudden, hasty sort of work. Derette, child, are you sure +you'll not be sorry?" + +"No, I don't think I shall, Mother. I shall have more liberty in the +anchorhold than in the nunnery." + +"More liberty, quotha!" cried Isel in amazement. "Whatever can the +child mean? More liberty, penned up in two little chambers, and never +to leave them all your life, than in a fine large place like Godstowe, +with a big garden and cloisters to walk in?" + +"Ah, Mother, I don't want liberty for my feet, but for my soul. There +will be no abbess nor sisters to tease one in the anchorhold." + +"Well, and what does that mean, but never a bit of company? Just your +one maid, and tied up to her. And the child calls it `liberty'!" + +"You forget, Mother," said Haimet mischievously. "There will be the +Lady Derette. In the cloister they are only plain Sister." + +Every recluse had by courtesy the title of a baron. + +"As if I cared for that rubbish!" said Derette with sublime scorn. + +"Dear! I thought you were going on purpose," retorted her brother. + +"Whom will you have for your maid, Derette?" asked her sister. + +"Ermine, if I might have her," answered Derette with a smile. + +Gerhardt suddenly stopped the reply which Ermine was about to make. + +"No," he said, "leave it alone to-night, dear. Lay it before the Lord, +and ask of Him whether that is the road He hath prepared for thee to +walk in. It might be for the best, Ermine." + +There was a rather sorrowful intonation in his voice. + +"I will wait till the morning, and do as you desire," was Ermine's +reply. "But I could give the answer to-night, for I know what it will +be. The best way, and the prepared way, is that which leads the +straightest Home." + +It was very evident, when the morning arrived, that Gerhardt would much +have liked Ermine to accept the lowly but safe and sheltered position of +companion to Derette in the anchorhold. While the hermit lived alone, +but wandered about at will, the anchorite, who was never allowed to +leave his cell, always had with him a companion of his own sex, through +whom he communicated with the outer world. Visitors of the same sex, or +children, could enter the cell freely, or the anchorite might speak +through his window to any person. Derette, therefore, would really be +less cut off from the society of her friends in the anchorhold, than she +would have been as a cloistered sister at Godstowe, where they would +only have been permitted to see her, at most, once in a year. But +outside the threshold of her cell she might never step, save for +imminent peril of life, as in the case of fire. She must live there, +and die there, her sole occupation found in devotional exercises, her +sole pleasure in her friends' visits, the few sights she could see from +her window, and through a tiny slit into the chancel of the Church of +Saint John the Baptist, which we know as the chapel of Merton College. +Every anchorhold was built close to a church, so as to allow its +occupant the privilege of seeing the performance of mass, and of +receiving the consecrated wafer, by the protrusion of his tongue through +the narrow slit. + +In those early days, and before the corruptions of Rome reached their +full development, this cloistered life was not without some advantages +for the securing of which it is not required now. In rough, wild times, +when insult or cruelty to a woman was among the commonest events, it was +something for a woman to know that by wearing a certain uniform, her +person would be regarded as so sacred that he who dared to molest her +would be a man of rare and exceptional wickedness. It was something, +also, to be sure, even moderately sure, of provision for her bodily +needs during life: something to know that if any sudden accident should +deprive her of the services of her only companion, the world deemed it +so good a deed to serve her, that any woman whom she might summon +through her little window would consider herself honoured and benefited +by being allowed to minister to her even in the meanest manner. The +loss of liberty was much assuaged and compensated, by being set against +such advantages as these. The recluse was considered the holiest of +nuns, not to say of women, and the Countess of Oxford herself would have +held it no degradation to serve her in her need. + +Derette would dearly have liked to secure the companionship of Ermine, +but she saw plainly that it was not to be. When the morning came, +therefore, she was much less surprised than sorry that Ermine declined +the offer. Gerhardt pressed it on her in vain. + +"If you command me, my brother," said Ermine, "I will obey, for you have +a right to dispose of me; but if the matter is left to my own choice, I +stay with you, and your lot shall be mine." + +"But if our lot be hardship and persecution, my Ermine--cold and hunger, +nakedness, and peril and sword! This might be a somewhat dull and +dreary life for thee, but were it not a safe one?" + +"Had the Master a safe and easy life, Brother, that His servants should +seek it? Is the world so safe, and the way to Paradise so hard? Is it +not written, `Blessed are ye, when they shall persecute you'? Methinks +I see arising, even now, that little cloud which shall ere long cover +all the sky with darkness. Shall I choose my place with the `fearful' +that are left without the Holy City, rather than with them that shall +follow the Lamb whithersoever He goeth?" + +"It is written again, `When they persecute you in one city, flee ye into +another,'" replied Gerhardt. + +"`_When_ they persecute you,'" repeated Ermine. "It has not come yet." + +"It may be too late, when it has come." + +"Then the way will be plain before me." + +"Well, dear, I will urge you no further," said Gerhardt at last, drawing +a heavy sigh. "I had hoped that for thee at least--The will of the Lord +be done." + +"If it were His will to preserve my life, even the persecutors +themselves might be made the occasion of doing so." + +"True, my Ermine. It may be thou hast more faith than I. Be it as thou +wilt." + +So Derette had to seek another maid. + +"I'm sure I don't know who you'll get," said Isel. "There's Franna's +Hawise, but she's a bit of a temper,"--which her hearers knew to be a +very mild representation of facts: "and there's Turguia's +grand-daughter, Canda, but you'll have to throw a bucket of water over +her of a morrow, or she'll never be out of bed before sunrise on the +shortest day of the year. Then there's Henry's niece, Joan--" then +pronounced as a dissyllable, Joan--"but I wouldn't have such a sloven +about me. I never see her but her shoes are down at heel, and if her +gown isn't rent for a couple of hand-breadths, it's as much as you can +look for. Deary me, these girls! they're a sorry lot, the whole heap of +'em! _I_ don't know where you're going to find one, Derette." + +"Put it in the Lord's hands, and He will find you one." + +"I'll tell you what, Gerard, I never heard the like of you," answered +Isel, setting her pan swinging by its chain on the hook over the fire. +"You begin and end every mortal thing with our Lord, and you're saying +your prayers pretty nigh all day long. Are you certain sure you've +never been a monk?" + +"Very certain, friend," said Gerhardt, smiling. "Is not the existence +of Agnes answer enough to that?" + +"Oh, but you might have run away," said Isel, whose convictions on most +subjects were of rather a hazy order. "There are monks that do, and +priests too: or if they don't forsake their Order, they don't behave +like it. Why, just look at Reinbald the Chaplain--who'd ever take him +for a priest, with his long curls and his silken robes, and ruffling up +his hair to hide the tonsure?" + +"Ay, there are men who are ashamed of nothing so much as of the cross +which their Master bore for them," admitted Gerhardt sorrowfully. "And +at times it looks as if the lighter the cross be, the less ready they +are to carry it. There be who would face a drawn sword more willingly +than a scornful laugh." + +"Well, we none of us like to be laughed at." + +"True. But he who denies his faith through the mockery of Herod's +soldiers, how shall he bear the scourging in Pilate's hall?" + +"Well, I'm none so fond of neither of 'em," said Isel, taking down a +ham. + +"It is only women who can't stand being touched," commented Haimet +rather disdainfully. "But you are out there, Gerard: it is a disgrace +to be laughed at, and disgrace is ever worse to a true man than pain." + +"Why should it be disgrace, if I am in the right?" answered Gerhardt. +"If I do evil, and refuse to own it, that is disgrace, if you will; but +if I do well, or speak truth, and stand by it, what cause have I to be +ashamed?" + +"But if men believe that you have done ill, is that no disgrace?" + +"If they believe it on false witness, the disgrace is equally false. +`Blessed are ye, when men shall persecute you, and shall say all evil +against you, lying, for My sake.' Those are His words who bore all +shame for us." + +"They sha'n't say it of me, unless they smart for it!" cried Haimet +hotly. + +"Then wilt thou not be a true follower of the Lamb of God, who, when He +was reviled, reviled not again, but committed Himself unto Him that +judgeth righteously." + +"Saints be with you!" said Anania, lifting the latch, and intercepting a +response from Haimet which might have been somewhat incisive. "I +declare, I'm just killed with the heat!" + +"I should have guessed you were alive, from the look of you," returned +Derette calmly. + +"So you're going into the anchorhold, I hear?" said Anania, fanning +herself with her handkerchief. + +"If Romund can obtain it for me." + +"Oh, he has; it's all settled. Didn't you know? I met Mabel in Saint +Frideswide's Street [which ran close to the north of the Cathedral], and +she told me so.--Aunt Isel, I do wonder you don't look better after that +young woman! She'll bring Romund to his last penny before she's done. +That chape [a cape or mantle] she had on must have cost as pretty a sum +as would have bought a flock of sheep. I never saw such extravagance." + +"The money's her own," responded Isel shortly. + +"It's his too. And you're his mother. You never ought to let her go on +as she does." + +"Deary me, Anania, as if I hadn't enough to do!" + +"Other folks can slice ham and boil cabbage. You've got no call to +neglect your duty. I can tell you, Franna's that shocked you don't +speak to the girl; and Turguia was saying only the other day, she didn't +believe in folks that pretended to care so much for their children, and +let other folks run 'em into all sorts of troubles for want of looking +after a bit. I'll tell you, Aunt Isel--" + +"Anania, I'll tell _you_," cried Isel, thoroughly put out, for she was +hot and tired and not feeling strong, "I'll tell you this once, you're a +regular plague and a mischief-maker. You'd make me quarrel with all the +friends I have in the world, if I listened to you. Sit you down and +rest, if you like to be peaceable; and if you don't, just go home and +give other folks a bit of rest for once in your life. I'm just worn out +with you, and that's the honest truth." + +"Well, to be sure!" gasped the porter's wife, in high dudgeon and much +amazement. "I never did--! Dear, dear, to think of it--how ungrateful +folks can be! You give them the best advice, and try to help them all +you can, and they turn on you like a dog for it! Very well, Aunt Isel; +I'll let you alone!--and if you don't rue it one of these days, when +your fine lady daughter-in-law has brought you down to beggary for want +of a proper word, my name isn't Anania--that's all!" + +"Oh, deary weary me!" moaned poor Isel, dropping herself on the form as +if she could not stand for another minute. "If this ain't a queer +world, I just _don't_ know! Folks never let you have a shred of peace, +and come and worrit you that bad till you scarce can tell whether you're +on your head or your heels, and you could almost find in your heart to +wish 'em safe in Heaven, and then if they don't set to work and abuse +you like Noah's wife [Note 1] if you don't thank 'em for it! That girl +Anania 'll be the death of me one of these days, if she doesn't mend her +ways. Woe worth the day that Osbert brought her here to plague us!" + +"I fancy he'd say Amen to that," remarked Haimet. + +"I heard him getting it pretty hot last night. But he takes it easier +than you, Mother; however she goes on at him, he only whistles a tune. +He has three tunes for her, and I always know how she's getting on by +the one I hear. So long as it's only the _Agnus_, I dare lift the +latch; but when it come to _Salve Regina_, things are going awkward." + +"I wish she wasn't my niece, I do!" said poor Isel. "Well, folks, come +and get your supper." + +Supper was over, and the trenchers scraped--for Isel lived in great +gentility, seeing that she ate from wooden trenchers, and not on plates +made of thick slices of bread--when a rap on the door heralded the visit +of a very superior person. Long ago, when a young girl, Isel had been +chamberer, or bower-woman, of a lady named Mildred de Hameldun; and she +still received occasional visits from Mildred's daughter, whose name was +Aliz or Elise de Norton. Next to the Countess of Oxford and her two +daughters, Aliz de Norton was the chief lady in the city. Her father, +Sir Robert de Hameldun, had been Seneschal of the Castle, and her +husband, Sir Ording de Norton, was now filling a similar position. Yet +the lofty title of Lady was barely accorded to Aliz de Norton. At that +time it was of extreme rarity; less used than in Saxon days, far less +than at a subsequent date under the later Plantagenets. The only women +who enjoyed it as of right were queens, wives of the king's sons, +countesses, and baronesses: for at this period, the sole titles known to +the peerage were those of baron and earl. Duke was still a sovereign +title, and entirely a foreign one. The epithet of Dame or Lady was also +the prerogative of a few abbesses, who held the rank of baroness. Very +commonly, however, it was applied to the daughters of the sovereign, to +all abbesses, prioresses, and recluses, and to earls' daughters; but +this was a matter rather of courtesy than of right. Beyond the general +epithet of "my Lord," there was no definite title of address even for +the monarch. The appropriation of such terms as Grace, Highness, +Excellence, Majesty, or Serenity, belongs to a much later date. Sir, +however, was always restricted to knights; and Dame was the most +respectful form of address that could be offered to any woman, however +exalted might be her rank. The knight was above the peer, even kings +receiving additional honour from knighthood; but the equivalent title of +Dame does not seem to have been regularly conferred on their wives till +about 1230, though it might be given in some cases, as a matter of +courtesy, at a rather earlier period. + +Perceiving her exalted friend, Isel went forward as quickly as was in +her, to receive her with all possible cordiality, and to usher her to +the best place in the chimney-corner. Aliz greeted the family +pleasantly, but with a shade of constraint towards their German guests. +For a few minutes they talked conventional nothings, as is the custom of +those who meet only occasionally. Then Aliz said-- + +"I came to-day, Isel, for two reasons. Have here the first: do you know +of any vacant situation for a young woman?" + +Isel could do nothing in a hurry,--more especially if any mental process +was involved. + +"Well, maybe I might," she said slowly. "Who is it, I pray you, and +what are her qualifications?" + +"It is the daughter of my waiting-woman, and grand-daughter of my old +nurse. She is a good girl--rather shy and inexperienced, but she learns +quickly. I would have taken her into my own household, but I have no +room for her. I wish to find her a good place, not a poor one. Do you +know of any?" + +As Isel hesitated, Haimet took up the word. + +"Would it please you to have her an anchorhold maid?" + +"Oh, if she could obtain such a situation as that," said Aliz eagerly, +"there would be no more to wish for." + +The holiness of an anchoritess was deemed to run over upon her maid, and +a young woman who wore the semi-conventual garb of those persons was +safe from insult, and sure of help in time of need. + +"My youngest sister goes into Saint John's anchorhold next month," said +Haimet, "and we have not yet procured a maid for her." + +"So that is your destiny?" said Aliz, with a smile to Derette. "Well, +it is a blessed calling." + +Her manner, however, added that she had no particular desire to be +blessed in that fashion. + +"That would be the very thing for Leuesa," she pursued. "I will send +her down to talk with you. Truly, we should be very thankful to those +choice souls to whom is given the rare virtue of such holy +self-sacrifice." + +Aliz spoke the feeling of her day, which could see no bliss for a woman +except in marriage, and set single life on a pinnacle of holiness and +misery not to be reached by ordinary men and women. The virtues of +those self-denying people who sacrificed themselves by adopting it were +supposed to be paid into an ecclesiastical treasury, and to form a kind +of set-off against the every-day shortcomings of inferior married folks. +Therefore Aliz expressed her gratitude for the prospect, as affording +her an extra opportunity of doing her duty by proxy. + +Derette was in advance of her age. + +"But I am not sacrificing myself," she said. "I am pleasing myself. I +should not like to be a wife." + +"Oh, what a saintly creature you must be!" cried Aliz, clasping her +hands in admiration. "That you can _prefer_ a holy life! It is given +to few indeed to attain that height." + +"But the holy life does not consist in dwelling in one chamber," +suggested Gerhardt, "nor in refraining from matrimony. He that dwelleth +in God, in the secret place of the Most High--this is the man that is +holy." + +"It would be well for you, Gerard, and your friends," observed Aliz +freezingly, "not to be quite so ready in offering your strange fancies +on religious topics. Are you aware that the priests of the city have +sent up a memorial concerning you to my Lord the Bishop, and that it has +been laid before King Henry?" + +The strawberry which Gerhardt's tool was just then rounding was not +quite so perfect a round as its neighbours. He laid the tool down, and +the hand which held the carving trembled slightly. + +"No, I did not know it," he said in a low voice. "I thank you for the +warning." + +"I fear there may be some penance inflicted on you," resumed Aliz, not +unkindly. "The wisest course for you would be at once to submit, and +not even to attempt any excuse." + +Gerhardt looked up--a look which struck all who saw it. There was in it +a little surface trouble, but under that a look of such perfect peace +and sweet acceptance of the Divine will, as they had never before +beheld. + +"There will be no penance laid on me," he said, "that my Father will not +help me to bear. I have only to take the next step, whether it lead +into the home at Bethany or the judgment-hall of Pilate. The Garden of +God lies beyond them both." + +Aliz looked at him as if he were speaking a foreign tongue. + +"Gerard," she said, "I do hope you have no foolish ideas of braving out +the censure of the Bishop. Such action would not only be sin, but it +would be the worst policy imaginable. Holy Church is always merciful to +those who abase themselves before her,--who own their folly, and humbly +bow to her rebuke. But she has no mercy on rebels who persist in their +rebellion,--stubborn self-opinionated men, who in their incredible folly +and presumption imagine themselves capable of correcting her." + +"No," answered Gerhardt in that same low voice. "She has no mercy." + +"Then I hope you see how very foolish and impossible it would be for you +to adopt any other course than that of instant and complete submission?" +urged Aliz in a kinder tone. + +Gerhardt rose from his seat and faced her. + +"Your meaning is kind," he said, "and conscientious also. You desire +the glory of your Church, but you also feel pity for the suffering of +the human creatures who dissent from her, and are crushed under the +wheels of her triumphal car. I thank you for that pity. In the land +where one cup of cold water goeth not without its reward, it may be that +even a passing impulse of compassion is not forgotten before God. It +may at least call down some earthly blessing. But for me--my way is +clear before me, and I have but to go straight forward. I thank God +that I know my duty. Doubt is worse than pain." + +"Indeed, I am thankful too," said Aliz, as she rose to take leave. +"That you should do your duty is the thing I desire.--Well, Isel, our +Lady keep you! I will send Leuesa down to-morrow or the next day." + +Aliz departed, and the rest began to think of bedtime. Isel sent the +girls upstairs, then Haimet followed, and Agnes went at last. But +Gerhardt sat on, his eyes fixed on the cold hearth. It was evident that +he regarded the news which he had heard as of no slight import. He rose +at length, and walked to the window. It was only a wooden shutter, +fastened by a button, and now closed for the night. Looking round to +make sure that all had left the lower room, he threw the casement open. +But he did not see Isel, who at the moment was concealed by the red +curtain drawn half-way across the house-place, at the other end where +the ladder went up. + +"Father!" he said, his eyes fixed on the darkened sky, "is the way to +Thy holy hill through this thorny path? Wheresoever Thou shalt guide, I +go with Thee. But `these are in the world!' Keep them through Thy +name, and let us meet in the Garden of God, if we may not go together. +O blessed Jesu Christ! the forget-me-nots which bloom around Thy cross +are fairer than all the flowers of the world's gardens." + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Note 1. In the medieval mystery plays, Noah's wife was always +represented as a scolding vixen. + + + +CHAPTER SIX. + +TAKEN IN THE NET. + + "There is no time so miserable + But a man may be true." + + Shakespeare. + +"Berthold, hast thou heard the news?" + +"I have, Pastor. I was coming to ask if you had heard it." + +"Ah, it was told me last night, by one that meant it kindly. I knew it +would come sooner or later." + +"What will they do, think you?" Gerhardt hesitated. It was not so easy +to guess in 1165 the awful depths to which religious hatred could +descend, as it would have been some two centuries later. They knew +something then of the fury of the Church against open unbelievers or +political enemies; but persecution of Christians by Christians on +account of nothing but their belief and the confession of it, was +something new at that time. + +"They will impose penance on us, I suppose," suggested old Berthold. + +"Doubtless, if we stand firm. And we must stand firm, Berthold,--every +one of us." + +"Oh, of course," replied Berthold calmly. "They won't touch the +women?--what think you?" + +"I know not what to think. But I imagine--not." + +"Fine and scourging, perchance. Well, we can stand that." + +"We can stand any thing with God to aid us: without Him we can bear +nothing. Thanks be to the Lord, that last they that trust Him will +never be called upon to do." + +"I heard there was a council of the bishops to be held upon us," +suggested Berthold a little doubtfully. + +"I hope not. That were worse for us than a summons before the King. +Howbeit, the will of the Lord be done. It may be that the hotter the +furnace is heated, the more glory shall be His by the song of His +servants in the fires." + +"Ay, there'll be four," said old Berthold, bowing reverently. "Sure +enough, Pastor, whatever we are called upon to bear, there will be One +more than our number, and His form shall be that of the _Son_ of God. +Well! the children will be safe, no question. But I am afraid the +hottest corner of the furnace may be kept for you, dear Teacher." + +"Be it so," answered Gerhardt quietly. "Let my Lord do with me what is +good in His sight; only let me bring glory to Him, and show forth His +name among the people." + +"Ay, but it does seem strange," was the response, "that the work should +be stopped, and the cause suffer, and eloquent lips be silenced, just +when all seemed most needed! Can you understand it, Pastor?" + +"No," said Gerhardt calmly. "Why should I? He understands who has it +all to do. But the cause, Berthold! The cause will not suffer. It is +God's custom to bring good out of evil--to give honey to His Samsons out +of the carcases of lions, and to bring His Davids through the cave of +Adullam to the throne of Israel. It is for Him to see that the cause +prospers, in His own time and way. We have only to do each our little +handful of duty, to take the next step as He brings it before us. +Sometimes the next step is a steep pull, sometimes it is only an easy +level progress. We have but to take it as it comes. Never two steps at +once; never one step, without the Lord at our right hand. Never a cry +of `Lord, save me!' from a sinking soul, that the hand which holds up +all the worlds is not immediately stretched forth to hold him up." + +"One can't always feel it, though," said the old man wistfully. + +"It is enough to know it." + +"Ay, when we two stand talking together in Overee Lane [Overee Lane ran +out of Grandpont Street, just below the South Gate], so it may be: but +when the furnace door stands open, an King Nebuchadnezzar's mighty men +are hauling you towards it, how then, good Pastor?" + +"Berthold, what kind of a father would he be who, in carrying his child +over a bridge, should hold it so carelessly that he let it slip from his +arms into the torrent beneath, and be drowned?" + +"Couldn't believe such a tale, Pastor, unless the father were either +drunk or mad. Why, he wouldn't be a man--he'd be a monster." + +"And is that the character that thou deemest it fair and true to give to +Him who laid down His life for thee?" + +"Pastor!--Oh! I see now what you mean. Well--ay, of course--" + +"Depend upon it, Berthold, the Lord shall see that thou hast grace +sufficient for the evil day, if thy trust be laid on Him. He shall not +give thee half enough for thy need out of His royal treasure, and leave +thee to make up the other half out of thy poor empty coffer. `My God +shall supply all your need, according to His riches in glory'--`that ye, +always having all-sufficiency in all things, may abound to every good +work.' Is that too small an alner [Note 1] to hold the wealth thou +wouldst have? How many things needest thou beyond `_all_ things'?" + +"True enough," said Berthold. "But I was not thinking so much of +myself, Pastor--I've had my life: I'm two-and-fourscore this day; and if +I am called on to lay it down for the Lord, it will only be a few months +at the furthest that I have to give Him. It wouldn't take so much to +kill me, neither. An old man dies maybe easier than one in the full +vigour of life. But you, my dear Pastor!--and the young fellows among +us--Guelph, and Conrad, and Dietbold, and Wilhelm--it'll be harder work +for the young saplings to stand the blast, than for the old oak whose +boughs have bent before a thousand storms. There would most likely be a +long term of suffering before you, when my rest was won." + +"Then our rest would be the sweeter," replied Gerhardt softly. "`He +knoweth the way that we take; when He hath tried us, we shall come forth +as gold.' He is faithful, who will not suffer us to be tried above that +we are able to bear. And He can make us able to bear any thing." + +Gerhardt was just turning into Kepeharme Lane, when a voice at his elbow +made him pause and look back. + +"Did you want me, friend?" + +"No," answered a hoarse voice, in a significant tone. "You want me." + +Gerhardt smiled. "I thank you, then, for coming to my help. I almost +think I know your voice. Are you not Rubi, the brother of Countess, who +made such a pet of my little child?" + +An affirmative grunt was the response. + +"Well, friend?" + +"If an open pit lay just across this street, between you and the Walnut +Tree, what would you do?" asked the hoarse voice. + +"That would depend on how necessary it was that I should pass it, would +it not?" + +"Life this way--death that way," said Rubi shortly. + +"And what way honour?" + +"Pshaw! `All that a man hath will he give for his life.'" + +"Truth: yet even life, sometimes, will a man give for glory, patriotism, +or love. There is a life beyond this, friend Rubi; and for that, no +price were too high to pay." + +"Men may weigh gold, but not clouds," answered Rubi in a rather scornful +tone. + +"Yet how much gold would purchase the life-giving water that comes from +the clouds?" was Gerhardt's ready response. + +"At how much do you value your life?" asked Rubi without answering the +question. + +"Truly, friend, I know not how to respond to that. Do you count my life +to be in danger, that you ask me?" + +"Not if the morning light come to you in Aylesbury or Cricklade--at +least, perchance not. But if it dawn on you where you can hear the bell +from yon tower--ay, I do." + +"I perceive your meaning. You would have me to fly." + +In the evening twilight, now fast darkening, Gerhardt could see a nod of +Rubi's black head. + +"`Should such a man as I flee?' Friend, I am the leader of this band of +my countrymen--" + +"Just so. That's the reason." + +"Were I to flee, would they stand firm?" said Gerhardt thoughtfully, +rather to himself than to the young Jew. + +"Firm--to what?" + +"To God," replied Gerhardt reverently, "and to His truth." + +"What does a Gentile care for truth? They want you to worship one dead +man, and you prefer to worship another dead man. What's the odds to +you? Can't you mutter your Latin, and play with your beads, before +both, and have done with it?" + +"I worship no saints, and have no beads." + +"Father Jacob! You must be a new sort of a Gentile. Never came across +a reptile of your pattern before. Is that why Countess took to you?" + +"I cannot say. It was the child, I think, that attracted her. Well, +friend, I am thankful for your warning. But how come you to know?" + +A smothered laugh, as hoarse as the voice, replied-- + +"Folks have ways and means, sometimes, that other folks can't always +guess." + +"If you know more than others," said Gerhardt boldly, "suffer me to +question you a moment." + +"Question away. I don't promise to answer." + +"Are we all to be taken and examined?" + +"All." + +"Before the King?" + +"And the creeping creatures called Bishops." + +"Will any thing be done to the women and children?" + +"Does the lion discriminate between a kid and a goat? `Let your little +ones also go with you.' Even Pharaoh could say that--when he could not +help allowing it." + +"I think I understand you, Friend Rubi, and I thank you." + +"You are not so badly off for brains," said Rubi approvingly. + +"But how far to act upon your warning I know not, until I lay it before +the Lord, and receive His guidance." + +"You--a Gentile--receive guidance from the Holy One (blessed be He)!" +Rubi's tone was not precisely scornful; it seemed rather a mixture of +surprise, curiosity, and perplexity. + +"Ay, friend, I assure you, however strange it may seem to you, the good +Lord deigns to guide even us Gentiles. And why not? Is it not written, +`Even them will I bring to My holy mountain, and make them joyful in My +house of prayer'? and, `O Thou that hearest prayer, unto Thee shall all +flesh come'?" + +"Those promises belong to the reign of the Messiah. He is not come yet. +Do you new sort of Gentiles believe He is?" + +It was a most difficult question to answer. "Yes" would probably drive +Rubi away in anger--perhaps with a torrent of blasphemy on his lips. +"No" would be false and cowardly. + +"I believe," said Gerhardt softly, "that He shall yet come to Zion, and +turn away iniquity from Jacob. May thou and I, Rubi, be ready to +welcome Him when He cometh!" + +"You are better than yonder lot," answered Rubi, with a scornful wave of +his hand towards Carfax behind them. "Ay, I suppose the Blessed One has +some mercies even for Gentiles--decent ones such as you. Well, remember +you've been warned. Good night!" + +"Good night, Rubi, and God go with thee!" + +As Gerhardt stepped into the Walnut Tree, Isel's voice greeted him from +the top of the ladder leading to the upper chamber. + +"Who is that--Gerard or Haimet?" + +"It is I, Isel," said the German pastor. + +"Well, now, don't put out your lantern, but do, like a good man, take +this girl back to the Castle. I've been on thorns how to get her back, +for I've kept her talking a bit too long, and there hasn't a creature +come near that I could ask. It's Leuesa, that Aliz de Norton spoke +about, and we've settled she's to be Derette's maid. It's a mercy +you've come just in time!" + +"The next step!" said Gerhardt to himself with a smile. "Well, this at +least is no hard one." + +The girl who came down the ladder and entrusted herself to Gerhardt's +escort, was very young-looking for an anchorhold: slim, fair, and frail +in appearance, with some timidity of manner. They set out for the +Castle. + +"You know the girl who is to be my mistress?" asked Leuesa. "Will she +be easy or hard to serve?" + +"Very easy, I think, so long as you obey her. She has a will of her +own, as you will find, if you do not." + +"Oh dear, I don't want to disobey her! But I don't like to be scolded +at from morning to night, whether I do right or wrong." + +"Derette will not treat you in that fashion. She has a good temper, and +is bright and cheerful." + +"I am so glad to hear it! I get so tired--" + +Leuesa suddenly broke off her sentence. + +"You look young for the work," said Gerhardt. + +"I am older than I look. At least, people say so. I am twenty-one." + +"Dear! I should not have thought you eighteen." + +"Oh yes, I am twenty-one," replied Leuesa, with a bright little laugh; +adding with sudden gravity, "I think I am much older than that in some +ways." + +"Hast thou found life hard, poor child?" asked Gerhardt sympathisingly. + +"Well, one gets tired, you know," replied the girl vaguely. "I suppose +it has to be, if one's sins are to be expiated. So many sins, so many +sufferings. That's what Mother says. It will be counted up some time, +maybe. Only, sometimes, it does seem as if there were more sufferings +than sins." + +"Is that thy religion, Maiden?" responded Gerhardt with a pitying smile. + +"It's about all I know. Why?--isn't it good?" + +"Friend, if thou wert to suffer for ten thousand years, without a +moment's intermission, thy sins could never be balanced by thy +sufferings. Suffering is finite; sin is infinite. It is not only what +thou hast done, or hast left undone. The sin of thy whole nature +requires atonement. _Thou_ art sin! The love of sin which is in thee +is worse than any act of sin thou couldst commit. What then is to be +done with thy sins?" + +Leuesa looked up with an expression of wistful simplicity in her blue +eyes. + +She might be older than her years in some respects, thought Gerhardt, +but there were some others in which she was a very child. + +"I don't know!" she said blankly, with a frightened accent. "Can't you +tell me?" + +"Thank God, I can tell thee. Thou must get rid of this load of sin, by +laying it on Him who came down from Heaven that He might bear it for +thee. Tell me whom I mean." + +The flaxen head was shaken. "I can't--not certainly. Perhaps it's a +saint I don't know." + +"Dost thou not know Jesu Christ?" + +"Oh, of course. He's to judge us at the last day." + +"If He save thee not before He judge thee, thou wilt never be saved. +Dost thou not know He is the Saviour of men?" + +"Well, I've heard say so, but I never thought it meant any thing." + +"It means every thing to sinners. Now, how art thou about to come by +the salvation that Christ has wrought for thee?" + +"The priest will give me some, won't he?" + +"He hath it not to give thee. Thou must go straight to the Lord +Himself." + +"But I can't go save through the Church. And oh dear, but I should be +frightened to have aught to do with Him! Except when He's a baby, and +then we've got our Lady to intercede for us." + +"Art thou, then, very much afraid of me?" + +"You? Oh no! You're coming with me to take care of me--aren't you?" + +"I am. But what am I doing for thee, in comparison of Him who died for +thee? Afraid of the Lord that laid down His life for thine! Why, +Maiden, there is nought in His heart for thee save love and pity and +strength to help. He loved thee--get it into thy mind, grave it deep in +thy soul--He loved thee, and gave His life for thee." + +"Me?" Leuesa had come to a sudden stand. "You don't mean _me_?" + +"I mean thee, and none other." + +"Mother always says I'm so stupid, nobody will ever care for me. I +thought--I never heard any body talk like that. I thought it was only +the very greatest saints that could get near Him, and then only through +the Church." + +"Thou and I are the Church, if Christ saves us." + +"Oh, what do you mean? The priests and bishops are the Church. At +least they say so." + +"Ay, they do say so, the hirelings that foul with their feet the water +whence the flock should drink: `we are the people, and wisdom shall die +with us!' `The Temple of the Lord are we!' But the Temple of the Lord +is larger, and wider, and higher, than their poor narrow souls. Maiden, +listen to me, for I speak to thee words from God. The Church of God +consists of the elect of God from the beginning to the end of the world, +by the grace of God, through the merits of Christ, gathered together by +the Holy Ghost, and fore-ordained to eternal life. They that hear and +understand the Word of God, receiving it to their souls' health, and +being justified by Christ--these are the Church; these go into life +eternal. Hast thou understood me, Maiden?" + +"I don't--exactly--know," she said slowly. "I should like to +understand. But how can I know whether I am one of them or not?" + +"Of the elect of God? If thou hast chosen God rather than the world, +that is the strongest evidence thou canst have that He has chosen thee +out of the world." + +"But I sha'n't be in the world--just exactly. You see I'm going to live +in the anchorhold. That isn't the world." + +It was not easy to teach one who spoke a different dialect from the +teacher. To Gerhardt, the world was the opposite of God; to Leuesa, it +was merely the opposite of the cloister. + +"Put `sin' for `the world,' Maiden," said Gerhardt, "and thou wilt +understand me better." + +"But what must I do to keep out of sin?" + +"`If thou wilt love Christ and follow His teaching,'" said Gerhardt, +quoting from his confession of faith, "`thou must watch, and read the +Scriptures. Spiritual poverty of heart must thou have, and love purity, +and serve God in humility.'" + +"I can't read!" exclaimed Leuesa, in a tone which showed that she would +have deemed it a very extraordinary thing if she could. + +"Thou canst hear. Ermine will repeat them to thee, if thou ask her--so +long as we are here." + +"Osbert says you won't be for long. He thinks you are bad people; I +don't know why." + +"Nor do I, seeing we serve God--save that the enemy of God and men +spreads abroad falsehoods against us." + +They had reached the little postern of the Castle. Gerhardt rapped at +the door, and after two or three repetitions, it was opened. + +"Oh, it's you, is it?" said Stephen's voice behind it. "Get you in +quickly, Leuesa, for Hagena's in a terrible tantrum. She declares +you've run away." + +"I'm late, I know," answered Leuesa humbly; "but I could not help it, +Stephen." + +"Well, you'll catch it, I can tell you; and the longer you stay, the +more you'll catch: so best get it over.--Gerard, will you come in? I +want a word with you." + +Gerhardt stepped inside the postern, and Stephen beckoned him into an +outhouse, at the moment untenanted. + +"What are you going to do?" + +"About what?" + +"What! Don't you know you are to be haled before the Bishops? Every +body else does." + +"Yes, I have been told so." + +"Are you going to wait for them?" demanded Stephen, with several notes +of astonishment in his voice. + +"I am going to wait for the Lord." + +"You'll be a fool if you do!" The tone was compassionate, though the +words were rough. + +"Never. `They shall not be ashamed that wait for Him.'" + +"Do you expect Him to come down from Heaven to save you from the +Bishops?" + +"As He pleases," said Gerhardt quietly. + +"But, man!--if you are a man, and not a stone--don't you know that the +Church has authority from God to bind and loose--that her sentence is +His also?" + +"Your Church has no jurisdiction over mine." + +"My Church, forsooth! I am speaking of the Catholic Church, which has +authority over every Christian on earth." + +"Where is it?" + +"Every where." + +"The Church that is every where consists of faithful souls, elect of +God. That Church will not condemn me for being faithful to the Word of +God." + +"Oh, I can't split straws like you, nor preach like a doctor of the +schools either. But one thing I can do, and that is to say, Gerard, you +are in danger--much more danger than the rest. Get away while you can, +and leave them to meet it. They won't do half so much to them as to +you." + +"`He that is an hireling, when he seeth the wolf coming, leaveth the +sheep and fleeth; and the wolf catcheth them, and scattereth the sheep.' +Is that conduct you recommend, Stephen?" + +"I recommend you to get outside of Oxford as fast as you can, and take +your womankind with you; and if you don't, you'll be sorry, that's all. +Now be off, and don't forget that you've been warned. Good night!" + +"I have been warned thrice, friend. But where God has need of me, there +is my post, and there am I. There are penalties for desertion in the +army of the Lord. I thank you for your kindly meaning. Good night!" + +"Poor fool!" said Stephen to himself as he fastened the postern behind +Gerhardt. "Yet--`penalties for desertion'--I don't know. Which is the +fool, I wonder? If I could have saved _her_!" + +Gerhardt went back to the Walnut Tree, where they were sitting down to +the last meal. It consisted of "fat fish," apple turnovers, and spiced +ale. + +"Eh dear!" said Isel, with a sigh. "To think that this is pretty nigh +the last supper you'll ever eat in this house, Derette! I could cry +with the best when I think of it." + +"You can come to see me whenever you wish, Mother--much better than if I +were at Godstowe." + +"So I can, child; but you can't come to me." + +"I can send Leuesa to say that I want to see you." + +"Well, and if so be that I've broken my leg that very morning, and am +lying groaning up atop of that ladder, with never a daughter to serve +me--how then? Thou gone, and Flemild gone, and not a creature near!" + +"You'll have Ermine. But you are not going to break your leg, Mother, I +hope." + +"You hope! Oh ay, hope's a fine trimming, but it's poor stuff for a +gown. And how long shall I have Ermine? She'll go and wed somebody or +other--you see if she doesn't." + +Ermine smiled and shook her head. + +"Well, then, you'll have Agnes." + +"I shall have trouble--that's what I shall have: it's the only thing +sure in this world: and it's that loving it sticks to you all the +tighter if you've got nothing else. There's nought else does in this +world--without it's dogs." + +"`There's a Friend that sticketh closer than a brother,'" quoted +Gerhardt softly. + +"There's precious few of them," returned Isel, who naturally did not +understand the allusion. "You'll not find one of that sort more than +once in a--Mercy on us! here's a soldier walking straight in!--whatever +does the man want?" + +Gerhardt's quick eyes had caught the foreign texture of the soldier's +mantle--the bronzed face with its likeness to Derette--the white cross +of the English Crusader. + +"He wants his wife and children, I should think," he answered calmly; +and at the same moment the soldier said-- + +"Isel! Wife! Dost thou not know me?" + +Nobody in the room could have given a clear and connected account of +what happened after that. Isel cried and laughed by turns, the majority +all talked at once, and little Rudolph, divided between fear and +admiration, clung to his mother, and cast furtive glances at the +new-comer. Manning was naturally astonished to see how his family had +grown, and much had to be explained to him--the presence of the Germans, +the approaching marriage of Flemild, the past marriage of Romund, and +the profession of Derette. The first and third he accepted with bluff +good-humour. As to the second, he said he would have a talk with Raven +Soclin--very likely he was all right now, though he remembered him a +troublesome lad. But Derette's fate did not appear quite to please him. +She had been his pet, and he had pictured her future differently and +more according to his own notion of happiness. + +"Well, she seems to like it best herself," said Isel, "and I don't see +but you have to leave folks to be happy their own way, though the way +some folks choose is mighty queer. Father Dolfin says we must always +give God the best, and if we grudge it to Him, it wipes out the merit of +the sacrifice." + +"Ay, Father Dolfin knows how they do things up yonder," answered +Manning. "Do thy duty, and leave the priest to see thou comest safe-- +that's my way of thinking." + +"But suppose he fails to `see'?" suggested Gerhardt. + +Manning eyed him rather suspiciously. + +"I hope you aren't one of that new lot that talk against the priests," +said he. "I've heard something of them as I came through Almayne and +Guienne: saw one fellow flogged at the market-cross, that had let his +tongue run too freely. And I can tell you, I'm not one of that sort. +You're welcome to stay while you behave decently, as I see you've been a +help and comfort to my women here: but one word against the priests, or +one wag of your head in irreverence to the holy mass, and out you go, +bag and baggage!--ay, down to that child." + +Rudolph seemed frightened by the harsh tones and loud words, and when +Manning ended by striking his hand upon his thigh with a resounding slap +to enforce his threat, the child began to whimper. + +"I trust, friend, you will never see any irreverence in me towards aught +to which reverence is due," replied Gerhardt; "but if you do, fulfil +your words, and I shall not trouble you longer." + +"Well, look out!" said Manning. "I don't much like your long prayers +just now: they're a bad sign. As to Haimet's Latin grace, I suppose +he's learnt that in the schools; and praying in Latin isn't so bad. But +a cross over the supper-table is plenty good enough for me. I never did +believe in folks that are always saying their prayers, and reckoning to +be better than their neighbours." + +"I believe in being as good as I can be," said Gerhardt with a smile. +"If that should make me better than my neighbours, it would hardly be my +fault, would it? But in truth, Friend Manning, I do not think myself +any better, for I know too much of the evil of mine own heart." + +"Ay, that's the lingo of the pestilent vipers in Guienne! I could find +in my heart to lay a silver penny you'll turn out to be one of that +brood. Girls, I hope you haven't caught the infection? We'll wait a +few days and see--what we shall see." + +"Eh, Manning, they're the peaceablest set ever came in a house!" +exclaimed Isel. "Helped me over and over, they have, and never one of +'em gave me an ill word. And Gerard's made a pretty penny with weaving +and wood-carving, and every farthing he's given me, save what they +wanted for clothes. Do, for mercy's sake, let 'em be! Flemild married, +and Derette away to the anchorhold--I shall be a lost woman without +Agnes and Ermine! Nigh on seven years they've been here, and I haven't +been so comfortable in all my life afore. They may have some queer +notions in their heads--that I can't say; most folks have one way or +another--but they're downright good for help and quietness. They are, +so!" + +"What says Father Dolfin about them?" + +"Well, he don't say much of no sort," answered Isel doubtfully, with an +uneasy recollection of one or two things he had lately said. "But I say +they're as good folks as ever walked in shoe-leather, and you'll not +find their match in Oxford, let be Kepeharme Lane." + +"Well," said Manning, "let them bide a few days: we shall see. But I +shall brook no heresy, and so I give you fair warning. No heretic, +known to me, shall ever darken the doors of a soldier of the cross!" + +"I pray you, hold to that!" was Gerhardt's answer. + +The next morning dawned a fair autumn day. Manning seemed somewhat more +inclined to be friendly than on the previous evening, and matters went +on pleasantly enough until the hour of dinner. They had just risen from +table when a rap came on the door. Flemild went to open it. + +"Holy saints!" they heard her cry. + +Then the door opened, and in walked two men in red and white livery, +with four golden crosses patee embroidered on the left arm. With a +glance round, they addressed themselves to Manning. + +"Are you the owner of this house?" + +Manning knew in a moment who his visitors were--official sumners of the +Bishop of Lincoln. + +"I am," he said. "What would you have?" + +One of the sumners unrolled a parchment deed. + +"We have here a writ to take the bodies of certain persons believed to +be in your house, and we bid you, in the name of holy Church, that you +aid us in the execution of our office." + +Isel, terribly frightened, was muttering Ave Marias by the dozen. To +Gerhardt's forehead the blood had surged in one sudden flush, and then +subsiding, left him calm and pale. + +"When holy Church bids, I am her lowly servant," was Manning's answer. +"Do your duty." + +"You say well," replied the sumner. "I demand the body of one Gerard, a +stranger of Almayne, of Agnes his wife, of Rudolph their son, and of +Ermine, the man's sister." + +"Of what stand they accused?" + +"Of the worst that could be--heresy." + +"Then will I give them no shelter. I pray you to note, Master Sumner, +that I returned but last night from over seas, whither I have followed +the cross, and have not hitherto had any opportunity to judge of these +whom I found here." + +"You will have opportunity to clear yourself before the Council," said +the sumner. "Find me a rope, good woman. Is _this_ your son?" he +added, appealing to Gerhardt. + +"This is my son," answered Gerhardt, with a tremulous smile. "He is +scarcely yet old enough to commit crime." + +"Eh, dear, good gentlemen, you'll never take the little child!" pleaded +Isel. "Why, he is but a babe. I'll swear to you by every saint in the +Calendar, if you will, to bring him up the very best of Catholic +Christians, under Father Dolfin's eye. What can he have done?" + +"He believes what has been taught him, probably," said the sumner +grimly. "But I cannot help it, good wife--the boy's name is in the +writ. The only favour in my power to show is to tie him with his +mother. Come now, the rope--quick!" + +"No rope of mine shall tie _them_!" said Isel, with sudden determination +which no one had expected from her. "You may go buy your own ropes for +such innocent lambs, for I'll not find you one!" + +"But a rope of mine shall!" thundered Manning. "Sit down, silly woman, +and hold thy tongue.--I beseech you, my masters, to pardon this foolish +creature; women are always making simpletons of themselves." + +"Don't put yourself out, good man," answered the sumner with a smile of +superiority; "I have a wife and four daughters." + +Haimet now appeared with a rope which he handed to the sumner, who +proceeded to tie together first Gerhardt and Ermine, then Agnes and +Rudolph. The child was thoroughly frightened, and sobbing piteously. + +"Oh deary, deary me!" wailed poor Isel. "That ever such a day should +come to my house! Dame Mary, and all the blessed Saints in Heaven, have +mercy on us! Haven't I always said there was nought but trouble in this +world?" + +"It's no good vexing, Mother; it has to be," said Flemild, but there +were tears in her eyes. "I'm glad Derette's not here." + +Derette had gone to see her cousins at the Castle,--a sort of farewell +visit before entering the anchorhold. + +"Then I'm sorry," said Isel. "She might have given those rascals a lick +with the rough side of her tongue--much if she wouldn't, too. I'd like +to have heard it, I would!" + +The prisoners were marched out, with much show of righteous indignation +against them from Manning, and stolid assistance to the sumners on the +part of Haimet. When the door was shut and all quiet again, Manning +came up to Isel. + +"Come, Wife, don't take on!" he said, in a much more gentle tone than +before. "We must not let ourselves be suspected, you know. Perhaps +they'll be acquitted--they seem decent, peaceable folk, and it may be +found to be a false accusation. So long as holy Church does not condemn +them, we need not: but you know we must not set ourselves against her +officers, nor get ourselves suspected and into trouble. Hush, children! +the fewer words the better. They may turn out to be all wrong, and then +it would be sin to pity them. We can but wait and see." + +"Saints alive! but I'm in a whole sea of trouble already!" cried Isel. +"We've lost six hands for work; and good workers too; and here had I +reckoned on Ermine tarrying with me, and being like a daughter to me, +when my own were gone: and what am I to do now, never speak of them?" + +"There are plenty more girls in the city," said Manning. + +"Maybe: but not another Ermine." + +"Perhaps not; but it's no good crying over spilt milk, Isel. Do the +best you can with what you have; and keep your mouth shut about what you +have not." + +Haimet was seen no more till nearly bedtime, when he came in with the +information that all the Germans had been committed to the Castle +dungeon, to await the arrival of King Henry, who had summoned a Council +of Bishops to sit on the question, the Sunday after Christmas. That +untried prisoners should be kept nearly four months in a dark, damp, +unhealthy cellar, termed a dungeon, was much too common an occurrence to +excite surprise. Isel, as usual, lamented over it, and Derette, who had +seen the prisoners marched into the Castle yard, was as warm in her +sympathy as even her mother could have wished. Manning tried, not +unkindly, to silence them both, and succeeded only when they had worn +themselves out. + +About ten days later, Derette made her profession, and was installed in +the anchorhold, with Leuesa as her maid. The anchorhold consisted of +two small chambers, some ten feet square, with a doorway of +communication that could be closed by a curtain. The inner room, which +was the bedchamber, was furnished with two bundles of straw, two rough +woollen rugs, a tin basin, a wooden coffer, a form, and some hooks for +hanging garments at one end. The outer room was kitchen and parlour; it +held a tiny hearth for a wood-fire (no chimney), another form, a small +pair of trestles and boards to form a table, which were piled in a +corner when not wanted for immediate use; sundry shelves were put up +around the walls, and from hooks in the low ceiling hung a lamp, a +water-bucket, a pair of bellows, a bunch of candles, a rope of onions, a +string of dried salt fish, and several bundles of medical herbs. The +scent of the apartment, as may be imagined, was somewhat less fragrant +than that of roses. In one corner stood the Virgin Mary, newly-painted +and gilt; in the opposite one, Saint John the Baptist, whom the imager +had made with such patent whites to his eyes, set in a bronzed +complexion, that the effect was rather startling. A very small +selection of primitive culinary utensils lay on a shelf close to the +hearth. Much was not wanted, when the most sumptuous meal to be had was +boiled fish or roasted onions. + +Derette was extremely tired, and it was no cause for wonder. From early +morning she had been kept on the strain by most exciting incidents. Her +childhood's home, though it was scarcely more than a stone's throw from +her, she was never to see again. Father or brother might not even touch +her hand any more. Her mother and sister could still enter her tiny +abode; but she might never go out to them, no matter what necessity +required it. Derette was bright, and sensible, and strong: but she was +tired that night. And there was no better repose to be had than sitting +on a hard form, and leaning her head against the chimney-corner. + +"Shut the window, Leuesa," she said, "and come in. I am very weary, and +I must sleep a little, if I can, before compline." + +"No marvel, Lady," replied Leuesa, doing as she was requested. "I am +sure you have had a tiring day. But your profession was lovely! I +never saw a prettier scene in my life." + +"Ay, marriages and funerals are both sights for the world. Which was it +most like, thinkest thou?" + +"O Lady! a marriage, of course. Has it not made you the bride of Jesu +Christ?" + +Leuesa fancied she heard a faint sigh from the chimney-corner; but +Derette gave no answer. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Note 1. The alner, or alms-bag, was the largest sort of purse used in +the Middle Ages. + + + +CHAPTER SEVEN. + +VIA DOLOROSA. + + "We bless Thee for the quiet rest Thy servant taketh now, + We bless Thee for his blessedness, and for his crowned brow; + For every weary step he trod in faithful following Thee, + And for the good fight foughten well, and closed right valiantly." + +The Church of Saint Mary the Virgin was filled to overflowing, but it +was not the church we know as such now. That more ancient edifice had +been built in the days of Alfred, and its nave was closely packed with +the clergy of Oxford and the neighbourhood, save a circle of curule +chairs reserved for the members of the Council. Into the midst of the +excited crowd of clergy--among whom were sprinkled as many laymen, +chiefly of the upper class, as could find room to squeeze in--filed an +imposing procession of dignitaries--priests, archdeacons, bishops--all +robed in full canonicals; the Bishop of the diocese being preceded by +his crucifer. There was as yet no bishopric of Oxford, and the diocese +was that of Lincoln. It was a point of the most rigid ecclesiastical +etiquette that no prelate should have his official cross borne before +him in the diocese of another: and the standing quarrel between the two +archbishops on that point was acute and long lasting. The clerical +procession was closed by the Dean of Saint Mary's--John de Oxineford--a +warm opponent of Becket, the exiled and absent Primate. After the +clergy came a number of the chief officers of state, and lastly, King +Henry the Second, who took his seat in the highest of the curule chairs, +midmost among the others. + +The first of the Plantagenets was no common man. Like most of his race, +he was a born statesman; and also like most of them, he allowed his evil +passions and natural corruption such free scope that his talents were +smothered under their weight. In person he was of middle stature, +somewhat thickly built, with a large round head covered by curly hair, +cut square upon the forehead. Long arms ended in large hands, the care +of which he entirely neglected, never wearing gloves save when he +carried a hawk. His complexion was slightly florid, his eyes small but +clear and sparkling, dove-like when he was pleased, but flashing fire in +his anger. Though his voice was tremulous, yet he could be an eloquent +speaker. He rarely sat down, but commonly stood, whether at mass, +council, or meals. Except on ceremonial occasions, he was extremely +careless in his attire, wearing short clothes of a homely cut, and +requiring some persuasion to renew them. He detested every thing that +came in the way of his convenience, whether long skirts, hanging +sleeves, royal mantles, or boots with folding tops. He was (for his +time) a great reader, a "huge lover of the woods" and of all sylvan +sports, fond of travelling, a very small eater, a generous almsgiver, a +faithful friend--and a good hater. The model example which he set +before him as a statesman was that of his grandfather, Henry First. The +Empress Maud, his mother, was above all things Norman, and was now +living in Normandy in peaceful old age. Perhaps her stormy and eventful +life had made her _feel_ weary of storms, for she rarely emerged from +her retirement except in the character of a peacemaker. Certainly she +had learnt wisdom by adversity. Her former supercilious sternness was +gone, and a meek and quiet spirit, which earned the respect of all, had +taken its place. She may have owed that change, and her quiet close of +life, instrumentally, in some measure to the prayers of the good Queen +Maud, that sweet and saintly mother to whom Maud the Empress had in her +childhood and maturity been so complete a contrast, and whom she now +resembled in her old age. Her son was unhappily not of her later tone, +but rather of the earlier, though he rarely reached those passionate +depths of pride and bitterness through which his aged mother had +struggled into calm. He did not share her Norman proclivities, but +looked back--as the mass of his people did with him--to the old Saxon +laws of Alfred and of Athelstan, which he called the customs of his +grandfather. In a matter of trial for heresy, or a question of +doctrine, he was the obedient servant of Rome; but when the Pope laid +officious hands on the venerable customs of England, and strove to +dictate in points of state law, he found no obedient servant in Henry of +Anjou. + +This morning, being a ceremonial occasion, His Majesty's attire had +risen to it. He wore a white silken tunic, the border richly +embroidered in gold; a crimson dalmatic covered with golden stars; a +mantle of blue samite, fastened on the right shoulder with a golden +fermail set with a large ruby; and red hose, crossed by golden bands all +up the leg. The mantle was lined with grey fur; golden lioncels +decorated the fronts of the black boots; and a white samite cap, adorned +with ostrich feathers, and rising out of a golden fillet, reposed on the +King's head. + +When the members of the Council had taken their seats, and the Bishop of +Lichfield had offered up sundry Latin prayers which about one in ten of +the assembled company understood, the King rose to open the Council. + +"It is not unknown to you, venerable Fathers," he said, "for what +purpose I have convened this Council. There have come into my kingdom +certain persons, foreigners, from the dominions of the Emperor, who have +gone about the country preaching strange doctrines, and who appear to +belong to some new foreign sect. I am unwilling to do injustice, either +by punishing them without investigation, or by dismissing them as +harmless if they are contaminating the faith and morals of the people. +But inasmuch as it appertains to holy Church to judge questions of that +nature, I have here summoned you, my Fathers in God, and your clergy, +that you may examine these persons, and report to me how far they are +innocent or guilty of the false doctrines whereof they are suspected. I +pray you therefore so to do: and as you shall report, so shall I know +how to deal with them." + +His Majesty reseated himself, and the Bishop of the diocese rose, to +deliver a long diatribe upon the wickedness of heresy, the infallibility +of the Church, and the necessity for the amputation of diseased limbs of +the body politic. As nobody disagreed with any of his sentiments, the +harangue was scarcely necessary; but time was of small value in the +twelfth century. Two other Bishops followed, with long speeches: and +then the Council adjourned for dinner, the Earl of Oxford being their +host. + +On re-assembling about eleven o'clock, the King commanded the prisoners +to be brought up. Up they came, the company of thirty--men, women, and +children, Gerhardt the foremost at the bar. + +"Who are thou?" he was asked. + +"I am a German named Gerhardt, born in the dominions of the Duke of +Francia, an elector of the Empire." + +"Art thou the leader of this company?" + +"I am." + +"Wherefore earnest thou to this land?" + +"Long ago, in my childhood, I had read of the blessed Boniface, who, +being an Englishman, travelled into Almayne to teach our people the +faith of Christ. I desired to pay back to your land something of the +debt we owed her, by bringing back to her the faith of Christ." + +"Didst thou ignorantly imagine us without it?" + +"I thought," replied Gerhardt in his quiet manner, "that you could +scarcely have too much of it." + +"What is thy calling?" + +"While in this country, I have followed the weaver's craft." + +"Art thou a lettered man?" + +"I am." + +"Try him," said one of the Bishops. A Latin book was handed up to +Gerhardt, from which he readily construed some sentences, until the +Council declared itself satisfied on that point. This man before them, +whatever else he might be, was no mere ignorant peasant. + +"Are the rest of thy company lettered men?" + +"No. They are mostly peasants." + +"Have they gone about preaching, as thou hast?" + +"The men have done so." + +"And how can ignorant peasants teach abstruse doctrines?" + +"I do not think they attempted that. They kept to the simple +doctrines." + +"What understandest thou by that?" Gerhardt was beginning to answer, +when the Bishop of Winchester interposed with another question. He was +Prince Henry of Blois, the brother of King Stephen, and a better warrior +than a cleric. "Art thou a priest?" + +"I am not." + +"Go on," said the Bishop of Lincoln, who led the examination. "What +meanest thou by the faith of Christ? What dost thou believe about +Christ?" + +Gerhardt's reply on this head was so satisfactory that the Bishop of +Worcester--not long appointed--whispered to his brother of Winchester, +"The man is all right!" + +"Wait," returned the more experienced and pugnacious prelate. "We have +not come to the crux yet." + +"You call yourselves Christians, then?" resumed Lincoln. + +"Certainly we are Christians, and revere the doctrines of the Apostles." + +"What say you of the remedies for sin?" + +"I know of one only, which is the blood of Christ our Lord." + +"How!--are the sacraments no remedies?" + +"Certainly not." + +"Is sin not remitted in baptism?" + +"No." + +"Is not the blood of Christ applied to sinners in the holy Eucharist?" + +"I utterly refuse such a doctrine." + +"What say you of marriage? is that a sacrament?" + +"I do not believe it." + +"Ha! the man is all right, is he?" whispered old Winchester satirically +to his young neighbour, Worcester. + +"Doth not Saint Paul term marriage `_sacramentum magnum_'?" + +"He did not write in Latin." + +This was awkward. The heretic knew rather too much. + +"Are you aware that all the holy doctors are against you?" + +"I am not responsible for their opinions." + +"Do you not accept the interpretation of the Church?" + +What his Lordship meant by this well-sounding term was a certain bundle +of ideas--some of them very illiterate, some very delicate +hair-splitting, some curious even to comicality,--gathered out of the +writings of a certain number of men, who assuredly were not inspired, +since they often travesty Scripture, and at times diametrically +contradict it. Having lived in the darkest times of the Church, they +were extremely ignorant and superstitious, even the best of them being +enslaved by fancies as untrue in fact as they were unspiritual in tone. +It might well have been asked as the response, Where is it?--for no +Church, not even that of Rome herself, has ever put forward an +authorised commentary explanatory of holy Scripture. Her +"interpretation of the Church" has to be gathered here and there by +abstruse study, and so far as her lay members are concerned, is +practically received from the lips of the nearest priest. Gerhardt, +however, did not take this line in replying, but preferred to answer the +Bishop's inaccurate use of the word Church, which Rome impudently denies +to all save her corrupt self. He replied-- + +"Of the true Church, which is the elect of God throughout all ages, +fore-ordained to eternal life? I see no reason to refuse it." + +The Scriptural doctrine of predestination has been compared to "a red +rag" offered to a bull, in respect of its effect on those--whether +votaries of idols or latitudinarianism--who are conscious that they are +not the subjects of saving grace. To none is it more offensive than to +a devout servant of the Church of Rome. The Bishop took up the offence +at once. + +"You hold that heresy--that men are fore-ordained to eternal life?" + +"I follow therein the Apostle Paul and Saint Austin." + +This was becoming intolerable. + +"Doth not the Apostle command his hearers to `work out their own +salvation'?" + +"Would it please my Lord to finish the verse?" + +It did not please my Lord to finish the verse, as that would have put an +extinguisher on his interpretation of it. + +"These heretics refuse to be corrected by Scripture!" he cried instead, +as a much more satisfactory thing to say. + +Gerhardt's quiet answer was only heard by those near him--"I have not +been so yet." + +This aggravating man must be put down. The Bishop raised his voice. + +"Speak, ye that are behind this man. Do ye accept the interpretation of +Scripture taught by the Church our mother, to whom God hath committed +the teaching of all her children?" + +Old Berthold replied. "We believe as we have been taught, but we do not +wish to dispute." + +"Ye are obstinate in your heresy! Will ye do penance for the same?" + +"No," answered Gerhardt. + +"Let them have one more chance," said King Henry in a low voice. "If +they are unsound on one point only, there might yet be hope of their +conversion." + +"They are unsound on every point, my Lord," replied Lincoln irascibly; +"but at your desire I will test them on one or two more.--Tell me, do ye +believe that the souls of the dead pass into Purgatory?" + +"We do not." + +"Do you pray for the dead?" + +"No." + +"Do you invocate the blessed Mary and the saints, and trust to their +merits and intercession?" + +"Never. We worship God, not men." + +At this point Winchester beckoned to Lincoln, and whispered something in +his ear. + +"I am told," pursued the latter, addressing Gerhardt, "that you hold the +priests of holy Church not to be validly consecrated, and have so said +in public. Is it so?" + +"It is so. The temporal power of the Pope has deprived the Church of +the true consecration. You have only the shadow of sacraments, and the +traditions of men." + +"You reject the holy sacraments entirely, then?" + +"Not so. We observe the Eucharist at our daily meals. Our Lord bade us +`as oft as we should drink,' to take that wine in remembrance of Him. +We do His bidding." + +"Ye presume to profane the Eucharist thus!" cried Lichfield in pious +horror. "Ye administer to yourselves--" + +"As Saint Basil held lawful," interposed Gerhardt. + +"Saint Basil spoke of extraordinary occasions when no priest could be +had." + +"But if it be lawful at any time to receive without priestly +consecration, it cannot be unlawful, at every time." + +It did not occur to the Bishop to ask the pertinent question, in what +passage of Scripture priestly consecration of the Eucharist was +required,--nay, in what passage any consecration at all is ever +mentioned. For at the original institution of the rite, our Lord +consecrated nothing, but merely gave thanks to God [Note 1], as it was +customary for the master of the house to do at the Passover feast; and +seeing that "if He were on earth, He should not be a priest." [Note 2.] +He cannot have acted as a priest when He was on earth. We have even +distinct evidence that He declined so to act [Note 3]. And in any +subsequent allusions to this Sacrament in the New Testament [Note 4], +there is no mention of either priests or consecration. It did not, +however, suit the Bishop to pursue this inconvenient point. He passed +at once to another item. + +"Ye dare to touch the sacred cup reserved to the priests--" + +"When did Christ so reserve it? His command was, `Drink ye all of it.'" + +"To the Apostles, thou foolish man!" + +"Were they priests at that time?" + +This was the last straw. The question could not be answered except in +the negative, for if the ordination of the Apostles be not recorded +after the Resurrection [John twenty 21-23], then there is no record of +their having been ordained at all. To be put in a corner in this manner +was more than a Bishop could stand. + +"How darest thou beard me thus?" he roared. "Dost thou not know what +may follow? Is not the King here, who has the power of life and death, +and is he not an obedient son of holy Church?" + +The slight smile on Gerhardt's lips said, "Not very!" But his only +words were-- + +"Ay, I know that ye have power. `This is your hour, and the power of +darkness.' We are not afraid. We have had our message of consolation. +`Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness' sake; for +theirs is the kingdom of the heavens.'" + +"Incredible folly!" exclaimed Lincoln. "That was said to the early +Christians, who suffered persecution from the heathen: not to heretics, +smarting under the deserved correction of the Church. How dare you so +misapply it?" + +"All the Lord's martyrs were not in the early Church. `We are the +circumcision, who worship God in spirit, and glory in Christ Jesus, and +have no confidence in the flesh.' Do to us what ye will. `Whether we +live, we live unto the Lord; or whether we die, we die unto the Lord. +Living or dying, we are the Lord's.'" + +"We solemnly adjudge you false heretics," was the stern reply, "and +deliver you up to our Catholic Prince for punishment. Depart in peace!" + +Gerhardt looked up. "`My peace I give unto you; not as the world +giveth, give I unto you!' Be it so. We go in peace; we go to peace. +Our suffering will soon be over. Already we behold Jesus our Lord at +the right hand of God, and we are ready to partake of His sufferings, +that we may reign with Him." + +King Henry now rose to pronounce sentence. The condemned criminals +before him were to be branded on the forehead with a mark of ignominy, +to be scourged, and cast forth out of the city. No man might receive +them under his roof, relieve them with food, nor administer to them +consolation of any sort. And this was the sentence of the King and of +holy Church, to the honour and laud of God, and of Mary, His most +glorious Mother! + +The sentence was carried out even more barbarously than it was +pronounced. The foreheads of all were branded with hot irons, they were +whipped through the city, and their clothes having been cut short to the +girdle [John twenty 21-23], they were turned into the snow-covered +fields. One of the men appointed to use the branding-irons had just +lost a daughter, and moved by a momentary impulse of pity (for which he +afterwards blamed himself and did penance), he passed two or three of +the younger women--Ermine among them--with a lighter brand than the +rest. No such mercy was shown to the men or the elder women, nor would +it have been to Ermine, had it not been the case that her extreme +fairness made her look much younger than she really was. + +Gerhardt, being regarded as the ringleader, was also branded on the +chin. + +"Courage, my children!" he said to the shivering, trembling little +company, as they were marched down High Street. "We are counted +worthy--worthy to suffer shame for Him who suffered dire shame for us. +Let us praise God." + +And to the amazement, alike of the officials and the crowd of +spectators, the song was set up, and echoed into the side +streets--"Blessed are ye, when men shall persecute you, for the Son of +Man's sake!" varied every now and then by a joyous chorus of "Glory to +God in the highest! on earth peace, goodwill towards men!" + +The song was heard clearly enough in the Walnut Tree: so clearly, that +Flemild even fancied she could distinguish Ermine's voice from the rest. + +"Mother, will you go and look?" she asked, tears running down her face. + +"I'll not go near," said Isel, in a tone of defiance very unusual with +her. "I'll not get your father and you into trouble. And if I were to +go, much if I didn't tear somebody a-pieces." + +"O Mother! you wouldn't touch our old friends? They've enough to bear, +surely." + +"I said _somebody_! child!" was the growl in answer: and Flemild did not +venture to reply. + +Fainter and fainter grew the sounds; only strengthened for a minute when +the higher notes of the chorus supervened. Then came a great roar of +applause from the crowd, as the East Gate was reached, and the heretics +were cast out from the priest-ridden city. But they scarcely heard that +in Kepeharme Lane. + +At the window of the anchorhold stood Derette, having sent Leuesa to +bring her word what happened. She could see nothing, yet she heard the +joyous chant of "Glory to God in the highest!" as the crowd and the +condemned swept down the street just beyond her ken. Leuesa did not +even try to hide her tears when she reached the shelter of the +anchorhold: before that, it would have been perilous to shed them. + +"Oh, it was dreadful, Lady! Gerard never looked at any one: he walked +first, and he looked as if he saw nothing but God and Heaven. Agnes I +could not see, nor the child; I suppose they were on the other side. +But Ermine saw me, and she gave me a smile for you--I am sure she meant +it for you--such as an angel might have given who had been a few hours +on earth, and was just going back to his place before the Throne." + +Manning and Haimet, who had joined the crowd of sightseers, had not +returned when the latch of the Walnut Tree was lifted, and Anania walked +in. + +"What, both stayed at home! O Aunt Isel, you have missed such a sight!" + +"Well, you've got it, then, I suppose," muttered Isel. + +"I shall never forget it--not if I live to be a hundred." + +"Umph! Don't think I shall neither." + +"Now, didn't I tell you those foreigners were no good? Osbert always +said so. I knew I was right. And I am, you see." + +"You're standing in my light, Anania--that's all I can see at present." + +Anania moved about two inches. "Oh, but it was grand to see the Council +come out of Saint Mary's! All the doctors in their robes, and the +Bishops, and last the King--such a lovely shade his mantle was! It's a +pity the Queen was not there too; I always think a procession's half +spoiled when there are no ladies." + +"Oh, that's what you're clucking about, is it? Processions, indeed!" + +"Aunt Isel, are you very cross, or what's the matter with you?" + +"She's in pain, I fear," said Flemild quickly. + +"Where's the pain? I've gathered some splendid fresh betony and +holy-thistle." + +"Here!" said Isel, laying her hand on her heart. + +"Why, then, holy-thistle's just what you want. I'll send you some down +by Stephen." + +"Thank you. But it'll do me no good." + +"Oh, don't you say that, now.--Flemild, I wonder you did not come to see +all the sights. You'll find you've not nearly so much time for pleasure +after you're married; don't look for it. Have you settled when it's to +be?" + +"It was to have been last month, you know, but Father wanted it put +off." + +"Ay, so as he could know Raven a bit better. Well, when is it to be +now?" + +"March, they say." + +"You don't say it as if you enjoyed it much." + +"Maybe she takes her pleasure in different ways from you," said Isel. +"Can't see any, for my part, in going to see a lot of poor wretches +flogged and driven out into the snow. Suppose you could." + +"O Aunt!--when they were heretics?" + +"No, _nor murderers neither_--without they'd murdered me, and then I +reckon I shouldn't have been there to look at 'em." + +"But the priests say they are worse than murderers--they murder men's +souls." + +"I'm alive, for aught I know. And I don't expect to say my Paternoster +any worse than I did seven years gone." + +"How do you know they haven't bewitched you?" asked Anania in a solemn +tone. + +"For the best of all reasons--that I'm not bewitched." + +"Aunt Isel, I'm not so sure of that. If those wretches--" + +"O Anania, do let Mother be!" pleaded Flemild. "It is her pain that +speaks, not herself. I told you she was suffering." + +"You did; but I wonder if her soul isn't worse than her body. I'll just +give Father Dolfin a hint to look to her soul and body both. They say +those creatures only bewitched one maid, and she was but a poor villein +belonging to some doctor of the schools: and so frightened was she to +see their punishment that she was in a hurry to recant every thing they +had taught her. Well! we shall see no more of them, that's one good +thing. I shouldn't think any of them would be alive by the end of the +week. The proclamation was strict--neither food nor shelter to be +given, nor any compassion shown. And branded as they are, every body +will know them, you see." + +Stephen came in while his sister-in-law was speaking. + +"Come, now, haven't you had talk enough?" said he. "You've a tongue as +long as from here to Banbury Cross. You'd best be going home, Anania, +for Osbert's as cross as two sticks, and he'll be there in a few +minutes." + +"Oh dear, one never has a bit of peace! I did think I could have sat a +while, and had a nice chat." + +"It won't be so nice if you keep Osbert waiting, I can tell you." + +Anania rose with evident reluctance, and gathered her mantle round her. + +"Well, good-day, Aunt Isel! I'll send you down the holy-thistle. +Good-day, Flemild. Aren't you coming with me, Stephen?" + +"No; I want to wait for Uncle Manning." + +"Stephen, I'm obliged to you for ever and ever! If she'd stayed another +minute, I should have flown at her!" + +"You looked as if you'd come to the end of your patience," said Stephen, +smiling, but gravely; "and truly, I don't wonder. But what's this about +holy-thistle? Are you sick, Aunt Isel?" + +Isel looked searchingly into her nephew's face. + +"You look true," she said; "I think you might be trusted, Stephen." + +"Oh, _if_ you're grieving over _them_, don't be afraid to tell me so. I +did my best to save Gerard, but he would not be warned. I'd have caught +up the child and brought him to you, if I'd had a chance; but I was +hemmed in the crowd, a burly priest right afore me, and I couldn't have +laid hand on him. Poor souls! I'm sorry for them." + +"God bless thee for those words, Stephen! I'm sore for them to the very +core of my heart. If they'd been my own father's children or mine, I +couldn't feel sadder than I do. And to have to listen to those hard, +cold, brutal words from that woman--." + +"I know. She is a brute. I guessed somewhat how things were going with +you, for I saw her turn in here from the end of Saint Edward's; and I +thought you mightn't be so sorry to have her sent off. Her tongue's not +so musical as might be." + +Manning and Haimet came in together. The former went up to Isel, while +Haimet began a conversation with his cousin, and after a moment the two +young men left the house together. Then Manning spoke. + +"Wife and children," said he, "from this day forward, no word is to be +uttered in my house concerning these German people. They are heretics, +so pronounced by holy Church; and after that, no compassion may be shown +to them. Heretics are monsters, demons in human form, who seek the ruin +of souls. Remember my words." + +Isel looked earnestly in her husband's face. + +"No," said Manning, not unkindly, but firmly; "no excuses for them, +Isel. I can quite understand that you feel sorry for those whom you +have regarded as friends for seven years: but such sorrow is now sin. +You must crush and conquer it. It were rebellion against God, who has +judged these miscreants by the lips of His Church." + +Isel broke down in a very passion of tears. + +"I can't help it, Manning; I can't help it!" she said, when she could +speak. "It may be sin, but I must do it and do penance for it--it's not +a bit of use telling me I must not. I'll try not to talk if you bid me +be silent, but you must give me a day or two to get quieted,--till every +living creature round has done spitting venom at them. I don't promise +to hold my tongue to that ninny of an Anania--she aggravates me while it +isn't in human nature to keep your tongue off her; it's all I can do to +hold my hands." + +"She is very provoking, Father," said Flemild in an unsteady voice; "she +wears Mother fairly out." + +"You may both quarrel with Anania whenever you please," replied Manning +calmly; "I've nothing to say against that. But you are not to make +excuses for those heretics, nor to express compassion for them. Now +those are my orders: don't let me have to give them twice." + +"No, Father; you shall not, to me," said Flemild in a low tone. + +"I can't promise you nothing," said Isel, wiping her eyes on her apron, +"because I know I shall just go and break it as fast as it's made: but +when I can, I'll do your bidding, Manning. And till then, you'll have +either to thrash me or forgive me--whichever you think the properest +thing to do." + +Manning walked away without saying more. + +Snow, snow everywhere!--lying several inches deep on the tracks our +forefathers called roads, drifted several feet high in corners and +clefts of the rocks. Pure, white, untrodden, in the silent fields; but +trampled by many feet upon the road to Dorchester, the way taken by the +hapless exiles. No voice was raised in pity, no hand outstretched for +help; every door was shut against the heretics. Did those who in after +years were burned at the stake on the same plea suffer more or less than +this little band of pioneers, as one after another sank down, and died +in the white snow? The trembling hands of the survivors heaped over +each in turn the spotless coverlet, and then they passed on to their own +speedy fate. + +The snow descended without intermission, driving pitilessly in the +scarred faces of the sufferers. Had they not known that it came from +the hand of their heavenly Father, they might have fancied that Satan +was warring against them by that means, as the utmost and the last thing +that he could do. But as the snow descended, the song ascended as +unceasingly. Fainter and less full it grew to human ears, as one voice +after another was silenced. It may be that the angels heard it richer +and louder, as the choristers grew more few and weak. + +Of the little family group which we have followed, the first to give way +was Agnes. She had taken from her own shivering limbs, to wrap round +the child, one of the mutilated garments which alone her tormentors had +left her. As they approached Nuneham, she staggered and fell. Guelph +and Adelheid ran to lift her up. + +"Oh, let me sleep!" she said. "I can sing no more." + +"Ay, let her sleep," echoed Gerhardt in a quivering voice; "she will +suffer least so. Farewell for a moment, my true beloved! We shall meet +again ere the hour be over." + +Gerhardt held on but a little longer. Doubly branded, and more brutally +scourged than the rest, he was so ill from the first that he had to be +helped along by Wilhelm and Conrad, two of the strongest in the little +company. How Ermine fared they knew not: they could only tell that when +they reached Bensington, she was no longer among them. Most of the +children sank early. Little Rudolph fared the best, for a young mother +who had lost her baby gave him such poor nourishment as she could from +her own bosom. It was just as they came out of Dorchester, that they +laid him down tenderly on a bed of leaves in a sheltered corner, to +sleep out his little life. Then they passed on, still southwards--still +singing "Glory to God in the highest!" and "Blessed are they which are +persecuted for righteousness' sake!" Oh, what exquisite music must have +floated up through the gates of pearl, and filled the heavenly places, +from that poor faint song, breathed by those trembling voices that could +scarcely utter the notes! + +A few hours later, and only one dark figure was left tottering through +the snow. Old Berthold was alone. + +Snow everywhere!--and the night fell, and the frost grew keen; and +Bensington had not long been left behind when old Berthold lay down in +the ditch at the road-side. He had sung his last song, and could go no +further. He could only wait for the chariot of God--for the +white-winged angels to come silently over the white snow, and carry him +Home. + +"The Lord will not forget me, though I am the last left," he said to +himself. "His blessings are not mere empty words. `Glory to God in the +highest!'" And Berthold slept. + +"Rudolph!" The word was breathed softly, eagerly, by some moving thing +closely wrapped up, in the dense darkness of the field outside +Dorchester. There was no answer. + +"Rudolph!" came eagerly again. + +The speaker, who was intently listening, fancied she heard the faintest +possible sound. Quickly, quietly, flitting from one point to another, +feeling with her hands on the ground, under the bushes, by the walls, +she went, till her outstretched hands touched something round and soft, +and not quite so chillingly cold as every thing else seemed to be that +night. + +"Rudolph! art thou here?" + +"Yes, it's me," said the faint childish voice. "Where am I?--and who +are you?" + +"Drink," was the answer; and a bottle of warm broth was held to the +boy's blue lips. Then, when he had drunk, he was raised from the +ground, clasped close to a woman's warm breast, and a thick fur mantle +was hastily wrapped round them both. + +"Who are you?" repeated the child. "And where--where's Mother?" + +"I am an old friend, my little child. Hast thou ever heard the name of +Countess?" + +"Yes," murmured the child feebly. He could not remember yet how or +where he had heard it; he only knew that it was not strange to him. + +"That is well. Glory be to the Blessed that I have found thee in time +to save thee!" + +They were speeding back now into the lighted town--not lighted, indeed, +by out-door lamps, but by many an open door and uncovered window, and +the lanterns of passengers going up or down the street. Countess +carried the child to a stone house--only Jews built stone houses in +towns at that day--and into a ground-floor room, where she laid him down +on a white couch beside the fire. There were two men in the room--both +old, and with long white beards. + +"Countess! what hast thou there?" sternly asked one of the men. + +"Father Jacob!--a babe of the Goyim!" exclaimed the other. + +"Hush!" said Countess in a whisper, as she bent over the boy. "The life +is barely in him. May the Blessed (to whom be praise!) help me to save +my darling!" + +"Accursed are all the infidels!" said the man who seemed slightly the +younger of the two. "Daughter, how earnest thou by such a child, and +how darest thou give him such a name?" + +Countess made no answer. She was busy feeding little Rudolph with bits +of bread sopped in warm broth. + +"Where am I?" asked the child, as sense and a degree of strength +returned to him. "It isn't Isel's house." + +"Wife, dost thou not answer the Cohen?" said the elder man angrily. + +"The Cohen can wait for his answer; the child cannot for his life. When +I think him safe I will answer all you choose." + +At length, after careful feeding and drying, Countess laid down the +spoon, and covered the child with a warm woollen coverlet. + +"Sleep, my darling!" she said softly. "The God of Israel hush thee +under His wings!" + +A few moments of perfect quiet left no doubt that little Rudolph was +sound asleep. Then Countess stood up, and turned to the Rabbi. + +"Now, Cohen, I am ready. Ask me what you will." + +"Who and what is this child?" + +"An exile, as we are. An orphan, cast on the great heart of the +All-Merciful. A trust which was given to me, and I mean to fulfil it." + +"That depends on the leave of thy lord." + +"It depends on nothing of the sort. I sware to the dead father of this +boy that I would protect him from all hurt." + +"Sware! Well, then--" said the elder Jew--"an oath must be fulfilled, +Cohen?" + +"That depends on circumstances," returned the Rabbi in Jesuitical wise. +"For instance, if Countess sware by any idol of the Goyim, it is void. +If she sware by her troth, or faith, or any such thing, it may be +doubtful, and might require a synod of the Rabbins to determine it. But +if she sware by the Holy One (blessed be He!) then the oath must stand. +But of course, daughter, thou wilt have the boy circumcised, and bring +him up as a proselyte of Israel." + +The expression in the eyes of Countess did not please the Rabbi. + +"Thus I sware," she said: "`God do so to me and more also, if I bring +not the child to you unhurt!' How can I meet that man at the day of +doom, if I have not kept mine oath--if I deliver not the boy to him +unhurt, as he will deem hurting?" + +"But that were to teach him the idolatries of the Goyim!" exclaimed the +Rabbi in horror. + +"I shall teach him no idolatry. Only what his father would have taught +him--and I know what that was. I have listened to him many a day on +Presthey and Pary's Mead." + +"Countess, I shall not suffer it. Such a thing must not be done in my +house." + +"It has to be done in mine," said Countess doggedly. + +"I do not forbid thee to show mercy to the child. If he be, as thou +sayest, an orphan and an exile, and thou moreover hast accepted some +fashion of trust with regard to him (however foolish it were to do so), +I am willing that thou shouldst keep him a day or two, till he has +recovered. But then shelter must be sought for him with the Goyim." + +"Do you two know," said Countess, in a low voice of concentrated +determination, "that this child's parents, and all of their race that +were with them, have been scourged by the Goyim?--branded, and cast +forth as evil, and have died in the night and in the snow, because they +would _not_ worship idols? These are not of the brood of the priests, +who hate them. The boy is mine, and shall be brought up as mine. I +sware it." + +"But not for life?" + +"I sware it." + +"Did the child's father know what thou hadst sworn? as if not, perchance +there may be means to release thee." + +The black eyes flashed fire. + +"I tell you, I sware unto him by Adonai, the God of Israel, and He knew +it! In the lowest depths and loftiest heights of my own soul I sware, +and He heard it. I repeated the vow this night, when I clasped the boy +to my heart once more. God will do so to me and more also, if I bring +not the boy unhurt to his father and his mother at the Judgment Day!" + +"But, my daughter, if it can be loosed?" + +"What do I care for your loosing? He will not loose me. And the child +shall not suffer. I will die first." + +"Let the child tarry till he has recovered: did I not say so? Then he +must go forth." + +"If you turn him forth, you turn me forth with him." + +"Nonsense!" + +"You will see. I shall never leave him. My darling, my white +snow-bird! I shall never leave the boy." + +"My daughter," said the Rabbi softly, for he thought the oil might +succeed where the vinegar had failed, "dost thou not see that Leo's +advice is the best? The child must tarry with thee till he is well; no +man shall prevent that." + +"Amen!" said Countess. + +"But that over, is it not far better both for him and thee that he +should go to the Goyim? We will take pains, for the reverence of thine +oath, to find friends of his parents, who will have good care of him: I +promise thee it shall be done, and Leo will assent thereto." + +Leo confirmed the words with--"Even so, Cohen!" + +"But I pray thee, my daughter, remember what will be thought of thee, if +thou shouldst act as thou art proposing to do. It will certainly be +supposed that thou art wavering in the faith of thy fathers, if even it +be not imagined that thou hast forsaken it. Only think of the horror of +such a thing!" + +"I have not forsaken the faith of Abraham." + +"I am sure of that; nevertheless, it is good thou shouldst say it." + +"If the Cohen agree," said Leo, stroking his white beard, "I am willing +to make a compromise. As we have no child, and thou art so fond of +children, the child shall abide with thee, on condition that thou take a +like oath to bring him up a proselyte of Israel: and then let him be +circumcised on the eighth day after his coming here. But if not, some +friend of his parents must be found. What say you, Cohen?" + +"I am willing so to have it." + +"I am not," said Countess shortly. "As to friends of the child's +parents, there are none such, save the God for whom they died, and in +whose presence they stand to-night. I must keep mine oath. Unhurt in +body, unhurt in soul, according to their conception thereof, and +according to my power, will I bring the boy to his father at the coming +of Messiah." + +"Wife, wouldst thou have the Cohen curse thee in the face of all +Israel?" + +"These rash vows!" exclaimed the Rabbi, in evident uneasiness. +"Daughter, it is written in the Thorah that if any woman shall make a +vow, her husband may establish it or make it void, if he do so in the +day that he hear it; and the Blessed One (unto whom be praise!) shall +forgive her, and she shall not perform the vow." + +"The vow was made before I was Leo's wife." + +"Well, but in the day that he hath heard it, it is disallowed." + +"There is something else written in the Thorah, Cohen. `Every vow of a +widow, or of her that is divorced, shall stand.'" + +"Father Isaac! when didst thou read the Thorah? Women have no business +to do any such thing." + +"It is there, whether they have or not." + +"Then it was thy father's part to disallow it." + +"I told him of my vow, and he did not." + +"That is an awkward thing!" said Leo in a low tone to the Rabbi. + +"I must consult the Rabbins," was the answer. "It may be we shall find +a loophole, to release the foolish woman. Canst thou remember the exact +words of thy vow?" + +"What matter the exact words? The Holy One (blessed be He!) looketh on +the heart, and He knew what I meant to promise." + +"Yet how didst thou speak?" + +"I have told you. I said, `God do so to me and more also, if I bring +not the child to you unhurt!'" + +"Didst thou say `God'? or did the man say it, and thy word was only +`He'?" asked the Rabbi eagerly, fancying that he saw a way of escape. + +"What do I know which it was? I meant Him, and that is in His eyes as +if I had said it." + +"Countess, if thou be contumacious, I cannot shelter thee," said Leo +sternly. + +"My daughter," answered the Rabbi, still suavely, though he was not far +from anger, "I am endeavouring to find thee a way of escape." + +"I do not wish to escape. I sware, and I will do it. Oh, bid me +depart!" she cried, almost fiercely, turning to Leo. "I cannot bear +this endless badgering. Give me my raiment and my jewels, and bid me +depart in peace!" + +There was a moment's dead silence, during which the two old men looked +fixedly at each other. Then the Rabbi said-- + +"It were best for thee, Leo. Isaac the son of Deuslesalt [probably a +translation of Isaiah or Joshua] hath a fair daughter, and he is richer +than either Benefei or Jurnet. She is his only child." + +"I have seen her: she is very handsome. Yet such a winter night! We +will wait till morning, and not act rashly." + +"No: now or not at all," said Countess firmly. + +"My daughter," interposed the Rabbi hastily, "there is no need to be +rash. If Leo give thee now a writing of divorcement, thou canst not +abide in his house to-night. Wait till the light dawns. Sleep may +bring a better mind to thee." + +Countess vouchsafed him no answer. She turned to her husband. + +"I never wished to dwell in thy house," she said very calmly, "but I +have been a true and obedient wife. I ask thee now for what I think I +have earned--my liberty. Let me go with my little child, whom I love +dearly,--go to freedom, and be at peace. I can find another shelter for +to-night. And if I could not, it would not matter--for me." + +She stooped and gathered the sleeping child into her arms. + +"Speak the words," she said. "It is the one boon that I ask of you." + +Leo rose--with a little apparent reluctance--and placed writing +materials before the Rabbi, who with the reed-pen wrote, or rather +painted, a few Hebrew words upon the parchment. Then Leo, handing it to +his wife, said solemnly-- + +"Depart in peace!" + +The fatal words were spoken. Countess wrapped herself and Rudolph in +the thick fur mantle, and turned to leave the room, saying to the man +whose wife she was no longer-- + +"I beseech you, send my goods to my father's house. Peace be unto you!" + +"Peace be to thee, daughter!" returned the Rabbi. + +Then, still carrying the child, she went out into the night and the +snow. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Note 1. See Matthew 27 verses 26, 27; Mark fourteen verses 22, 23; Luke +twenty-two verses 17, 20; One Corinthians eleven verse 24, when it will +be seen that "blessed" means gave thanks to God, not blessed the +elements. + +Note 2. Hebrews Seven verse 14; Eight verse 4. + +Note 3. Matthew Eight verse 4. + +Note 4. Acts two verse 46; twenty-seven verse 11; One Corinthians +eleven verses 20-34. + +Note 5. Diceto makes this barbarity a part of the sentence passed on +the Germans. Newbury mentions it only as inflicted. + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT. + +IN THE WHITE WITCH'S HUT. + + "But all my years have seemed so long; + And toil like mine is wondrous dreary; + And every body thinks me strong: + And I'm aweary." + + M.A. Chaplin. + +"Heigh-Ho! It's a weary life, Gib--a weary life!" + +The words came from an old woman, and were addressed to a cat. Neither +of them was an attractive-looking object. The old woman was very old, +having a face all over minute wrinkles, a pair of red eyes much sunken, +and the semblance of a beard under her chin. The cat, a dark tabby, +looked as if he had been in the wars, and had played his part valiantly. +His coat, however, was less dilapidated than the old woman's garments, +which seemed to be composed mainly of disconnected rags of all colours +and shapes. She sat on a three-legged stool, beside a tiny hearth, on +which burned a small fire of sticks. + +"Nobody cares for us, Gib: nobody! They call me a witch--the saints +know why, save that I am old and poor. I never did hurt to any, and +I've given good herb medicines to the women about; and if I do mutter a +few outlandish words over them, what harm does it do? They mean +nothing; and they make the foolish girls fancy I know something more +than they do, and so I get a silver penny here, or a handful of eggs +there, and we make shift to live." + +She spoke aloud, though in a low voice, as those often do who live +alone; and the cat rose and rubbed himself against her, with a soft +"Me-ew!" + +"Well, Gib! Didst thou want to remind me that so long as thou art +alive, I shall have one friend left? Poor puss!" and she stroked her +uncomely companion. + +"How the wind whistles! Well, it is cold to-night! There'll be nobody +coming now to consult the Wise Woman. We may as well lie down, Gib-- +it's the only warm place, bed is. Holy saints! what's that?" + +She listened intently for a moment, and Gib, with erect tail, went to +the door and smelt under it. Then he looked back at his mistress, and +said once more,--"Me-ew!" + +"Somebody there, is there? A bit frightened, I shouldn't wonder. Come +in, then--there's nought to fear,"--and she opened the crazy door of her +hut. "Well, can't you come in--must I lift you up? Why, what--Mary, +Mother!" + +Half lifting, half dragging, for very little strength was left her, the +old woman managed to pull her visitor inside. Then she bolted the door, +and stooping down, with hands so gentle that they might have been an +infant's, softly drew away from a young scarred face the snow-saturated +hair. + +"Ay, I see, my dear, I see! Don't you try to speak. I can guess what +you are, and whence you come. I heard tell what had happened. Don't +you stir, now, but just drink a drop of this warm mallow tea--the finest +thing going for one in your condition. I can't give you raiment, for +I've none for myself, but we'll see to-morrow if I can't get hold o' +somewhat: you've not been used to wear rags. I'll have 'em, if I steal +'em. Now, don't look at me so reproachful-like! well, then, I'll beg +'em, if it worries you. Oh, you're safe here, my dear! you've no need +to look round to see if no villains is a-coming after you. They'll not +turn up in these quarters, take my word for it. Not one o' them would +come near the witch's hut after nightfall. But I'm no witch, my +dearie--only a poor old woman as God and the blessed saints have quite +forgot, and folks are feared of me." + +"The Lord never forgets," the parched lips tried to say. + +"Don't He? Hasn't He forgot both you and me, now?" + +"No--never!" + +"Well, well, my dear! Lie still, and you shall tell me any thing you +will presently. Have another sup!--just one at once, and often--you'll +soon come round. I know some'at about herbs and such-like, if I know +nought else. See, let me lay this bundle of straw under your head; +isn't that more comfortable, now? Poor thing, now what are you a-crying +for?--does your face pain you bad? I'll lay some herbs to it, and you +won't have so much as a scar there when they've done their work. Ay, I +know some'at about herbs, I do! Deary me, for sure!--poor thing, poor +thing!" + +"The Lord bless you!" + +"Child, you're the first that has blessed me these forty years! and I +never hear _that_ name. Folks take me for one of Sathanas' servants, +and they never speak to me of--that Other. I reckon they fancy I should +mount the broomstick and fly through the chimney, if they did. Eh me!-- +and time was I was a comely young maid--as young and well-favoured as +you, my dear: eh dear, dear, to think how long it is since! I would I +could pull you a bit nearer the fire; but I've spent all my strength-- +and that's nought much--in hauling of you in. But you're safe, at any +rate; and I'll cover you up with straw--I've got plenty of that, if I +have not much else. Them villains, to use a young maid so!--or a wife, +whichever you be. And they say I'm in league with the Devil! I never +got so near him as they be." + +"I am a maid." + +"Well, and that's the best thing you can be. Don't you be in a hurry to +change it. Come, now, I'll set on that sup o' broth was given me at the +green house; you'll be ready to drink it by it's hot. Well, now, it's +like old times and pleasant, having a bit o' company to speak to beside +Gib here. What's your name, now, I wonder?" + +"Ermine." + +"Ay, ay. Well, mine's Haldane--old Haldane, the Wise Woman--I'm known +all over Oxfordshire, and Berkshire too. Miles and miles they come to +consult me. Oh, don't look alarmed, my pretty bird! you sha'n't see one +of them if you don't like. There's a sliding screen behind here that I +can draw, and do by times, when I want to fright folks into behaving +themselves; I just draw it out, and speak from behind it, in a hollow +voice, and don't they go as white!--I'll make a cosy straw bed for you +behind it, and never a soul of 'em 'll dare to look in on you--no, not +the justice himself, trust me. I know 'em: Lords, and constables, and +foresters, and officers--I can make every mother's son of 'em shiver in +his shoes, till you'd think he had the ague on him. But _you_ sha'n't, +my dear: you're as safe as if the angels was rocking you. Maybe they'll +want to come with you: but they'll feel strange here. When you can talk +a bit without hurting of you, you shall tell me how you got here." + +"I lost my way in the snow." + +"Well, no wonder! Was there many of you?" + +"About thirty." + +"And all served like you?" + +"Yes, except my brother: he was our leader, and they served him worse. +I do not think the children were branded." + +"Children!" + +"Ay, there were eight children with us." + +"One minds one's manners when one has the angels in company, or else +maybe I should speak my mind a bit straight. And what was it for, +child?" + +"They said we were heretics." + +"I'll be bound they did! But what had you done?" + +"My brother and some others had preached the Gospel of Christ in the +villages round, and further away." + +"What mean you by that, now?" + +"The good news that men are sinners, and that Jesus died for sinners." + +"Ah! I used to know all about that once. But now--He's forgotten me." + +"No, never, never, Mother Haldane! It is thou who hast forgotten Him. +He sent me to thee to-night to tell thee so." + +"Gently now, my dear! Keep still. Don't you use up your bit of +strength for a worthless old woman, no good to any body. There ain't +nobody in the world as cares for me, child. No, there ain't nobody!" + +"Mother Haldane, I think Christ cared for you on His cross; and He cares +for you now in Heaven. He wanted somebody to come and tell you so; and +nobody did, so he drove me here. You'll let me tell you all about it, +won't you?" + +"Softly, my dear--you'll harm yourself! Ay, you shall tell me any thing +you will, my snow-bird, when you're fit to do it; but you must rest a +while first." + +There was no sleep that night for Mother Haldane. All the long winter +night she sat beside Ermine, feeding her at short intervals, laying her +herb poultices on the poor brow, covering up the chilled body from which +it seemed as if the shivering would never depart. More and more silent +grew the old woman as time went on, only now and then muttering a +compassionate exclamation as she saw more clearly all the ill that had +been done. She kept up the fire all night, and made a straw bed, as she +had promised, behind the screen, where the invalid would be sheltered +from the draught, and yet warm, the fire being just on the other side of +the screen. To this safe refuge Ermine was able to drag herself when +the morning broke. + +"You'll be a fine cure, dearie!" said the old woman, looking on her with +satisfaction. "You'll run like a hare yet, and be as rosy as +Robin-run-by-the-hedge." + +"I wonder why I am saved," said Ermine in a low voice. "I suppose all +the rest are with God now. I thought I should have been there too by +this time. Perhaps He has some work for me to do:--it may be that He +has chosen you, and I am to tell you of His goodness and mercy." + +"You shall tell any thing you want, dearie. You're just like a bright +angel to old Mother Haldane. I'm nigh tired of seeing frightened faces. +It's good to have one face that'll look at you quiet and kind; and +nobody never did that these forty years. Where be your friends, my +maid? You'll want to go to them, of course, when you're fit to +journey." + +"I have no friends but One," said the girl softly: "and He is with me +now. I shall go to Him some day, when He has done His work in me and by +me. As to other earthly friends, I would not harm the few I might +mention, by letting their names be linked with mine, and they would be +afraid to own me. For my childhood's friends, _they_ are all over-sea. +I have no friend save God and you." + +When Ermine said, "He is with me now," the old woman had glanced round +as if afraid of seeing some unearthly presence. At the last sentence +she rose--for she had been kneeling by the girl--with a shake of her +head, and went outside the screen, muttering to herself. + +"Nobody but the snow-bird would ever link them two together! Folks +think I'm Sathanas' thrall." + +She put more sticks on the fire, muttering while she did so. + +"`Goodness and mercy!' Eh, deary me! There's not been much o' that for +the old witch. Folks are feared of even a white witch, and I ain't a +black 'un. Ay, feared enough. They'll give me things, for fear. But +nobody loves me--no, nobody loves me!" + +With a vessel of hot broth in her hands, she came back to the niche +behind the screen. + +"Now, my dearie, drink it up. I must leave you alone a while at after. +I'm going out to beg a coverlet and a bit more victuals. You're not +afeared to be left? There's no need, my dear--never a whit. The worst +outlaw in all the forest would as soon face the Devil himself as look +behind this screen. But I'll lock you in if you like that better." + +"As you will, Mother Haldane. The Lord will take care of me, in the way +He sees best for me, and most for His glory." + +"I'll lock you in. It'll not be so hard for Him then. Some'at new, +bain't it, for the like o' me to think o' helping Him?" + +Ermine answered only by a smile. Let the old woman learn to come nigh +to God, she thought, however imperfectly; other items could be put right +in time. + +It was nearly three hours before Haldane returned, and she came so well +laden that she had some work to walk. A very old fur coverlet hung over +her left arm, while on her right was a basket that had seen hard service +in its day. + +"See you here, dearie!" she said, holding them up to the gaze of her +guest. "Look you at all I've got for you. I didn't steal a bit of it-- +I saw from your face you wouldn't like things got that way. Here's a +fine happing of fur to keep you warm; and I've got a full dozen of eggs +given me, and a beef-bone to make broth, and a poke o' meal: and they +promised me a cape at the green house, if I bring 'em some herbs they +want. We shall get along grandly, you'll see. I've picked up a fine +lot of chestnuts, too,--but them be for me; the other things be for you. +I'll set the bone on this minute; it's got a goodly bit o' meat on it." + +"You are very good to me, Mother Haldane. But you must take your share +of the good things." + +"Never a whit, my dearie! I got 'em all for you. There, now!" + +She spread the fur coverlet over Ermine, wrapping her closely in it, and +stood a moment to enjoy the effect. + +"Ain't that warm, now? Oh, I know where to go for good things! Trust +the Wise Woman for that! Can you sleep a while, my dear? Let me put +you on a fresh poultice, warm and comforting, and then you'll try, won't +you? I'll not make no more noise than Gib here, without somebody comes +in, and then it's as may be." + +She made her poultice, and put it on, covered Ermine well, made up the +fire, and took her seat on the form, just outside the screen, while +Ermine tried to sleep. But sleep was coy, and would not visit the +girl's eyes. Her state of mind was strangely quiescent and acquiescent +in all that was done to her or for her. Perhaps extreme weakness had a +share in this; but she felt as if sorrow and mourning were as far from +her as was active, tumultuous joy. Calm thankfulness and satisfaction +with God's will seemed to be the prevailing tone of her mind. Neither +grief for the past nor anxiety for the future had any place in it. Her +soul was as a weaned child. + +As Haldane sat by the fire, and Ermine lay quiet but fully awake on the +other side of the screen, a low tap came on the door. + +"Enter!" said Haldane in a hollow voice, quite unlike the tone she used +to Ermine: for the Wise Woman was a ventriloquist, and could produce +terrifying effects thereby. + +The visitor proved to be a young woman, who brought a badly-sprained +wrist for cure. She was treated with an herb poultice, over which the +old woman muttered an inaudible incantation; and having paid a bunch of +parsnips as her fee, she went away well satisfied. Next came a lame old +man, who received a bottle of lotion. The third applicant wanted a +charm to make herself beautiful. She was desired to wash herself once a +day in cold spring water, into which she was to put a pinch of a powder +with which the witch furnished her. While doing so, she was to say +three times over-- + + "Win in, white! Wend out, black! + Bring to me that I do lack. + Wend out, black! Win in, white! + Sweet and seemly, fair to sight." + +The young lady, whose appearance might certainly have been improved by +due application of soap and water, departed repeating her charm +diligently, having left behind her as payment a brace of rabbits. + +A short time elapsing, before any fresh rap occurred, Haldane went to +look at her patient. + +"Well, my dear, and how are you getting on? Not asleep, I see. Look at +them rabbits! I can make you broth enough now. Get my living this way, +look you. And it's fair too, for I gives 'em good herbs. Fine cures I +make by times, I can tell you." + +"I wondered what you gave the last," said Ermine. + +The old woman set her arms akimbo and laughed. + +"Eh, I get lots o' that sort. It's a good wash they want, both for +health and comeliness; and I make 'em take it that way. The powder's +nought--it's the wash does it, look you: but they'd never do it if I +told 'em so. Mum, now! there's another." + +And dropping her voice to a whisper, Haldane emerged from the screen, +and desired the applicant to enter. + +It was a very handsome young woman who came in, on whose face the +indulgence of evil passions--envy, jealousy, and anger--had left as +strong a mark as beauty. She crossed herself as she stepped over the +threshold. + +"Have you a charm that will win hearts?" she asked. + +"Whose heart do you desire to win?" was the reply. + +"That of Wigan the son of Egglas." + +"Has it strayed from you?" + +"I have never had it. He loves Brichtiva, on the other side of the +wood, and he will not look on me. I hate her. I want to beguile his +heart away from her." + +"What has she done to you?" + +"Done!" cried the girl, with a flash of her eyes. "Done! She is fair +and sweet, and she has won Wigan's love. That is what she has done to +me." + +"And you love Wigan?" + +"I care nothing for Wigan. I hate Brichtiva. I want to be revenged on +her." + +"I can do nothing for you," answered Haldane severely. "Revenge is the +business of the black witch, not the Wise Woman who deals in honest +simples and harmless charms. Go home and say thy prayers, Maiden, and +squeeze the black drop out of thine heart, that thou fall not into the +power of the Evil One. Depart!" + +This interview quite satisfied Ermine that Haldane was no genuine witch +of the black order. However dubious her principles might be in some +respects, she had evidently distinct notions of right and wrong, and +would not do what she held wicked for gain. + +Other applicants came at intervals through the day. There were many +with burns, scalds, sprains, or bruises, nearly all of which Haldane +treated with herbal poultices, or lotions; some with inward pain, to +whom she gave bottles of herbal drinks. Some wanted charms for all +manner of purposes--to make a horse go, induce plants to grow, take off +a spell, or keep a lover true. A few asked to have their fortunes told, +and wonderful adventures were devised for them. After all the rest, +when it began to grow dusk, came a man muffled up about the face, and +evidently desirous to remain unknown. + +The White Witch rested her hands on the staff which she kept by her, +partly for state and partly for support, and peered intently at the +half-visible face of the new-comer. + +"Have you a charm that will keep away evil dreams?" was the question +that was asked in a harsh voice. + +"It is needful," replied Haldane in that hollow voice, which seemed to +be her professional tone, "that I should know what has caused them." + +"You a witch, and ask that?" was the sneering answer. + +"I ask it for your own sake," said Haldane coldly. "Confession of sin +is good for the soul." + +"When I lack shriving, I will go to a priest. Have you any such charm?" + +"Answer my question, and you shall have an answer to yours." + +The visitor hesitated. He was evidently unwilling to confess. + +"You need not seek to hide from me," resumed Haldane, "that the wrong +you hold back from confessing is a deed of blood. The only hope for you +is to speak openly." + +The Silence continued unbroken for a moment, during which the man seemed +to be passing through a mental conflict. At length he said, in a hoarse +whisper-- + +"I never cared for such things before. I have done it many a time,--not +just this, but things that were quite as--well, bad, if you will. They +never haunted me as this does. But they were men, and these--Get rid of +the faces for me! I must get rid of those terrible faces." + +"If your confession is to be of any avail to you, it must be complete," +said Haldane gravely. "Of whose faces do you wish to be rid?" + +"It's a woman and a child," said the man, his voice sinking lower every +time he spoke, yet it had a kind of angry ring in it, as if he appealed +indignantly against some injustice. "There were several more, and why +should these torment me? Nay, why should they haunt _me_ at all? I +only did my duty. There be other folks they should go to--them that +make such deeds duty. I'm not to blame--but I can't get rid of those +faces! Take them away, and I'll give you silver--gold--only take them +away!" + +The probable solution of the puzzle struck Haldane as she sat there, +looking earnestly into the agitated features of her visitor. + +"You must confess all," she said, "the names and every thing you know. +I go to mix a potion which may help you. Bethink you, till I come +again, of all the details of your sin, that you may speak honestly and +openly thereof." + +And she passed behind the screen. One glance at the white face of the +girl lying there told Haldane that her guess was true. She knelt down, +and set her lips close to Ermine's ear. + +"You know the voice," she whispered shortly. "Who is he?" + +"The Bishop's sumner, who arrested us." + +"And helped to thrust you forth at the gate?" + +Ermine bowed her head. Haldane rose, and quickly mixing in a cup a +little of two strong decoctions of bitter herbs, she returned to her +visitor. + +"Drink that," she said, holding out the cup, and as he swallowed the +bitter mixture, she muttered-- + + "Evil eye be stricken blind! + Cords about thy heart unwind! + Tell the truth, and shame the fiend!" + +The sumner set down the cup with a wry face. + +"Mother, I will confess all save the names, which I know not. I am +sumner of my Lord of Lincoln, and I took these German heretics four +months gone, and bound them, and cast them into my Lord's prison. And +on Sunday, when they were tried, I guarded them through the town, and +thrust them out of the East Gate. Did I do any more than my duty? +There were women and little children among them, and they went to +perish. They must all be dead by now, methinks, for no man would dare +to have compassion on them, and the bitter cold would soon kill men so +weak already with hunger. Yet they were heretics, accursed of God and +men: but their faces were like the faces of the angels that are in +Heaven. Two of those faces--a mother and a little child--will never +away from me. I know not why nor how, but they made me think of another +winter night, when there was no room for our Lady and her holy Child +among men on earth. Oh take away those faces! I can bear no more." + +"Did they look angrily at thee?" + +"Angry! I tell you they were like the angels. I was pushing them out +at the gate--I never thought of any thing but getting rid of heretics-- +when she turned, and the child looked up on me--such a look! I shall +behold it till I die, if you cannot rid me of it." + +"My power extends not to angels," replied Haldane. + +"Can you do nought for me, then?" he asked in hopeless accents. "Must I +feel for ever as Herod the King felt, when he had destroyed the holy +innocents? I am not worse than others--why should they torture me?" + +"Punishment must always follow sin." + +"Sin! Is it any sin to punish a heretic? Father Dolfin saith it is a +shining merit, because they are God's enemies, and destroy men's souls. +I have not sinned. It must be Satan that torments me thus; it can only +be he, since he is the father of heretics, and they go straight to him. +Can't you buy him off? I 'll give you any gold to get rid of those +faces! Save me from them if you can!" + +"I cannot. I have no power in such a case as thine. Get thee to the +priest and shrive thee, thou miserable sinner, for thy help must come +from Heaven and not from earth." + +"The priest! _Shrive_ me for obeying the Bishop, and bringing doom upon +the heretics! Nay, witch!--art thou so far gone down the black road +that thou reckonest such good works to be sins?" + +And the sumner laughed bitterly. + +"It is thy confession of sin wherewith I deal," answered Haldane +sternly. "It is thy conscience, not mine, whereon it lieth heavy. Who +is it that goeth down the black road--the man that cannot rest for the +haunting of dead faces, or the poor, harmless, old woman, that bade him +seek peace from the Church of God?" + +"The Church would never set that matter right," said the sumner, half +sullenly, as he rose to depart. + +"Then there is but one other hope for thee," said a clear low voice from +some unseen place: "get thee to Him who is the very Head of the Church +of God, and who died for thee and for all Christian men." + +The sumner crossed himself several times over, not waiting for the end +of one performance before he began another. + +"Dame Mary, have mercy on us!" he cried; "was that an angel that spake?" + +"An evil spirit would scarcely have given such holy counsel," gravely +responded Haldane. + +"Never expected to hear angels speak in a witch's hut!" said the +astonished sumner. "Pray you, my Lord Angel--or my Lady Angela, if so +be--for your holy intercession for a poor sinner." + +"Better shalt thou have," replied the voice, "if thou wilt humbly rest +thy trust on Christ our Lord, and seek His intercession." + +"You see well," added Haldane, "that I am no evil thing, else would good +spirits not visit me." + +The humbled sumner laid two silver pennies in her hand, and left the hut +with some new ideas in his head. + +"Well, my dear, you've a brave heart!" said Haldane, when the sound of +his footsteps had died away. "I marvel you dared speak. It is well he +took you for an angel; but suppose he had not, and had come round the +screen to see? When I told you the worst outlaw in the forest would not +dare to look in on you, I was not speaking of _them_. They stick at +nothing, commonly." + +"If he had," said Ermine quietly, "the Lord would have known how to +protect me. Was I to leave a troubled soul with the blessed truth +untold, because harm to my earthly life might arise thereby?" + +"But, my dear, you don't think he'll be the better?" + +"If he be not, the guilt will not rest on my head." + +The dark deepened, and the visitors seemed to have done coming. Haldane +cooked a rabbit for supper for herself and Ermine, not forgetting Gib. +She had bolted the door for the night, and was fastening the wooden +shutter which served for a window, when a single tap on the door +announced a late applicant for her services. Haldane opened the tiny +wicket, which enabled her to speak without further unbarring when she +found it convenient. + +"Folks should come in the day," she said. + +"Didn't dare!" answered a low whisper, apparently in the voice of a +young man. "Can you find lost things?" + +"That depends on the planets," replied Haldane mysteriously. + +"But can't you rule the planets?" + +"No; they rule me, and you too. However, come within, and I will see +what I can do for you." + +Unbarring the door, she admitted a muffled man, whose face was almost +covered by a woollen kerchief evidently arranged for that purpose. + +"What have you lost?" asked the Wise Woman. + +"The one I loved best," was the unexpected answer. + +"Man, woman, or child?" + +"A maiden, who went forth the morrow of Saint Lucian, by the East Gate +of Oxford, on the Dorchester road. If you can, tell me if she be +living, and where to seek her." + +Haldane made a pretence of scattering a powder on the dying embers of +her wood-fire. [Note 1.] + +"The charm will work quicker," she said, "if I know the name of the +maiden." + +"Ermine." + +Haldane professed to peer into the embers. + +"She is a foreigner," she remarked. + +"Ay, you have her." + +"A maiden with fair hair, a pale soft face, blue eyes, and a clear, +gentle voice." + +"That's it!--where is she?" + +"She is still alive." + +"Thanks be to all the saints! Where must I go to find her?" + +"The answer is, Stay where you are." + +"Stay! I cannot stay. I must find and succour her." + +"Does she return your affection?" + +"That's more than I can say. I've never seen any reason to think so." + +"But you love her?" + +"I would have died for her!" said the young man, with an earnest ring in +his voice. "I have perilled my life, and the priests say, my soul. All +this day have I been searching along the Dorchester way, and have found +every one of them but two--her, and one other. I did my best, too, to +save her and hers before the blow fell." + +"What would you do, if you found her?" + +"Take her away to a safe place, if she would let me, and guard her there +at the risk of my life--at the cost, if need be." + +"The maid whom you seek," said Haldane, after a further examination of +the charred sticks on the hearth, "is a pious and devout maiden; has +your life been hitherto fit to mate with such?" + +"Whatever I have been," was the reply, "I would give her no cause for +regret hereafter. A man who has suffered as I have has no mind left for +trifling. She should do what she would with me." + +Haldane seemed to hesitate whether she should give further information +or not. + +"Can't you trust me?" asked the young man sorrowfully. "I have done ill +deeds in my life, but one thing I can say boldly,--I never yet told a +lie. Oh, tell me where to go, if my love yet lives? Can't you trust +me?" + +"I can," said a voice which was not Haldane's. "I can, Stephen." + +Stephen stared round the hut as if the evidence of his ears were totally +untrustworthy. Haldane touched him on the shoulder with a smile. + +"Come!" she said. + +The next minute Stephen was kneeling beside Ermine, covering her hand +with kisses, and pouring upon her all the sweetest and softest epithets +which could be uttered. + +"They are all gone, sweet heart," he said, in answer to her earnest +queries. "And the priests may say what they will, but I believe they +are in Heaven." + +"But that other, Stephen? You said, me and one other. One of the men, +I suppose?" + +"That other," said Stephen gently, "that other, dear, is Rudolph." + +"What can have become of him?" + +"He may have strayed, or run into some cottage. That I cannot find him +may mean that he is alive." + +"Or that he died early enough to be buried," she said sadly. + +"The good Lord would look to the child," said Haldane unexpectedly. "He +is either safe with Him, or He will tell you some day what has become of +Him." + +"You're a queer witch!" said Stephen, looking at her with some surprise. + +"I'm not a witch at all. I'm only a harmless old woman who deals in +herbs and such like, but folks make me out worse than I am. And when +every body looks on you as black, it's not so easy to keep white. If +others shrink from naming God to you, you get to be shy of it too. Men +and women have more influence over each other than they think. For +years and years I've felt as if my soul was locked up in the dark, and +could not get out: but this girl, that I took in because she needed +bodily help, has given me better help than ever I gave her--she has +unlocked the door, and let the light in on my poor smothered soul. Now, +young man, if you'll take an old woman's counsel--old women are mostly +despised, but they know a thing or two, for all that--you'll just let +the maid alone a while. She couldn't be safer than she is here; and +she'd best not venture forth of the doors till her hurts are healed, and +the noise and talk has died away. Do you love her well enough to deny +yourself for her good? That's the test of real love, and there are not +many who will stand it." + +"Tell me what you would have me do, and I'll see," answered Stephen with +a smile. + +"Can you stay away for a month or two?" + +"Well, that's ill hearing. But I reckon I can, if it is to do any good +to Ermine." + +"If you keep coming here," resumed the shrewd old woman, "folks will +begin to ask why. And if they find out why, it won't be good for you or +Ermine either. Go home and look after your usual business, and be as +like your usual self as you can. The talk will soon be silenced if no +fuel be put to it. And don't tell your own mother what you have found." + +"I've no temptation to do that," answered Stephen gravely. "My mother +has been under the mould this many a year." + +"Well, beware of any friend who tries to ferret it out of you--ay, and +of the friends who don't try. Sometimes they are the more treacherous +of the two. Let me know where you live, and if you are wanted I will +send for you. Do you see this ball of grey wool? If any person puts +that into your hand, whenever and however, come here as quick as you +can. Till then, keep away." + +"Good lack! But you won't keep me long away?" + +"I shall think of her, not of you," replied Haldane shortly. "And the +more you resent that, the less you love." + +After a moment's struggle with his own thoughts, Stephen said, "You're +right, Mother. I'll stay away till you send for me." + +"Those are the words of a true man," said Haldane, "if you have strength +to abide by them. Remember, the test of love is not sweet words, but +self-sacrifice; and the test of truth is not bold words, but patient +endurance." + +"I'm not like to forget it. You bade me tell you where I live? I am +one of the watchmen in the Castle of Oxford; but I am to be found most +days from eleven to four on duty at the Osney Gate of the Castle. Only, +I pray you to say to whomsoever you make your messenger, that my +brother's wife--he is porter at the chief portal--is not to be trusted. +She has a tongue as long as the way from here to Oxford, and curiosity +equal to our mother Eve's or greater. Put yon ball of wool in _her_ +hand, and she'd never take a wink of sleep till she knew all about it." + +"I trust no man till I have seen him, and no woman till I have seen +through her," said Haldane. + +"Well, she's as easy to see through as a church window. Ermine knows +her. If you must needs trust any one, my cousin Derette is safe; she is +in Saint John's anchorhold. But I'd rather not say too much of other +folks." + +"O Stephen, Mother Isel!" + +"Aunt Isel would never mean you a bit of harm, dear heart, I know that. +But she might let something out that she did not mean; and if a pair of +sharp ears were in the way, it would be quite as well she had not the +chance. She has carried a sore heart for you all these four months, +Ermine; and she cried like a baby over your casting forth. But Uncle +Manning and Haimet were as hard as stones. Flemild cried a little too, +but not like Aunt Isel. As to Anania, nothing comes amiss to her that +can be sown to come up talk. If an earthquake were to swallow one of +her children, I do believe she'd only think what a fine thing it was for +a gossip." + +"I hope she's not quite so bad as that, Stephen." + +"Hope on, sweet heart, and farewell. Here's Mother Haldane on thorns to +get rid of me--that I can see. Now, Mother, what shall I pay you for +your help, for right good it has been?" + +Haldane laid her hand on Stephen's, which was beginning to unfasten his +purse--a bag carried on the left side, under the girdle. + +"Pay me," she said, "in care for Ermine." + +"There's plenty of that coin," answered Stephen, smiling, as he withdrew +his hand. "You'll look to your half of the bargain, Mother, and trust +me to remember mine." + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Note 1. The ordinary fire at this time was of wood. Charcoal, the +superior class of fuel, cost from 5 shillings to 10 shillings per ton +(modern value from six to twelve guineas). + + + +CHAPTER NINE. + +THE SECRET THAT WAS NOT TOLD. + + "Thine eye is on Thy wandering sheep; + Thou knowest where they are, and Thou wilt keep + And bring them home." + + Hetty Bowman. + +"So you've really come back at last! Well, I did wonder what you'd gone +after! Such lots of folks have asked me--old Turguia, and Franna, and +Aunt Isel, and Derette--leastwise Leuesa--and ever such a lot: and I +couldn't tell ne'er a one of them a single word about it." + +Anania spoke in the tone of an injured woman, defrauded of her rights by +the malice prepense of Stephen. + +"Well," said Stephen calmly, "you may tell them all that I went after my +own business; and if any of them thinks that's what a man shouldn't do, +she can come and tell me so." + +"Well, to be sure! But what business could you have to carry you out of +the town for such a time, and nobody to know a word about it? Tell me +that, if you please." + +"Don't you tell her nought!" said Osbert in the chimney-corner. "If you +went to buy a new coat, she'll want to know where the money was minted, +and who sheared the sheep." + +"I'll finish my pie first, I think," answered Stephen, "for I am rather +too hungry for talk; and I dare say she'll take no harm by that." + +He added, in mental reservation,--"And meantime I can be thinking what +to say." + +"Oh, _you_ never want to know nought!" exclaimed Anania derisively. +"Turguia, she said you were gone after rabbits--as if any man in his +senses would do that in the snow: and Aunt Isel thought you were off on +a holiday; and Franna was certain sure you were gone a-courting." + +Stephen laughed to himself, but made no other reply. + +"Baint you a-going to tell me, now?" demanded Anania. + +"Aunt Isel wasn't so far out," said Stephen, helping himself to a second +wedge of pie. + +"And Franna?" + +Anania was really concerned on that point. She found Stephen very +useful, and his wages, most of which he gave her, more than paid for his +board. If he were to marry and set up house for himself, it would +deprive her of the means to obtain sundry fashionable frivolities +wherein her soul delighted. Stephen was quite aware of these facts, +which put an amusing edge on his determination to keep the truth from +the inquisitive gossip. + +"Franna?" he repeated. "Did you say she thought I'd gone after +squirrels? because I've brought ne'er a one." + +"No, stupid! She said you'd gone a-courting, and I want to know who." + +"You must ask Franna that, not me. I did not say so." + +"You'll say nothing, and that's the worst of signs. When folks won't +answer a reasonable question, ten to one they've been in some mischief." + +"I haven't finished the pie." + +"Much you'll tell me when you have!" + +"Oh, I'll answer any reasonable question," said Stephen, with a slight +emphasis on the adjective. + +Osbert laughed, and Anania was more vexed than ever. + +"You're a pair!" said he. + +"Now, look you here! I'll have an answer, if I stand here while +Christmas; and you sha'n't have another bite till you've given it. Did +you go a-courting?" + +As Anania had laid violent hands on the pie, which she held out of his +grasp, and as Stephen had no desire to get into a genuine quarrel with +her, he was obliged to make some reply. + +"Will you give me back the pie, if I tell you?" + +"Yes, I will." + +"Then, I'd no such notion in my head. Let's have the pie." + +"When?" Anania still withheld the pie. + +"When what?" + +"When hadn't you such a notion? when you set forth, or when you came +back?" + +"Eat thy supper, lad, and let them buzzing things be!" said Osbert. +"There'll never be no end to it, and thou mayest as well shut the +portcullis first as last." + +"Them's my thoughts too," said Stephen. + +"Then you sha'n't have another mouthful." + +"Nay, you're off your bargain. I answered the question, I'm sure." + +"You've been after some'at ill, as I'm a living woman! You'd have told +me fast enough if you hadn't. There's the pie,"--Anania set it up on a +high shelf--"take it down if you dare!" + +"I've no wish to quarrel with you, Sister. I'll go and finish my supper +at Aunt Isel's--they'll give me some'at there, I know." + +"Anania, don't be such a goose!" said Osbert. + +"Don't you meddle, or you'll get what you mayn't like!" was the conjugal +answer. + +Osbert rose and took down a switch from its hook on the wall. + +"You'll get it first, my lady!" said he: and Stephen, who never had any +fancy for quarrelling, and was wont to leave the house when such not +unfrequent scenes occurred, shut the door on the ill-matched pair, and +went off to Kepeharme Lane. + +"Stephen, is it? Good even, lad. I'm fain to see thee back. Art only +just come?" + +"Long enough to eat half a supper, and for Anania to get into more than +half a temper," said Stephen, laughing. "I'm come to see, Aunt, if +you'll give me another half." + +"That I will, lad, and kindly welcome. What will thou have? I've a fat +fish pie and some cold pork and beans." + +"Let's have the pork and beans, for I've been eating pie up yonder." + +"Good, and I'll put some apples down to roast. Hast thou enjoyed thy +holiday?" + +"Ay, middling, thank you, if it hadn't been so cold." + +"It's a desperate cold winter!" said Isel, with a sigh, which Stephen +felt certain was breathed to the memory of the Germans. "I never +remember a worse." + +"I'm afraid you feel lonely, Aunt." + +"Ay, lonely enough, the saints know!" + +"Why doesn't Haimet wed, and bring you a daughter to help you? Mabel's +a bit too grand, I reckon." + +"Mabel thinks a deal of herself, that's true. Well. I don't know. +One's not another, Stephen." + +"I'll not gainsay you, Aunt Isel. But mayn't `another' be better than +none? Leastwise, some others,"--as a recollection of his amiable +sister-in-law crossed his mind. + +"I don't know, Stephen. Sometimes that hangs on the `one.' You'll +think it unnatural in me, lad, but I don't miss Flemild nor Derette as I +do Ermine." + +"Bless you, dear old thing!" said Stephen in his heart. + +"O Stephen, lad, I believe you've a kind heart; you've shown it in a +many little ways. Do let me speak to you of them now and again! Your +uncle won't have me say a word, and sometimes I feel as if I should +burst. I don't believe you'd tell on me, if I did, and it would relieve +me like, if I could let it out to somebody." + +"Catch me at it!" said Stephen significantly. "You say what you've a +mind, Aunt Isel: I'm as safe as the King's Treasury." + +"Well, lad, do you think they're all gone--every one?" + +"I'm afraid there's no hope for the most of them, Aunt," said Stephen in +a low voice. + +"Then you do think there might--?" + +"One, perhaps, or two--ay, there _might_ be, that had got taken in +somewhere. I can't say it isn't just possible. But folks would be +afraid of helping them, mostly." + +"Ay, I suppose they would," said Isel sorrowfully. + +Stephen ate in silence, sorely tempted to tell her what he knew. Had +the danger been for himself only, and not for Ermine, he thought he +should certainly have braved it. + +"Well!" said Isel at last, as she stood by the fire, giving frequent +twirls to the string which held the apples. "Maybe the good Lord is +more merciful than men. _They_ haven't much mercy." + +"Hold you there!" said Stephen. + +"Now why shouldn't we?--we that are all sinners, and all want forgiving? +We might be a bit kinder to one another, if we tried." + +"Some folks might. I'm not sure you could, Aunt Isel." + +"Eh, lad, I'm as bad a sinner as other folks. I do pray to be forgiven +many a time." + +"Maybe that's a good help to forgiving," said Stephen. + +"So you're back from your holiday?" said Haimet, coming in, and flinging +his felt hat on one of the shelves. "Well, where did you go?" + +"Oh, round-about," replied Stephen, taking his last mouthful of beans. + +"Did you go Banbury way?" + +"No, t'other way," answered Stephen, without indicating which other way. + +"Weather sharp, wasn't it?" + +"Ay, sharp enough. It's like to be a hard winter.--Well, Aunt, I'm much +obliged to you. I reckon I'd best be turning home now." + +"Weather rather sharp there too, perhaps?" suggested Haimet jocosely. + +"Ay, there's been a bit of a storm since I got back. I came here to get +out of it. I'm a fair-weather-lover, as you know." + +Stephen went home by a round-about way, for he took Saint John's +anchorhold in the route. He scarcely knew why he did it; he had an idea +that the sight of Derette would be an agreeable diversion of his +thoughts. Too deep down to be thoroughly realised, was a vague +association of her with Ermine, whose chief friend in the family she had +been. + +Derette came to the casement as soon as she heard from Leuesa who was +there. + +"Good evening, Stephen!" she said cordially. "Leuesa, my maid, while I +chat a minute with my cousin, prithee tie on thine hood and run for a +cheese. I forgot it with the other marketing this morrow. What are +cheeses now? a halfpenny each?" + +"Three a penny, Lady, they were yesterday." + +"Very good; bring a pennyworth, and here is the money." + +As soon as Leuesa was out of hearing, Derette turned to Stephen with a +changed expression on her face. + +"Stephen!" she said, in a low whisper, "you have been to see after +_them_. Tell me what you found." + +"I never said nought o' the sort," answered Stephen, rather staggered by +his cousin's penetration and directness. + +"Maybe your heart said it to mine. You may trust me, Stephen. I would +rather let out my life-blood than any secret which would injure them." + +"Well, you're not far wrong, Derette. Gerard and Agnes are gone; they +lie under the snow. So does Adelheid; but Berthold was not buried; I +reckon he was one of the last. I cannot find Rudolph." + +"You have told me all but the one thing my heart yearns to know. +Ermine?" + +Stephen made no reply. + +"You have found her!" said Derette. "Don't tell me where. It is +enough, if she lives. Keep silence." + +"Some folks are hard that you'd have looked to find soft," answered +Stephen, with apparent irrelevance; "and by times folk turn as soft as +butter that you'd expect to be as hard as stones." + +Derette laid up the remark in her mind for future consideration. + +"Folks baint all bad that other folks call ill names," he observed +further. + +Derette gave a little nod. She was satisfied that Ermine had found a +refuge, and with some unlikely person. + +"Wind's chopped round since morning, seems to me," pursued Stephen, as +if he had nothing particular to say. "Blew on my back as I came up to +the gate." + +Another nod from Derette. She understood that Ermine's refuge lay south +of Oxford. + +"Have you seen Flemild?" she asked. "She has sprained her wrist sadly, +and cannot use her hand." + +"Now just you tell her," answered Stephen, with a significant wink, +"I've heard say the White Witch of Bensington makes wonderful cures with +marsh-mallows poultice: maybe it would ease her." + +"I'll let her know, be sure," said Derette: and Stephen took his leave +as Leuesa returned with her purchase. + +He had told her nothing about Ermine: he had told her every thing. +Derette thanked God for the--apparently causeless--impulse to mention +her sister's accident, which had just given Stephen the opportunity to +utter the last and most important item. Not the slightest doubt +disturbed her mind that Ermine was in the keeping of the White Witch of +Bensington, and that Stephen was satisfied of the Wise Woman's kind +treatment and good faith. She was sorry for Gerhardt and Agnes; but she +had loved Ermine best of all. As for Rudolph, if Ermine were safe, why +should he not be likewise? Derette's was a hopeful nature, not given to +look on the dark side of any thing which had a light one: a tone of mind +which, as has been well said, is worth a thousand a year to its +possessor. + +Leuesa returned full of excitement. A wolf had been killed only three +miles from the city, and the Earl had paid the sportsman fourpence for +its head, which was to be sent up to the King--the highest price ever +given for a wolf's head in that county. The popular idea that Edgar +exterminated all the wolves in England is an error. Henry Second paid +tenpence for three wolves' heads [Pipe Roll, 13 Henry Second], and Henry +Third's State Papers speak of "hares, wolves, and cats," in the royal +forests [Close Roll, 38 Henry Third]. + +The days went on, and Stephen received no summons to the Wise Woman's +hut. He found it very hard to keep away. If he could only have known +that all was going on right! But weeks and months passed by, and all +was silence. Stephen almost made up his mind to brave the witch's +anger, and go without bidding. Yet there would be danger in that, for +Anania, who had been piqued by his parrying of her queries, watched him +as a cat watches a mouse. + +He was coming home, one evening in early summer, having been on guard +all day at the East Gate, when, as he passed the end of Snydyard (now +Oriel) Street, a small child of three or four years old toddled up to +him, and said-- + +"There! Take it." + +Stephen, who had a liking for little toddlers, held out his hand with a +smile; and grew suddenly grave when there was deposited in it a ball of +grey wool. + +"Who gave thee this?" + +"Old man--down there--said, `Give it that man with the brown hat,'" was +the answer. + +Stephen thanked the child, threw it a sweetmeat, with which his pocket +was generally provided, and ran after the old man, whom he overtook at +the end of the street. + +"What mean you by this?" he asked. + +The old man looked up blankly. + +"I know not," said he. "I was to take it to Stephen the Watchdog,-- +that's all I know." + +"Tell me who gave it you, then?" + +"I can't tell you--a woman I didn't know." + +"Where?" + +"A bit this side o' Dorchester." + +"That'll do. Thank you." + +The ball was safely stored in Stephen's pocket, and he hastened to the +Castle. At the gate he met his brother. + +"Here's a pretty mess!" said Osbert. "There's Orme of the Fen run off, +because I gave him a scolding for his impudence: and it is his turn to +watch to-night. I have not a minute to go after him; I don't know +whatever to do." + +Stephen grasped the opportunity. + +"I'll go after him for you, if you'll get me leave for a couple of days +or more. I have a bit of business of my own I want to see to, and I can +manage both at once--only don't tell Anania of it, or she'll worry the +life out of me." + +Osbert laughed. + +"Make your mind easy!" said he. "Go in and get you ready, lad, and I'll +see to get you the leave." + +Stephen turned into the Castle, to fetch his cloak and make up a parcel +of provisions, while Osbert went to the Earl, returning in a few minutes +with leave of absence for Stephen. To the great satisfaction of the +latter, Anania was not at home; so he plundered her larder, and set off, +leaving Osbert to make his excuses, and to tell her just as much, or as +little, as he found convenient. Stephen was sorely tempted to go first +to Bensington, but he knew that both principle and policy directed the +previous search for Orme. He found that exemplary gentleman, after an +hour's search, drinking and gambling in a low ale-booth outside South +Gate; and having first pumped on him to get him sober, he sent him off +to his work with a lecture. Then, going a little way down Grandpont +Street, he turned across Presthey, and coming out below Saint Edmund's +Well, took the road to Bensington. + +The journey was accomplished in much shorter time than on the previous +occasion. As Stephen came up to the Witch's hut, he heard the sound of +a low, monotonous voice; and being untroubled, at that period of the +world's history, by any idea that eavesdropping was a dishonourable +employment, he immediately applied his ear to the keyhole. To his great +satisfaction, he recognised Ermine's voice. The words were these:-- + +"`I confess to Thee, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that Thou hiddest +these things from the wise and prudent, and revealedst them unto little +children. Even so, Father; for this was well-pleasing before Thee. All +things are to Me delivered from My Father; and none knoweth the Son save +the Father; neither the Father doth any know, save the Son, and he to +whom the Son is willing to reveal Him. Come unto Me, all ye that labour +and are burdened, and I will refresh you. Take My yoke upon you, and +learn of Me, for I am meek and lowly of heart; and ye shall find rest +unto your souls.'" + +"Did He say that, now, dearie?" asked the voice of the White Witch. +"Eh, it sounds good--it does so! I'm burdened, saints knows; I'd like +to find a bit o' rest and refreshing. Life's a heavy burden, and sin's +a heavier; and there's a many things I see are sins now, that I never +did afore you came. But how am I to know that He's willing?" + +"Won't you come and see, Mother?" said Ermine softly. + +"Husht! Bide a bit, my dear: there's a little sound at the door as I +don't rightly understand. Maybe--" + +In another moment the wicket opened, and Haldane's face looked out upon +Stephen. + +"Good evening, Mother!" said Stephen, holding up the ball of grey wool. + +"Ay, you got it, did you? Come in--you're welcome." + +"I hope I am," replied Stephen, going forward. Ermine was no longer +hidden behind the screen, but seated on the form in the chimney-corner. +On her calm fair brow there was no scar visible. + +"Ay, ain't she a fine cure!" cried the old woman. "That's white +mallows, that is, and just a pinch of--Well, I'd best tell no tales. +But she's a grand cure; I don't hide her up now. Nobody'd ever guess +nought, from the look of her, now, would folks? What think you?" + +"No, I hope they wouldn't," answered Stephen: "leastwise they sha'n't if +I can help it." + +Haldane laid her hand on his arm impressively. + +"Stephen, you must take her away." + +"I'll take her fast enough, if she'll go, Mother; but why? I reckoned +she was as safe here as she could be anywhere." + +"She _was_," said Haldane significantly. "She won't be, presently. I +don't tell my secrets: but the Wise Woman knows a thing or two. You'd +best take her, and waste no time: but it must not be to Oxford. There's +folks there would know her face." + +"Ay, to be sure there are. Well, Mother, I'll do your bidding. +Where'll she be safest?" + +"You'd best be in London. It's the biggest place. And when a man wants +to hide, he'll do it better in a large town than a little place, where +every body knows his neighbour's business." + +"All right!" said Stephen. "Ermine!"--and he went up to her--"will you +go with me?" + +Ermine lived in an age when it was a most extraordinary occurrence for a +woman to have any power to dispose of herself in marriage, and such a +thing was almost regarded as unnatural and improper. She held out her +hand to Stephen. + +"I will go where the Lord sends me," she said simply. "Dear Mother +Haldane saved my life, and she has more right to dispose of me than any +one else. Be it so." + +"When folks are wed, they commonly have gifts made them," said Haldane +with a smile. "I haven't much to give, and you'll think my gift a queer +one: but I wish you'd take it, Ermine. It's Gib." + +"I will take Gib and welcome, and be very thankful to you," answered +Ermine in some surprise. "But, Mother Haldane, you are leaving yourself +all alone. I was afraid you would miss me, after all these weeks, and +if you lose Gib too, won't you be lonely?" + +"Miss you!" repeated the old woman in a tremulous voice. "Miss you, my +white bird that flew into my old arms from the cruel storm? Sha'n't I +miss you? But it won't be for long. Ay! when one has kept company with +the angels for a while, one's pretty like to miss them when they fly +back home. But you'd best take Gib. The Wise Woman knows why. Only I +don't tell all my secrets. And it won't be for long." + +Haldane had been laying fresh sticks on the embers while she spoke. Now +she turned to Stephen. + +"She'd best have Gib," she said. "He's like another creature since she +came. She'll take care of him. And you'll take care of her. I told +you last time you were here as I'd do the best for her, not for you. +But this is the best for both of you. And maybe the good Lord'll do the +best for me. Ermine says He's not above keeping a poor old woman +company. But whatever comes, and whatever you may hear, you bear in +mind that I did my best for you." + +"Ay, that I'm sure you've done, Mother," replied Stephen warmly. "As +for Gib, I'll make him welcome for your sake; he looks rather +comfortable now, so I think he'll get along." + +It certainly was not too much to say that Gib was another creature. +That once dilapidated-looking object, under Ermine's fostering care, had +developed into a sleek, civilised, respectable cat; and as he sat on her +lap, purring and blinking at the wood-fire, he suggested no ideas of +discomfort. + +"Ay, I've done my best," repeated the old woman with a sigh. "The Lord +above, He knows I've done it. You'd best be off with the morning light. +I can't be sure--Well, I mustn't tell my secrets." + +Stephen was inclined to be amused with the Wise Woman's reiteration of +this assertion. What fancy she had taken into her head he could not +guess. It was some old-womanly whim, he supposed. If he could have +guessed her reason for thus dismissing them in haste--if he had seen in +the embers what she saw coming nearer and nearer, and now close to her +very door--wild horses would not have carried Stephen away from the +woman who had saved Ermine. + +Haldane's bidding was obeyed. The dawn had scarcely broken on the +following morning, when Stephen and Ermine, with Gib in the arms of the +latter, set forth on their journey to London. Haldane stood in her +doorway to watch them go. + +"Thank God!" she said, when she had entirely lost sight of them. "Thank +God, my darling is safe! I can bear anything that comes now. It is +only what such as me have to look for. And Ermine said the good Lord +wouldn't fail them that trusted Him. I'm only a poor ignorant old +woman, and He knows it; but He took the pains to make me, and He'll not +have forgot it; and Ermine says He died for me, and I'm sure He could +never forget that, if He did it. I've done a many ill things, though +I'm not the black witch they reckon me: no, I've had more laid to my +charge than ever I did; but for all that I'm a sinner, I'm afeared, and +I should be sore afeared to meet what's coming if He wouldn't take my +side. But Ermine, she said He would, if I trusted myself to Him." + +Haldane clasped her withered hands and looked heavenwards. + +"Good Lord!" she said, "I'd fain have Thee on my side, and I do trust +Thee. And if I'm doing it wrong way about, bethink Thee that I'm only a +poor old woman, that never had no chance like, and I mean to do right, +and do put things to rights for me, as Thou wouldst have 'em. Have a +care of my darling, and see her safe: and see me through what's coming, +if Thou wilt be so good. Worlds o' worlds, Amen." + +That conclusion was Haldane's misty idea of the proper way to end a +prayer [Note 1]. Perhaps the poor petition found its way above the +stars as readily as the choral services that were then being chanted in +the perfumed cathedrals throughout England. + +She went in and shut the door. She did not, as usual, shake her straw +bed and fold up the rug. A spectator might have thought that she had no +heart for it. She only kept up the fire; for though summer was near, it +was not over-warm in the crazy hut, and a cold east wind was blowing. +For the whole of the long day she sat beside it, only now and then +rising to look out of the window, and generally returning to her seat +with a muttered exclamation of "Not yet!" The last time she did this, +she pulled the faded woollen kerchief over her shoulders with a shiver. + +"Not yet! I reckon they'll wait till it's dusk. Well! all the better: +they'll have more time to get safe away." + +The pronouns did not refer to the same persons, but Haldane made no +attempt to specify them. + +She sat still after that, nodding at intervals, and she was almost +asleep when the thing that she had feared came upon her. A low sound, +like and yet unlike the noise of distant thunder, broke upon her ear. +She sat up, wide awake in a moment. + +"They're coming! Good Lord, help me through! Don't let it be very bad +to bear, and don't let it be long!" + +Ten minutes had not passed when the hut was surrounded by a crowd. An +angry crowd, armed with sticks, pitchforks, or anything that could be +turned into a weapon--an abusive crowd, from whose lips words of hate +and scorn were pouring, mixed with profaner language. + +"Pull the witch out! Stone her! drown her! burn her!" echoed on all +sides. + +"Good Lord, don't let them burn me!" said poor old Haldane, inside the +hut. "I'd rather be drowned, if Thou dost not mind." + +Did the good Lord not mind what became of the helpless old creature, +who, in her ignorance and misery, was putting her trust in Him? It +looked like it, as the mob broke open the frail door, and roughly hauled +out the frailer occupant of the wretched hut. + +"Burn her!" The cry was renewed: and it came from one of the two +persons most prominent in the mob--that handsome girl to whom Haldane +had refused the revenge she coveted upon Brichtiva. + +"Nay!" said the other, who was the Bishop's sumner, "that would be +irregular. Burning's for heretics. Tie her hands and feet together, +and cast her into the pond: that's the proper way to serve witches." + +The rough boys among the crowd, to whom the whole scene was sport--and +though we have become more civilised in some ways as time has passed, +sport has retained much of its original savagery even now--gleefully +tied together Haldane's hands and feet, and carried her, thus secured, +to a large deep pond about a hundred yards from her abode. + +This was the authorised test for a witch. If she sank and was drowned, +she was innocent of the charge of witchcraft; if she swam on the +surface, she was guilty, and liable to the legal penalty for her crime. +Either way, in nine out of ten cases, the end was death: for very few +thought of troubling themselves to save one who proved her innocence +after this fashion. [Note 2.] + +The boys, having thus bound the poor old woman into a ball, lifted her +up, and with a cry of--"One--two--three!" flung her into the pond. At +that moment a man broke through the ring that had formed outside the +principal actors. + +"What are you doing now? Some sort of mischief you're at, I'll be +bound--you lads are always up to it. Who are you ducking? If it's that +cheat Wrangecoke, I'll not meddle, only don't--What, Mother Haldane! +Shame on you! Colgrim, Walding, Oselach, Amfrid!--shame on you! What, +_you_, Erenbald, that she healed of that bad leg that laid you up for +three months! And _you_, Baderun, whose child she brought back +well-nigh from the grave itself! If you are men, and not demons, come +and help me to free her!" + +The speaker did not content himself with words. He had waded into the +pond, and was feeling his way carefully to the spot where the victim +was. For Mother Haldane had not struggled nor even protested, but +according to all the unwritten laws relating to witchcraft, had +triumphantly exhibited her innocence by sinking to the bottom like a +stone. The two spectators whom he had last apostrophised joined him in +a shamefaced manner, one muttering something about his desire to avoid +suspicion of being in league with a witch, and the other that he "didn't +mean no harm:" and among them, amid the more or less discontented +murmurs of those around, they at last dragged out the old woman, untied +the cords, and laid her on the grass. The life was yet in her; but it +was nearly gone. + +"Who's got a sup of anything to bring her to?" demanded her rescuer. +"She's not gone; she opened her eyes then." + +The time-honoured remedies for drowning were applied. The old woman was +set on her head "to let the water run out;" and somebody in the crowd +having produced a flask of wine, an endeavour was made to induce her to +swallow. Consciousness partially returned, but Haldane did not seem to +recognise any one. + +"Don't be feared, Mother," said the man who had saved her. "I'll look +after you. Don't you know me? I am Wigan, son of Egglas the +charcoal-burner, in the wood." + +Then Mother Haldane spoke,--slowly, with pauses, and as if in a dream. + +"Ay, He looked after me. Did all--I asked. He kept them--safe, and-- +didn't let it--be long." + +She added two words, which some of her hearers said were--"Good night." +A few thought them rather, "Good Lord!" + +Nobody understood her meaning. Only He knew it, who had kept safe the +two beings whom Mother Haldane loved, and had not let the hour of her +trial and suffering be long. + +And then, when the words had died away in one last sobbing sigh, Wigan +the son of Egglas stood up from the side of the dead, and spoke to the +gazing and now silent multitude. + +"You can go home," he said. "You've had your revenge. And what was it +for? How many of you were there that she had not helped and healed? +Which of you did she ever turn away unhelped, save when the malady was +beyond her power, or when one came to her for aid to do an evil thing? +Men, women, lads! you've repeated the deed of Iscariot this day, for +you've betrayed innocent blood--you have slain your benefactor and +friend. Go home and ask God and the saints to forgive you--if they ever +can. How they sit calm above yonder, and stand this world, is more than +I can tell.--Poor, harmless, kindly soul! may God comfort thee in His +blessed Heaven! And for them that have harried thee, and taken thy +life, and have the black brand of murder on their souls, God pardon them +as He may!" + +The crowd dispersed silently and slowly. Some among them, who had been +more thoughtless than malicious, were already beginning to realise that +Wigan's words were true. The sumner, however, marched away whistling a +tune. Then Wigan, with his shamefaced helpers, Erenbald and Baderun, +and a fourth who had come near them as if he too were sorry for the evil +which he had helped to do, inasmuch as he had not stood out to prevent +its being done, lifted the frail light corpse, and bore it a little way +into the wood. There, in the soft fresh green, they dug a grave, and +laid in it the body of Mother Haldane. + +"We'd best lay a cross of witch hazel over her," suggested Baderun. "If +things was all right with her, it can't do no harm; and if so be--" + +"Lay what you like," answered Wigan. "I don't believe, and never did, +that she was a witch. What harm did you ever know her do to any one?" + +"Nay, but Mildred o' th' Farm, over yonder, told me her black cow +stopped giving milk the night Mother Haldane came up to ask for a sup o' +broth, and she denied it." + +"Ay, and Hesela by the Brook--I heard her tell," added Erenbald, "that +her hens, that hadn't laid them six weeks or more, started laying like +mad the day after she'd given the White Witch a gavache. What call you +that?" + +"I call it stuff and nonsense," replied Wigan sturdily, "save that both +of them got what they deserved: and so being, I reckon that God, who +rewards both the righteous and the wicked, had more to do with it than +the White Witch." + +"Eh, Wigan, but them's downright wicked words! You'd never go to say as +God Almighty takes note o' hens, and cows, and such like?" + +"Who does, then? How come we to have any eggs and milk?" + +"Why, man, that's natur'." + +"I heard a man on Bensington Green, one day last year," answered Wigan, +"talking of such things; and he said that `nature' was only a fool's +word for God. And said I to myself, That's reason." + +Wigan, being one of that very rare class who think for themselves, was +not comprehended by his commissionary tours, had been to this man's +heart as a match to tinder. + +"Ay, and he said a deal more too: but it wouldn't be much use telling +you. There--that's enough. She'll sleep quiet there. I'll just go +round by her hut, and see if her cat's there--no need to leave the +creature to starve." + +"Eh, Wigan, you'd never take that thing into your house? It's her +familiar, don't you know? They always be, them black cats--they're +worse than the witches themselves." + +"Specially when they aren't black, like this? I tell you, she wasn't a +witch; and as to the cat, thou foolish man, it's nought more nor less +than a cat. I'll take it home to Brichtiva my wife,--she's not so +white-livered as thou." + +"Eh, Wigan, you'll be sorry one o' these days!" + +"I'm as sorry now as I can be, that I didn't come up sooner: and I don't +look to be sorry for aught else." + +Wigan went off to the empty hut. But all his coaxing calls of "Puss, +puss!" proved vain. Gib was in Ermine's arms; and Ermine was travelling +towards London in a heavy carrier's waggon, with Stephen on horseback +alongside. He gave up the search at last, and went home; charging +Brichtiva that if Gib should make a call on her, she was to be careful +to extend to him an amount of hospitality which would induce him to +remain. + +But Gib was never seen in the neighbourhood of Bensington again. + +"What wonder?" said Erenbald. "The thing was no cat--it was a foul +fiend; and having been released from the service of its earthly +mistress, had returned as a matter of course to Satan its master." + +This conclusion was so patent to every one of his neighbours that nobody +dreamed of questioning it. Morally speaking, there is no blindness so +hopelessly incurable as that of the man who is determined to keep his +eyes shut. Only the Great Physician can heal such a case as this, and +He has often to do it by painful means. + +"Christ save you!" said Isel, coming into the anchorhold one evening, a +fortnight after Stephen's disappearance. "Well, you do look quiet and +peaceful for sure! and I'm that tired!--" + +"Mother, I am afraid you miss me sadly," responded Derette, almost +self-reproachfully. + +"I'm pleased enough to think you're out of it, child. Miss you? Well, +I suppose I do; but I haven't scarce time to think what I miss. There's +one thing I'd miss with very great willingness, I can tell you, and +that's that horrid tease, Anania. She's been at me now every day this +week, and she will make me tell her where Stephen is, and what he's gone +after,--and that broom knows as much as I do. She grinds the life out +of me, pretty nigh: and what am I to do?" + +Derette smiled sympathetically. Leuesa said-- + +"It does seem strange he should stay so long away." + +"Anania will have it he is never coming again." + +"I dare say she is right there," said Derette suddenly. + +"Saints alive! what dost thou mean, child? Never coming again?" + +"I shouldn't wonder," said Derette quietly. + +"Well, I should. I should wonder more than a little, I can tell you. +Whatever gives you that fancy, child?" + +"I have it, Mother; why I cannot tell you." + +"I hope you are not a prophetess!" + +"I don't think I am," said Derette with a smile. + +"I think Ermine was a bit of one, poor soul! She seemed to have some +notion what was coming to her. Eh, Derette! I'd give my best gown to +know those poor things were out of Purgatory. Father Dolfin says we +shouldn't pray for them: but I do--I can't help it. If I were a priest, +I'd say mass for them every day I lived--ay, I would! I never could +understand why we must not pray for heretics. Seems to me, the more +wrong they've gone, the more they want praying for. Not that _they_ +went far wrong--I'll not believe it. Derette, dost thou ever pray for +the poor souls?" + +"Ay, Mother: every one of them." + +"Well, I'm glad to hear it. And as to them that ill-used them, let them +look to themselves. Maybe they'll not find themselves at last in such a +comfortable place as they look for. The good Lord may think that +cruelty to Christian blood [Note 3]--and they were Christian blood, no +man can deny--isn't so very much better than heresy after all. Hope he +does." + +"I remember Gerard's saying," replied Derette, "that all the heresies in +the world were only men's perversions of God's truths: and that if men +would but keep close to Holy Scripture, there would be no heresies." + +"Well, it sounds like reason, doesn't it?" answered Isel with a sigh. + +"But I remember his saying also," pursued Derette, "that where one man +followed reason and Scripture, ten listened to other men's voices, and +ten more to their own fancies." + +Dusk was approaching on the following day, when a rap came on the door +of the anchorhold, and a voice said-- + +"Leuesa, pray you, ask my cousin to come to the casement a moment." + +"Stephen!" cried Derette, hurrying to her little window when she heard +his voice. "So you have come back!" + +"Shall I go now, Lady, for the fresh fish?" asked Leuesa, very +conveniently for Stephen, who wondered if she good-naturedly guessed +that he had a private communication to make. + +"Do," said Derette, giving her three silver pennies. + +As soon as Leuesa was out of hearing, Stephen said--"I am only here for +a few hours, Derette, and nobody knows it save my Lord, you, and my +brother. I have obtained my discharge, and return to London with the +dawn." + +"Are you not meaning to come back, Stephen? Folks are saying that." + +"Folks are saying truth. I shall live in London henceforth. But +remember, Derette, that is a secret." + +"I shall not utter it, Stephen. Truly, I wish you all happiness, but I +cannot help being sorry." + +There were tears in Derette's eyes. Stephen had ever been more +brotherly to her than her own brothers. It was Stephen who had begged +her off from many a punishment, had helped her over many a difficulty, +had made her rush baskets and wooden boats, and had always had a +sweetmeat in his pocket for her in childhood. She was grieved to think +of losing him. + +"You may well wish me happiness in my honeymoon," he said, laughingly. + +"Are you married? Why, when--O Stephen, Stephen! is it Ermine?" + +"You are a first-rate guesser, little one. Yes, I have Ermine safe; and +I will keep her so, God helping me." + +"I am so glad, Steenie!" said Derette, falling into the use of the old +pet name, generally laid aside now. "Tell Ermine I am so glad to hear +that, and so sorry to lose you both: but I will pray God and the saints +to bless you as long as I live, and that will be better for you than our +meeting, though it will not be the same thing to me." + +"`So glad, and so sorry!' It seems to me, Cousin, that's no inapt +picture of life. God keep thee!--to the day when--Ermine says--it will +be all `glad' and no `sorry.'" + +"Ay, we shall meet one day. Farewell!" + +The days passed, and no more was seen or heard of Stephen in Oxford. +What had become of him was not known at the Walnut Tree, until one +evening when Osbert looked in about supper-time, and was invited to stay +for the meal, with the three of whom the family now consisted--Manning, +Isel, and Haimet. As Isel set on the table a platter of little pies, +she said-- + +"There, that's what poor Stephen used to like so well. Maybe you'll +fancy them too, Osbert." + +"Why do you call him poor Stephen?" questioned Osbert, as he +appropriated a pie. "He is not particularly poor, so far as I know." + +"Well, we've lost him like," said Isel, with a sigh. "When folks vanish +out of your sight like snow in a thaw, one cannot help feeling sorry." + +"Oh, I'm sorry for myself, more ways than one: but not so much for +Stephen." + +"Why, Osbert, do you know where he is, and what he's doing?" + +"Will you promise not to let on to Anania, if I tell you?" + +"Never a word that I can help, trust me." + +"Her knowing matters nought, except that she'll never let me be if she +thinks I have half a notion about it. Well, he's gone south somewhere-- +I don't justly know where, but I have a guess of London way." + +"What for?" + +"Dare say he had more reasons than he gave me. He told me he was going +to be married." + +"Dear saints!--who to?" + +"Didn't ask him." + +Isel sat looking at Osbert in astonishment, with a piece of pie +transfixed on the end of her knife. + +"You see, if I did not know, I shouldn't get so much bothered with folks +asking me questions: so I thought I'd let it be." + +That Osbert's "folks" might more properly be read "Anania," Isel knew +full well. + +"Saints love us!--but I would have got to know who was my sister-in-law, +if I'd been in your place." + +"To tell the truth, Aunt, I don't care, so long as she is a decent woman +who will make Stephen comfortable; and I think he's old enough to look +out for himself." + +"But don't you know even what he was going to do?--seek another watch, +or go into service, or take to trade, or what?" + +"I don't know a word outside what I have just told you. Oh, he'll be +all right! Stephen has nine lives, like a cat. He always falls on his +feet." + +"But it don't seem natural like!" + +Osbert laughed. "I suppose it is natural to a woman to have more +curiosity than a man. I never had much of that stuff. Anania's got +enough for both." + +"Well, I'm free to confess she has. Osbert, how do you manage her? I +can't." + +"Let her alone as long as I can, and take the mop to her when I can't," +was the answer. + +"I should think the mop isn't often out of your hand," observed Haimet +with painful candour. + +"It wears out by times," returned Osbert drily. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Note 1. "Into the worlds of worlds" is the Primer's translation of "_in +saecula saeculorum_." + +Note 2. That witchcraft is no fable, but a real sin, which men have +committed in past times, and may commit again, is certain from Holy +Scripture. But undoubtedly, in the Middle Ages, numbers of persons +suffered under accusation of this crime who were entirely innocent: and +the so-called "white witches" were in reality mere herbalists and +dealers in foolish but harmless charms, often consisting in a kind of +nursery rhyme and a few Biblical words. + +Note 3. The wrong of cruelty to men and women, as such, whether they +were Christians or not, had not dawned on men's minds in the twelfth +century, nor did it till the Reformation. But much pity was often +expressed for the sufferings of "Christian blood," and a very few +persons had some compassion for animals. + + + +CHAPTER TEN. + +BARRIERS IN THE WAY. + + "Christ is my readiness: who lives in Him + Can scarcely be unready." + + S.W. Partridge. + +A little way out of Dorchester, surrounded by pollard willow trees, and +on a narrow slip of ground which sloped down towards the river, stood a +tiny mud hut, the inhabitants of which lived in great misery even for +that time. One small chamber, with a smaller lean-to, constituted the +whole dwelling. As to furniture, a modern eye, glancing round, would +have said there was none. There was a bundle of rags, covering a heap +of straw, in one corner; and in another was a broken bench, which with a +little contrivance might have seated three persons of accommodating +tempers. A hole in the roof let out the smoke--when it chose to go; and +let in the rain and snow, which generally chose to come. On a niche in +the wall stood a single pan, an axe, and a battered tin bowl, which +comprised all the family riches. The axe was the tool which obtained +bread--and very little of it; the pan did all the cooking; the bowl +served for pail, jug, and drinking-vessel. An iron socket let into the +wall held a piece of half-burnt pinewood, which was lamp and candle to +the whole house. A handful of chips of wood, branches, and dried +leaves, in one corner, represented the fuel; and a heap of snow +underneath the hole showed that its influence was not potent. + +On the heap of rags, five persons were lying, huddled close together for +warmth's sake--father, mother, and three children. How had they come +into such a condition as this? Ah, they had not always lived thus. +Only a few years ago, this man had been a prosperous silversmith at +Reading; his wife had been well dressed, his children well fed, his +acquaintance large, and himself generally respected. How had it come +about that they were now in this pitiable condition? Had the man been +idle and neglectful of his business? By no means; he had been diligent +and hard-working. Was he a drunken profligate? Not at all; he was, for +the age, unusually sober. Had he committed some terrible crime which +had brought him to ruin? + +The only true answer seems scarcely possible: and yet the only answer +possible is awfully true. The man was born a Jew, and had become a +Christian. It was only natural that this should turn the Jewish +community against him; and all his acquaintances deserted him as a +matter of course. But surely this very fact should have made the +Christian community more friendly and helpful! Alas, the Christian +community, in bondage to the iron yoke of Rome, hated him more as a Jew +than they welcomed him as a Christian. Rome has always been the hater +and opponent of Israel. The law of England at that time was actually +this: that if a Jew became converted to Christianity, he forfeited +everything he possessed to the Crown, and had to begin the world again. +This had been the lot of poor David ben Mossi, and his wife Ruth, whose +conversion had taken place under Gerhardt's preaching. They were too +honest to hide the change in their convictions, though to reveal it +meant worldly ruin. They applied for baptism, and by so doing literally +gave up all for Christ--home, goods, gain, and occupation, not to speak +of friends. David obtained work as a woodcutter, which brought them in +just enough to keep life in them and rags about them; and he built with +his own hands, aided by his faithful Ruth, the mud hovel, wherein they +found the only shelter that this cold world had for them. They had left +Reading, preferring solitude to averted looks and abusive tongues; and +not a creature in Dorchester came near them. Alike as Jews and as poor +people, they were not worth cultivating. + +David had retained his name, being one used also by Christians; but Ruth +had been required to change hers. She had chosen the name of Christian, +as the most truthful and expressive that she could take. + +"And I like to feel," she said to David, "that I have something of our +blessed Lord in my name." + +"Let us keep Him in our hearts, Wife," was the answer: "then it will not +much matter whether or no we have Him any where else." + +It was bitterly cold in the hovel that snowy night. The children had +cried themselves to sleep, and the parents felt as if they could easily +have done the same. The lights were out at Dorchester, and all nature +had settled down to rest, when Christian, who could not sleep for the +cold, fancied she heard a voice outside the hut. + +"David!" it seemed to say. + +But the voice, if voice there were, was faint, and Christian did not +like to rouse the husband who had lost his suffering in sleep, for what +might have been a mere fancy. The voice spoke again. + +"Ruth!" it said this time. + +Christian hesitated no longer. + +"David! There is one without, calling on us. And it must be one we +knew of old, for it calls me by my old name. Pray thee, get up, and let +the poor soul in; 'tis not a night for a dog to tarry without, never +speak of a human creature, who must be in some trouble." + +David sat up and listened. + +"I hear nothing, Wife. I think thou must have been dreaming." + +"Nay, I have been wide awake this hour gone. I am sure some one spoke." + +"I think it's fancy, Christian. However--" + +"There's no harm in making sure." + +"There's the harm of letting in a lot of snow," said David, not suiting +the action to the word, for he had risen and was pulling on his hose. +They required careful pulling, as they were so nearly in pieces that +very little rough handling would have damaged them past repair. He was +fastening the last clasp when the voice spoke again. It was nearer now, +close at the door, and it was low and trembling, as if the applicant had +hard work to speak at all. + +"For the love of the Crucified," it said, "take in a Christian child!" + +David's response was to open the door instantly. + +Something at once staggered in, and sank down on the bench:--something +which looked at first sight more like a statue of white marble than a +human being, so thick lay the snow over the wrappers which enfolded it. +But when David had succeeded in unfolding the wrappers, and brushing off +the snow, they discovered that their visitor was a woman, and that in +her arms a child lay clasped, either dead or sleeping. + +The moment that Christian perceived so much as this, she hastily rose, +throwing her poor mantle over her, and drew near to the stranger. + +"Poor soul, you're heartily welcome," she said, "whoever you are. We +have little beside a roof to offer you, for we have scarcely food or +raiment ourselves, nor money to buy either; but such as we have we will +give you with all our hearts." + +"May the Blessed bless you!" was the faint answer. "Don't you know me, +Ruth?" + +"Know you!" Christian studied the face of her unexpected guest. "Nay, +I do almost believe--Countess! Is it you?" + +"Ay." + +"Whatever has brought you to this? The richest Jewess in Reading! Have +you, too, become a Christian like us?" + +Countess did not give a direct answer to that direct question. + +"I am not poor now," she said. "I can find you money for food for us +all, if you will suffer me to stay here till the storm has abated, and +the roads can be travelled again." + +"That won't be this s'ennight," interjected David. + +"But how--what?" queried Christian helplessly. + +"This brought me," said Countess, touching the child. "I was under vow +to save him. And--well, I could not do it otherwise." + +"Is he alive?" asked Christian pityingly. + +"Yes, only very fast asleep. Lay him down with your little ones, and +wrap this coverlet over them all, which has sheltered us in our +journey." + +It was a down coverlet of rich damask silk. Christian's fingers touched +it as with a feeling of strangeness, and yet familiarity--as a handling +of something long unfelt, but well-known years ago. + +"I have nothing to offer you save a crust of barley bread," she said +hesitatingly. "I am sorry for it, but it is really all I have." + +"Then," said Countess with a smile, "play the widow of Zarephath. Give +me thy `little cake,' and when the light dawns, you shall have a new +cruse and barrel in reward." + +"Nay, we look for no reward," answered Christian heartily. "I am only +grieved that it should be so little. You are spent with your journey." + +"I am most spent with the weight. I had to carry the child, and this," +she replied, touching a large square parcel, tied in a silk handkerchief +round her waist. "It is the child's property--all he has in the world. +May the Blessed One be praised that I have saved them both!" + +"`To them that have no might, He increaseth strength,'" quoted Christian +softly. "Then--is not this your child?" + +"Yes--now." + +"But not--?" + +"By gift, not by birth. And it is the Holy One who has given him. Now, +good friends, let me not keep you from sleeping. Perhaps I shall sleep +myself. We will talk more in the morning." + +It was evident when the morning arrived, that the saved child had +suffered less than she who had saved him. Both needed care, +nourishment, and rest; but Countess wanted it far more than Rudolph. A +few days sufficed to restore him to his usual lively good health; but it +was weeks ere she recovered the physical strain and mental suffering of +that terrible night. But Countess was one of those people who never +either "give in" or "give up." Before any one but herself thought her +half fit for it, she went out, not mentioning her destination, on an +expedition which occupied the greater part of a day, and returned at +night with a satisfied expression on her face. + +"I have settled every thing," she said. "And now I will tell you +something. Perhaps you were puzzled to know why I sought shelter with +you, instead of going to some of my wealthy acquaintances in the town?" + +"I was, very much," answered Christian hesitatingly. + +"I supposed you had some reason for it," said David. + +"Right. I had a reason--a strong one. That I shall not tell you at +present. But I will tell you what perhaps you have already guessed-- +that I have been divorced from Leo." + +"Well, I fancied you must have had a quarrel with him, or something of +that kind," replied Christian. + +"Oh, we are on excellent terms," said Countess in a rather sarcastic +tone. "So excellent, that he even proposed himself to lend me an escort +of armed retainers to convey me to London." + +"To London!" exclaimed Christian, in some surprise. "I thought you +would be going back to your father's house at Oxford." + +"Oh, no!--that would not do at all. I did think of it for a moment; not +now. London will be much better." + +"May I take the liberty to ask how you mean to live?" said David. "Of +course it is no business of mine, but--" + +"Go on," said Countess, when he hesitated. + +"Well, I don't quite see what you can do, without either husband or +father. Perhaps your brother Rubi is coming with you? You can't live +alone, surely." + +"I could, and get along very well, too; but I suppose one must not defy +the world, foolish thing as it is. No, my brother Rubi is not coming, +and I don't want him either. But I want you--David and Ruth." + +David and Ruth--as Countess persisted in calling her--looked at each +other in surprise and perplexity. + +"You can take a week to think about it," resumed Countess, in her +coolest manner, which was very cool indeed. "I shall not set forth +until the Sabbath is over. But I do not suppose you are so deeply in +love with this hovel that you could not bring yourselves to leave it +behind." + +"What do you mean us to do or be?" + +"I intend to set up a silversmith's and jeweller's shop, and I mean +David to be the silversmith, and to train Rudolph to the business." + +This sounded practical. David's heart leaped within him, at the thought +of returning to his old status and occupation. + +"I could do that," he said, with a gleam in his eyes. + +"I know you could," replied Countess. + +"And _I_?" suggested Christian wistfully. + +"You may see to the house, and keep the children out of mischief. We +shall want some cooking and cleaning, I suppose; and I hate it." + +"Do you take no servants with you?" asked Christian, in an astonished +tone. For a rich lady like Countess to travel without a full +establishment, both of servants and furniture, was amazing to her. + +"I take the child with me," said Countess. + +Christian wondered why the one should hinder the other; but she said no +more. + +"But--" David began, and stopped. + +"I would rather hear all the objections before I set forth," responded +Countess calmly. + +"Countess, you must clearly understand that we cannot deny our faith." + +"Who asked you to do so?" + +"Nor can we hide it." + +"That is your own affair. Do Christians clean silver worse than Jews?" + +"They should not, if they are real Christians and not mere pretenders." + +"Shams--I hate shams. Don't be a sham anything. Please yourself +whether you are a Jew or a Christian, but for goodness' sake don't be a +sham." + +"I hope I am not that," said David. "If you are content with us, +Countess, my wife and I will be only too happy to go with you. The +children--" + +"Oh, you don't fancy leaving them behind? Very well--they can play with +Rudolph, and pull the cat's tail." + +"I shall whip them if they do," said Christian, referring not to +Rudolph, but to the cat. + +"Countess, do you mean to cut yourself off from all your friends?" asked +David, with a mixed feeling of perplexity and pity. "I cannot +understand why you should do so." + +"`Friends!'" she replied, with an indescribable intonation. "I fancy I +shall take them all with me. Do as I bid thee, David, and trouble not +thyself to understand me." + +David felt silenced, and asked no more questions. + +"Rudolph must have an English name," said Countess abruptly. "Let him +be called Ralph henceforth. That is the English version of his own +name, and he will soon grow accustomed to it." + +"What is he to call you?" asked Christian. + +"What he pleases," was the answer. + +What it pleased Rudolph to do was to copy the other children, and say +"Mother;" but he applied the term impartially alike to Countess and to +Christian, till the latter took him aside, and suggested that it would +be more convenient if he were to restrict the term to one of them. + +"You see," she said, "if you call us both by one name, we shall never +know which of us you mean." + +"Oh, it does not matter," answered Master Rudolph with imperial +unconcern. "Either of you could button me up and tie my shoes. But if +you like, I'll call you Christie." + +"I think it would be better if you did," responded Christian with +praiseworthy gravity. + +From the time that this matter was settled until the journey was fairly +begun, Countess showed an amount of impatience and uneasiness which it +sometimes took all Christian's meekness to bear. She spent the whole +day, while the light lasted, at the little lattice, silently studying a +large square volume, which she carefully wrapped every evening in silk +brocade, and then in a woollen handkerchief, placing it under the pillow +on which she slept, and which had come from Leo's house for her use. +Beyond that one day's expedition, she never quitted the hut till they +left Dorchester. Of the hardships inseparable from her temporary +position she did not once complain; all her impatience was connected +with some inner uncertainty or apprehension which she did not choose to +reveal. Rudolph looked far more disdainfully than she on the rye-crusts +and ragged garments of his companions. + +At last, on the Sunday morning--for nobody dreamed in those days of not +travelling on Sunday after mass--a small party of armed servants arrived +at the hut, leading three palfreys and four baggage-mules, beside their +own horses. Three of the mules were already loaded. Countess issued +her orders, having evidently considered and settled every thing +beforehand. Christian was to ride one palfrey, Countess the other, and +David the third, with Rudolph in front of him. His children were to be +disposed of, in panniers, on the back of the unloaded mule, with a lad +of about fifteen years, who was one of the escort, behind them. + +"Hast thou found us any convoy, Josce?" asked Countess of the man who +took direction of the escort. + +Josce doffed his cap to answer his mistress, to whom he showed +considerable deference. + +"Deuslesalt journeys to-day as far as Wallingford," he said, "and Simeon +the usurer, who has a strong guard, will go thence to-morrow to +Windsor." + +"Good. Set forth!" said Countess. + +So they set out from the mud hovel. The snow was still deep in many +parts, but it had been trodden down in the well-worn tracks, such as was +the high road from Oxford to London. Countess rode first of the party, +ordering David to ride beside her; Christian came next, by the mule +which bore her children; the armed escort was behind. A mile away from +the hut they joined the imposing retinue of Deuslesalt, who was a +wealthy silk-merchant, and in their company the journey to Wallingford +was accomplished. There Countess and Rudolph found shelter with +Deuslesalt in the house of a rich Jew, while David, Christian, and the +children were received as travellers in a neighbouring hospital; for an +hospital, in those days, was not necessarily a place where the sick were +treated, but was more of the nature of a large almshouse, where all the +inmates lived and fared in common. + +On the second day they joined the usurer's party, which was larger and +stronger than that of the silk-merchant. At Windsor they found an inn +where they were all lodged; and the following day they entered London. +It now appeared that Countess had in some mysterious manner made +preparation for her coming; for they rode straight to a small house at +the corner of Mark Lane, which they found plainly but comfortably +furnished to receive them. Countess paid liberally and dismissed her +escort, bade David unpack the goods she had brought, and dispose of the +jewels in the strong safes built into the walls, desired Christian to +let her know if anything necessary for the house were not provided, and +established herself comfortably at the window with her big book, and +Rudolph on a hassock at her feet. + +"David!" she said, looking up, when the unpacking was about half done. + +David touched his forelock in answer. + +"I wish thou wouldst buy a dog and cat." + +"Both?" demanded David, rather surprised. "They will fight." + +"Oh, the cat is for the children," said Countess coolly; "I don't want +one. But let the dog be the biggest thou canst get." + +"I think I'd have the dog by himself," said David. "The children will +be quite as well pleased. And if you want a big one, he is pretty sure +to be good-tempered." + +So David and Rudolph went to buy a dog, and returned with an amiable +shaggy monster quite as tall as the latter--white and tan, with a smile +upon his lips, and a fine feathery tail, which little Helwis fell at +once to stroking. This eligible member of the family received the name +of Olaf, and was clearly made to understand that he must tolerate +anything from the children, and nothing from a burglar. + +Things were settling down, and custom already beginning to come into the +little shop, when one evening, as they sat round the fire, Countess +surprised David with a question-- + +"David, what did the priest to thee when thou wert baptised?" + +David looked up in some astonishment. + +"Why, he baptised me," said he simply. + +"I want to know all he did," said Countess. + +"Don't think I could tell you if I tried. He put some oil on me, and +some spittle,--and water, of course,--and said ever so many prayers." + +"What did he say in his prayers?" + +"Eh, how can I tell you? They were all in Latin." + +"The Lord does not speak French or English, then?" demanded Countess +satirically. + +"Well!" said David, scratching his head, "when you put it that way--" + +"I don't see what other way to put it. But I thought they baptised with +water?" + +"Oh, yes, the real baptism is with water." + +"Then what is the good of the unreal baptism, with oil and other +rubbish?" + +"I cry you mercy, but you must needs ask the priest. I'm only an +ignorant man." + +"Dost thou think he knows?" + +"The priest? Oh, of course." + +"I should like to be as sure as thou art. Can any body baptise?--or +must it be done by a priest only?" + +"Oh, only--well--" David corrected himself. "Of course the proper +person is a priest. But in case of necessity, it can be done by a +layman. A woman, even, may do it, if a child be in danger of death. +But then, there is no exorcism nor anointing; only just the baptising +with water." + +"I should have thought that was all there need be, at any time." + +With that remark Countess dropped the subject. But a few days later she +resumed the catechising, though this time she chose Christian as her +informant. + +"What do Christians mean by baptism?" + +Christian paused a moment. She had not hitherto reflected on the +esoteric meaning of the ceremony to which she had been ordered to submit +as the introductory rite of her new religion. + +"I suppose," she said slowly, "it must mean--confession." + +"Confession of what?" inquired Countess. + +"Of our faith in the Lord Jesus," replied Christian boldly. + +To Christian's surprise, Countess made no scornful answer. She sat in +silence, looking from the window with eyes that saw neither the knight +who was riding past, nor the fish-woman selling salt cod to the opposite +neighbour. + +"Can faith not exist without confession?" she said in a low tone. + +"Would it not be poor faith?" + +"Why?" demanded Countess, drawing her brows together, and in a tone that +was almost fierce. + +"I should think there would be no love in it. And faith which had no +love in it would be a very mean, shabby, worthless sort of faith." + +"I don't see that," said Countess stubbornly. "I believe that this book +is lying on the window-seat. Can't I do that without loving either the +window-seat or the book?" + +"Ah, yes, when you only believe things. But the faith which is shown in +baptism is not believing a fact; it is trusting yourself, body and soul, +with a Person." + +"That makes a difference, I dare say," replied Countess, and relapsed +into silence. + +A week later she came into the shop, where David was busy polishing up +the ornaments in stock. + +"David," she said abruptly, "what does a Christian do when he is +completely perplexed, and cannot tell how to act?" + +"Well, I don't exactly know," said David, looking perplexed himself. +"Never was like that, so far as I know. Leastwise--No, I couldn't just +say I ever have been." + +"O happy man! Some Christians are, sometimes, I suppose?" + +"I should think so. I don't know." + +"What wouldst thou do, then, if thou wert in a slough from which thou +sawest not the way out?" + +"Why, I think--I should pray the Lord to show me the way out. I don't +see what else I could do." + +"And if no answer came?" + +"Then I should be a bit afraid it meant that I'd walked in myself, and +hadn't heeded His warnings. Sometimes, I think, when folks do that, He +leaves them to flounder awhile before He helps them out." + +"That won't do this time." + +"Well, if that's not it, then maybe it would be because I wanted to get +out on my own side, and wouldn't see His hand held out on the other. +The Lord helps you out in His way, not yours: and that often means, up +the steeper-looking bank of the two." + +Countess was silent. David applied himself to bending the pin of a +brooch, which he thought rather too straight. + +"Is it ever right to do wrong?" she said suddenly. + +"Why, no!--how could it be?" answered David, looking up. + +"You put me deeper in the slough, every word you say. I will go no +further to-day." + +And she turned and walked away. + +"Christie," said David to his wife that evening, "thou and I must pray +for our mistress." + +"Why, what's the matter with her?" + +"I don't know. She's in some trouble; and I think it is not a little +trouble. Unless I mistake, it is trouble of a weary, wearing sort, that +she goes round and round in, and can't see the way out." + +"But what are we to ask for, if we know nothing?" + +"Dear heart! ask the Lord to put it right. He knows the way out; He +does not want us to tell Him." + +A fortnight elapsed before any further conversation took place. At the +end of that time Ash Wednesday came, and David and Christian went to +church as usual. The service was half over, when, to their unspeakable +astonishment, they perceived Countess standing at the western door, +watching every item of the ceremonies, with an expression on her face +which was half eager, half displeased, but wholly disturbed and wearied. +She seemed desirous to avoid being seen, and slipped out the instant +the mass was over. + +"Whatever brought her there?" asked Christian. + +David shook his head. + +"I expect it was either the Lord or the Devil," he said. "Let us ask +Him more earnestly to bring her out of the slough on the right side." + +"Did you see me in All Hallows this morning?" asked Countess abruptly, +as they sat beside the fire that night. The children were in bed, and +Olaf lying on the hearth. + +"Ay, I did," replied Christian; and her tone added--"to my surprise." + +"What are those things for there?" + +"What things?" + +"A number of dolls, all painted and gilt." + +"Do you mean the holy images?" + +"I mean the images. I don't believe in the holiness." + +"They are images of the blessed saints." + +"What are they for?" demanded Countess, knitting her brows. + +"The priest says they are to remind us, and are helps to prayer." + +"To whose prayers?" said Countess disdainfully. "No woman in England +prays more regularly than I; but I never wanted such rubbish as that to +help me." + +"Oh, they don't help me," said David. "I never pay any attention to +them; I just pray straight up." + +"I don't understand praying to God in the House of Baal. `Thou shalt +not make unto thee any graven image.'" + +"But they say the Church has loosed that command now. And of course we +can't set ourselves up above the Church." + +"What on earth do you mean? Art thou God, to kill and to make alive, +that thou shouldst style the keeping of His command `setting one's self +above the Church?' The Church shall never guide me, if she speak +contrary to God." + +"But how can she, when God inspires her?" + +"There is another question I want settled first. How can I believe that +God inspires her, when I see that she contradicts His distinct +commands?" + +"I suppose the priest would say that was very wicked." + +"What do I care for that popinjay? How did _you_ get over it? Had you +no sensation of horror, when you were required to bow down to those +stocks and stones?" + +"Well, no," said Christian, speaking very slowly. "I believed what +Gerard had taught us, and--" + +"When did Gerhardt ever teach you that rubbish?" + +"He never did," answered David. "The priests taught us that. And I did +find it main hard to swallow at first." + +"Ah! I'm afraid I shall find it too hard to swallow at last. But there +is nothing of all that in this book." + +"I know nought about books. But of course the Church must know the +truth," responded David uneasily. + +"This is the truth," answered Countess, laying her hand upon the book. +"But if this be, that is not. David--Ruth--I believe as you do in Jesus +Christ of Nazareth: but I believe in no gilded images nor priestly lies. +I shall take my religion from His words, not from them. I should like +to be baptised, if it mean to confess Him before men; but if it only +mean to swallow the priests' fables, and to kneel before gods that +cannot hear nor save, I will have none of it. As the Lord liveth, +before whom I stand, I will never bow down to the work of men's hands!" + +She had risen and stood before them, a grand figure, with hands clenched +and eyes on fire. Christian shrank as if alarmed. David spoke in a +regretful tone. + +"Well! I thought that way myself for a while. But they said. I +couldn't be a Christian if I did not go to church, and attend the holy +mass. The Church had the truth, and God had given it to her: so I +thought I might be mistaken, and I gave in. I've wondered sometimes +whether I did right." + +"If that be what baptism means--to put my soul into the hands of that +thing they call the Church, and let it mould me like wax--to defile +myself with all the idols and all the follies that I see there--I will +not be baptised. I will believe without it. And if He ask me at the +Day of Doom why I did not obey His command given in Galilee, I shall +say, `Lord, I could not do it without disobeying Thy first command, +given amid the thunders of Sinai.' If men drive me to do thus, it will +not be my sin, but theirs." + +"Well, I don't know!" answered David, in evident perplexity. "I suppose +you _could_ be baptised, with nothing more--but I don't know any priest +that would do it." + +"Would you do it?" + +"Oh, I daren't!" + +"David, your religion is very queer." + +"What's the matter?" asked David in astonishment. + +"The other day, when I told you I was in a great slough, you did not +advise me to go and ask those gaudy images to help me out of it; you +spoke of nobody but the Lord. Now that we come to talk about images, +you flounder about as if you did not know what to say." + +"Well, don't you see, I know one o' them two, but I've only been told +the other." + +"Oh yes, I see. You are not the first who has had one religion for +sunshiny weather, and another for rainy days; only that with you-- +different from most people--you wear your best robe in the storm." + +David rubbed his face upon the sleeve of his jacket, as if he wished to +rub some more discrimination into his brains. + +"Nay, I don't know--I hope you've no call to say that." + +"I usually say what I think. But there's no need to fret; you've time +to mend." + +Both the women noticed that for a few days after that, David was very +silent and thoughtful. When the Sunday came he excused himself from +going to church, much to the surprise and perplexity of his wife. The +day after he asks for a holiday, and did not return till late at night. + +As they sat round the fire on the following evening, David said +suddenly,--"I think I've found it out." + +"What?" asked his mistress. + +"Your puzzle--and my own too." + +"Let me have the key, by all means, if you possess it." + +"Well, I have been to see the hermit of Holywell. They say he is the +holiest man within reach of London, go what way you will. And he has +read me a bit out of a book that seems to settle the matter. At least I +thought so. Maybe you mightn't see it so easy." + +"It takes more than fair words to convince me. However, let me hear +what it is. What was the book? I should like to know that first." + +"He said it was an epistle written by Paul the Apostle to somebody--I +can't just remember whom." + +"Who was he?" + +"Why, he was one of the saints, wasn't he?" + +"I don't know. There's no mention of him in my book." + +David looked like a man stopped unexpectedly in rapid career. "You +always want to know so much about every thing!" he said, rubbing his +face on his sleeve, as he had a habit of doing when puzzled. "Now I +never thought to ask that." + +"But before I can act on a message from my superior, I must surely +satisfy myself as to the credentials of the messenger. However, let us +hear the message. Perhaps that may tell us something. Some things bear +on their faces the evidence of what they are--still more of what they +are not." + +"Well, what he read was this: `If thou shalt confess with thy mouth the +Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised Him +from the dead, thou shalt be saved.' And `Look you,' saith he, `there +isn't a word here of any body else.' `If thou shalt confess' Him--not +the saints, nor the images, nor the Church, nor the priest. `Baptism,' +saith he, `is confessing Him.' Then he turned over some leaves, and +read a bit from another place, how our Lord said, `Come unto Me, all +ye--'" + +Countess's eyes lighted up suddenly. "That's in my book. `All ye that +travail and are heavy laden, and I will refresh you.'" + +"That's it. And says he, `He does not say, "Come to the Church or the +priest," but "Come to Me."' `Well,' says I, `but how can you do one +without the other?' `You may come to the priest easy enough, and never +come to Christ,' saith he, `so it's like to be as easy to come to Christ +without the priest.' `Well, but,' says I, `priests doesn't say so.' +`No,' says he; `they don't'--quite short like. `But for all I can see +in this book,' says he, `He does.'" + +"Go on!" said Countess eagerly, when David paused. + +"Well, then--I hope you'll excuse me if I said more than I should--says +I to him, `Now look here, Father: suppose you had somebody coming to you +for advice, that had been a Jew like me, and was ready to believe in our +Lord, but could not put up with images and such, would you turn him away +because he could not believe enough, or would you baptise him?' `I +would baptise him,' saith he. Then he turns over the book again, and +reads: `"Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved." +That is what the Apostles said to one man,' says he: `and if it was +enough then, it is enough now.' `But, Father,' says I, `that sounds +rather as if you thought the Church might go wrong, or had gone wrong, +in putting all these things beside our Lord.' `My son,' saith he, `what +meanest thou by the Church? The Holy Ghost cannot teach error. Men in +the Church may go wrong, and are continually wandering into error. What +said our Lord to the rulers of the Jews, who were the priests of His +day? "Ye do err, not knowing the Scriptures." This book is truth: when +men leave this book,' saith he, `they go astray.' `But not holy +Church?' said I. `Ah,' saith he, `the elect may stray from the fold; +how much more they that are strangers there? The only safe place for +any one of us,' he says, `is to keep close to the side of the Good +Shepherd.'" + +"David, where dwells that hermit?" + +"By the holy well, away on the Stronde, west of Lud Gate. Any body you +meet on that road will tell you where to find him. His hut stands a bit +back from the high way, on the north." + +"Very good. I'll find him." + +The next day, until nearly the hour of curfew, nothing was seen of +Countess. She took Olaf with her as guard, and they returned at the +last moment, just in time to enter the City before the gates were +closed. David and Christian had finished their work, shut up the shop, +and put the children to bed, when Olaf made his stately entrance, with +his mistress behind him. + +"Thy old hermit," she said, addressing David, "is the first decent +Christian I have found--the first that goes by his Master's words, and +does not worry me with nonsense." + +She drew off her hood, and sat down in the chimney-corner. + +"You found him then?" answered David. "Had you much trouble?" + +"I found him. Never mind the trouble." + +"Has he settled the puzzle for you, then?" + +"I think I settled it for him." + +"I ask your pardon, but I don't understand you." + +"I don't suppose you do." + +"Countess," said Christian, coming down the ladder, "I bought the +herrings as you bade me; but there is no salt salmon in the market +to-day." + +"To whom are you speaking?" inquired Countess, with an expression of fun +about the corners of her lips. + +"You," replied Christian in surprise. + +"Then, perhaps you will have the goodness to call me by my Christian +name, which is Sarah." + +"O Countess! have you been baptised?" + +"I have." + +"By the hermit?" + +"By the hermit." + +"But how?" + +"How? With water. What did you expect?" + +"But--all at once, without any preparation?" + +"What preparation was needed? I made my confession of Christ, and he +baptised me in His name. The preparation was only to draw the water." + +"What on earth did you do for sponsors?" + +"Had none." + +"Did he let you?" + +A little smothered laugh came from Countess. "He had not much choice," +she said. "He did try it on. But I told him plainly, I was not going +to give in to that nonsense: that if he chose to baptise me at once, I +was there ready, and would answer any questions and make any confession +that he chose. But if not--not. I was not coming again." + +"And he accepted it!" said David, with a dozen notes of exclamation in +his voice. + +"Did I not tell you he was the most sensible Christian I ever found? He +said, `Well!--after all, truly, any thing save the simple baptism with +water was a man-made ordinance. The Ethiopian eunuch had no sponsors'-- +I don't know who he was, but I suppose the hermit did--`and he probably +made as true a Christian for all that' `In truth,' said I, `the +institution of sponsors seems good for little children--friends who +promise to see that they shall be brought up good Christians if their +parents die early; but for a woman of my age, it is simply absurd, and I +won't have it. Let me confess Christ as my Messiah and Lord, and +baptise me with water in His name, and I am sure he will be satisfied +with it. And if any of the saints and angels are not satisfied, they +can come down and say so, if they think it worth while.' So--as he saw, +I suppose, that _I_ was not going to do it--he gave in." + +"I hope it's all right," said David, rather uneasily. + +"David, I wish I could put a little sense into you. You are a good man, +but you are a very foolish one. `All right!' Of course it is all +right. It is man, and not God, who starts at trifles like a frightened +horse, and makes men offenders for a word. The Lord looketh on the +heart." + +"Ay, but Moses (on whom be peace!) was particular enough about some +details which look very trifling to us." + +"He was particular enough where they concerned the honour of God, or +where they formed a part of some symbolism which the alteration would +cause to be wrongly interpreted so as to teach untruth. But for all +else, he let them go, and so did our Lord. When Aaron explained why he +had not eaten the goat of the sin-offering, Moses was content. Nor did +Christ condemn David the King, but excused him, for eating the +shewbread. I am sure Moses would have baptised me this morning, without +waiting for sponsors or Lucca oil. This is a very silly world; I should +have thought the Church might have been a trifle wiser, and really it +seems to have less common sense of the two. How could I have found +sponsors, I should like to know? I know nobody but you and Christian." + +"They told us, when we were baptised, that the Church did not allow a +husband and wife to be sponsors to the same person. So we could not +both have stood for you. It would have had to be Christian and Rudolph, +and some other woman." + +"Rudolph! That baby! [Note 1.] Would they have let him stand?" + +"Yes--if you could not find any one else." + +"And promise to bring me up in the Catholic faith? Well, if that is not +rich!--when I have got to bring him up! I will tell you what, David--if +some benevolent saint would put a little common sense into the Church, +it would be a blessing to somebody. `The Church!' I am weary of that +ceaseless parrot scream. The Church stands in the way to Jesus of +Nazareth, not as a door to go in, but as a wall to bar out. I wish we +had lived in earlier days, before all that rubbish had had time to grow. +Now, mind you," concluded Countess, as she rose to go to bed, "David +and Christian, I don't mean to be bothered about this. Don't talk to +me, nor to Rudolph, nor to any body else. I shall read the Book, and +teach him to do it; but I shall not pray to those gilded things; and he +shall not. What Gerhardt taught is enough for him and me. And +remember, if too much be said, the King's officers may come and take +every thing away. I do not see that it is my duty to go and tell them. +If they come, let them come, and God be my aid and provider! Otherwise, +we had better keep quiet." + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Note 1. That little children were at times allowed to be sponsors in +the Middle Ages, is proved by the instance of John Earl of Kent in 1330, +whose brother and sister, the former probably under ten years of age, +and the latter aged only eighteen months, stood sponsors for him. +(_Prob. aet. Johannis Com. Kant._, 23 Edward Third, 76.) + + + +CHAPTER ELEVEN. + +WELL MET. + + "O God, we are but leaves upon Thy stream, + Clouds in Thy sky." + + Dinah Mulock. + +A busy place on a Monday morning was Bread Street, in the city of +London. As its name denotes, it was the street of the bakers; for our +ancestors did not give names, as we do, without reason, for mere +distinction's sake. If a town gate bore the name of York Gate, that was +equivalent to a signpost, showing that it opened on the York road. They +made history and topography, where we only make confusion. + +The fat, flour-besprinkled baker at the Harp, in Bread Street, was in +full tide of business. His shelves were occupied by the eight different +kinds of bread in common use--wassel, used only by knights and squires; +cocket, the kind in ordinary use by smaller folk; maslin, a mixture of +wheat, oats, and barley; barley, rye, and brown bread, the fare of +tradesmen and monks; oaten, the food of the poorest; and horse bread. +There were two or three varieties finer and better than these, only used +by the nobles, which were therefore made at home, and not commonly to be +found at the baker's: simnel, manchet or chet, and paynemayne or _pain +de main_ (a corruption of _panis dominicus_). We read also of _pain le +Rei_, or the King's bread, but this may be paynemayne under another +name. Even in the large towns, at that time, much of the baking was +done at home; and the chief customers of the bakers were the cookshops +or eating houses, with such private persons as had not time or +convenience to prepare their own bread. The price of bread at this time +does not appear to be on record; but about seventy years later, four +loaves were sold for a penny. [Note 1.] + +The cooks, who lived mainly in Eastcheap and along the water-side, of +course had to provide bread of various kinds, to suit their different +customers; and a young man, armed with a huge basket, came to have it +filled with all varieties. Another young man had entered after him, and +now stood waiting by the wall till the former should have finished his +business. + +"Now then," said the baker, turning to the man in waiting, as the other +trudged forth with his basket: "what shall I serve you with?" + +"I don't want you to serve me; I want to serve you," was the answer. + +The baker looked him over with a good-natured but doubtful expression. + +"Want to serve me, do you? Whence come you?" + +"I'm an upland man." [From the country.] + +"Got any one to speak for you?" + +"A pair of eyes, a pair of hands, a fair wit, and a good will to work." + +The fat baker looked amused. "And an honest repute, eh?" said he. + +"I have it, but I can't give it you, except from my wife, and I scarcely +suppose you'll be satisfied to go to her for my character." + +"I'm not so sure of that!" laughed the baker. "If she'd speak truth, +she could give you the character best worth having of any." + +"She never yet spoke any thing else, nor did I." + +"_Ha, jolife_!--you must be a fine pair. Well, now, speak the truth, +and tell me why a decent, tidy-seeming young fellow like you can't get a +character to give me." + +"Because I should have to put my wife in peril, if I went back to do +it," was the bold answer. + +"Ha, so!" Such a possibility, in those rough days, was only too +apparent to the honest baker. "Well, well! Had to run from a bad +master, eh? Ay, ay, I see." + +He did not see exactly the accurate details of the facts; but the +applicant did not contradict him. + +"Well! I could do with another hand, it's true; and I must say I like +the look of you. How long have you been a baker's man?" + +"When I've been with you seven days, it'll be just a week," was the +humorous reply. + +"What, you've all to learn? That's a poor lookout." + +"A man that has all to learn, and has a will to it, will serve you +better than one that has less to learn, and has no will to it." + +"Come, I can't gainsay that. What have you been, then?" + +"I have been watchman in a castle." + +"Oh, ho!--how long?" + +"Fifteen years." + +"And what gives you a mind to be a baker?" + +"Well, more notions than one. It's a clean trade, and of good repute; +wholesome, for aught I know: there's no killing in it, for which I +haven't a mind; and as folks must eat, it does not depend on fashion +like some things. Moths don't get into bread and spoil it, nor rust +neither; and if you can't sell it, you can eat it yourself, and you're +no worse off, or not much. It dries and gets stale, of course, in time: +but one can't have every thing; and seems to me there's as little risk +in bread, and as little dirt or worry, as there is in any thing one can +put one's hand to do. I'm not afraid of work, but I don't like dirt, +loss, nor worry." + +The fat baker chuckled. "Good for you, my lad!--couldn't have put it +better myself. Man was made to labour, and I like to see a man that's +not afraid of work. Keep clear of worry by all means; it eats a man's +heart out, which honest work never does. Work away, and sing at your +work--that's my notion: and it's the way to get on and be happy." + +"I'm glad to hear it; I always do," said the applicant. "And mind you, +lad,--I don't know an unhappier thing than discontent. When you want to +measure your happiness, don't go and set your ell-wand against him +that's got more than you have, but against him that's got less. Bread +and content's a finer dinner any day than fat capon with grumble-sauce. +We can't all be alike; some are up, and some down: but it isn't them at +the top of the tree that's got the softest bed to lie on, nor them that +sup on the richest pasties that most enjoy their supper. If a man wants +to be comfortable, he must keep his heart clear of envy, and put a good +will into his work. I believe a man may come to take pleasure in any +thing, even the veriest drudgery, that brings a good heart to it and +does his best to turn it out well." + +"I am sure of that," was the response, heartily given. + +The baker was pleased with the hearty response to the neat epigrammatic +apothegms wherein he delighted to unfold himself. He nodded approval. + +"I'll take you on trial for a month," he said. "And if you've given +yourself a true character, you'll stay longer. I'll pay you--No, we'll +settle that question when I have seen how you work." + +"I'll stay as long as I can," was the answer, as the young man turned to +leave the shop. + +"Tarry a whit! What's your name, and how old are you?" + +"I am one-and-thirty years of age, and my name is Stephen." + +"Good. Be here when the vesper bell begins to ring." + +Stephen went up to Cheapside, turned along it, up Lady Cicely's Lane, +and out into Smithfield by one of the small posterns in the City wall. +Entering a small house in Cock Lane, he went up a long ladder leading to +a tiny chamber, screened-off from a garret. Here a tabby cat came to +meet him, and rubbed itself against his legs as he stooped down to +caress it, while Ermine, who sat on the solitary bench, looked up +brightly to greet him. + +"Any success, Stephen?" + +"Thy prayer is heard, sweet heart. I have entered the service of a +baker in Bread Street,--a good-humoured fellow who would take me at my +own word. I told him I had no one to refer him to for a character but +you,--I did not think of Gib, or I might have added him. You'd speak +for me, wouldn't you, old tabby?" + +Gib replied by an evidently affirmative "Me-ew!" + +"I'll give you an excellent character," said Ermine, smiling, "and so +will Gib, I am sure." + +The baker was well satisfied when his new hand reached the Harp exactly +as the vesper bell sounded its first stroke at Saint Mary-le-Bow. + +"That's right!" said he. "I like to see a man punctual. Take this damp +cloth and rub the shelves." + +"Clean!" said he to himself a minute after. "Have you ever rubbed +shelves before?" + +"Not much," said Stephen. + +"How much do you rub 'em?" + +"Till they are clean." + +"You'll do. Can you carry a tray on your head?" + +"Don't know till I try." + +"Best practise a bit, before you put any thing on it, or else we shall +have mud pies," laughed the baker. + +When work was over, the baker called Stephen to him. + +"Now," said he, "let us settle about wages. I could not tell how much +to offer you, till I saw how you worked. You've done very well for a +new hand. I'll give you three-halfpence a-day till you've fairly learnt +the trade, and twopence afterwards: maybe, in time, if I find you +useful, I may raise you a halfpenny more: a penny of it in bread, the +rest in money. Will that content you?" + +"With a very good will," replied Stephen. + +His wages as watchman at the Castle had been twopence per day, so that +he was well satisfied with the baker's proposal. + +"What work does your wife do?" + +"She has none to do yet. She can cook, sew, weave, and spin." + +"I'll bear it in mind, if I hear of any for her." + +"Thank you," said Stephen; and dropping the halfpenny into his purse, he +secured the loaves in his girdle, and went back to the small +screened-off corner of the garret which at present he called home. + +It was not long before the worthy baker found Stephen so useful that he +raised his wages even to the extravagant sum of threepence a day. His +wife, too, had occasional work for Ermine; and the thread she spun was +so fine and even, and the web she wove so regular and free from +blemishes, that one employer spoke of her to another, until she had as +much work as she could do. Not many months elapsed before they were +able to leave the garret where they had first found refuge, and take a +little house in Ivy Lane; and only a few years were over when Stephen +was himself a master baker and pastiller (or confectioner), Ermine +presiding over the lighter dainties, which she was able to vary by +sundry German dishes not usually obtainable in London, while he was +renowned through the City for the superior quality of his bread. +Odinel, the fat baker, who always remained his friend, loved to point a +moral by Stephen's case in lecturing his journeymen. + +"Why, do but look at him," he was wont to say; "when he came here, eight +years ago, he scarcely knew wassel bread from cocket, and had never seen +a fish pie save to eat. Now he has one of the best shops in Bread +Street, and four journeymen under him. And how was it done, think you? +There was neither bribery nor favour in it. Just by being honest, +cleanly, and punctual, thorough in all he undertook, and putting heart +and hands into the work. Every one of you can do as well as he did, if +you only bestir yourselves and bring your will to it. Depend upon it, +lads, `I will' can do a deal of work. `I can' is _very_ well, but if `I +will' does not help him, `I can' will not put many pennies in his +pocket. `I can'--`I ought'--`I will'--those are the three good fairies +that do a man's work for him: and the man that starts work without them +is like to turn out but a sorry fellow." + +It was for Ermine's sake, that he might retain a hiding place for her if +necessary, that Stephen continued to keep up the house in Ivy Lane. The +ordinary custom was for a tradesman to live over or behind his shop. +The excuse given out to the world was that Stephen and his wife, being +country people, did not fancy being close mewed up in city streets; and +between Ivy Lane and the fresh country green and air, there were only a +few lanes and the city walls. + +Those eight years passed quietly and peacefully to Stephen and Ermine. +A small family--five in number--grew up around them, and Gib purred +tranquilly on the hearth. They found new friends in London, and thanked +God that He had chosen their inheritance for them, and had set their +feet in a large room. + +At that time, and for long afterwards, each trade kept by itself to its +own street or district. The mercers and haberdashers lived in West +Chepe or Cheapside, which Stephen had to go down every day. One +morning, at the end of those eight years, he noticed that a shop long +empty had been reopened, and over it hung a newly-painted signboard, +with a nun's head. As Stephen passed, a woman came to the door to hang +up some goods, and they exchanged a good look at each other. + +"I wonder who it is you are like!" said Stephen to himself. + +Then he passed on, and thought no more about her. + +On two occasions this happened. When the third came, the woman suddenly +exclaimed-- + +"I know who you are now!" + +"Do you?" asked Stephen, coming to a halt. "I wish I knew who you are. +I have puzzled over your likeness to somebody, and I cannot tell who it +is." + +The woman laughed, thereby increasing the mysterious resemblance which +was perplexing Stephen. + +"Why," said she, "you are Stephen Esueillechien, unless I greatly +mistake." + +"So I am," answered Stephen, "or rather, so I was; for men call me now +Stephen le Bulenger. But who are you?" + +"Don't you think I'm rather like Leuesa?" + +"That's it! But how come you hither, old friend? Have you left my +cousin? Or is she--" + +"The Lady Derette is still in the anchorhold. I left her when I wedded. +Do you remember Roscius le Mercer, who dwelt at the corner of North +Gate Street? He is my husband--but they call him here Roscius de +Oxineford--and we have lately come to London. So you live in Bread +Street, I suppose, if you are a baker?" + +Stephen acknowledged his official residence, mentally reserving the +private one, and purposing to give Ermine a hint to confine herself for +the present to Ivy Lane. + +"Do come in," said Leuesa hospitably, "and let us have a chat about old +friends." + +And lifting up her voice she called--"Roscius!" + +The mercer, whom Stephen remembered as a slim youth, presented himself +in the changed character of a stout man of five-and-thirty, and warmly +seconded his wife's invitation, as soon as he recognised an old +acquaintance. + +"I'm glad enough to hear of old friends," said Stephen, "for I haven't +heard a single word since I left Oxford about any one of them. Tell me +first of my brother. Is he living and in the old place?" + +"Ay, and Anania too, and all the children. I don't think there have +been any changes in the Castle." + +"Uncle Manning and Aunt Isel?" + +"Manning died three years ago, and Isel dwells now with Raven and +Flemild, who have only one daughter, so they have plenty of room for +her." + +"Then what has become of Haimet?" + +"Oh, he married Asselot, the rich daughter of old Tankard of Bicester. +He lives at Bicester now. Romund and Mabel are well; they have no +children, but Haimet has several." + +"Both my cousins married heiresses? They have not done badly, it +seems." + +"N-o, they have _not_, in one way," said Leuesa. "But I do not think +Haimet is bettered by his marriage. He seems to me to be getting very +fond of money, and always to measure everything by the silver pennies it +cost. That's not the true ell-wand; or I'm mistaken." + +"You are not, Leuesa. I'd as soon be choked with a down pillow as have +my soul all smothered up with gold. Well, and how do other folks get +on?--Franna, and Turguia, and Chembel and Veka, and all the rest?" + +"Turguia's gone, these five years; the rest are well--at least I don't +recall any that are not." + +"Is old Benefei still at the corner?" + +"Ay, he is, and Rubi and Jurnet. Regina is married to Jurnet's wife's +nephew, Samuel, and has a lot of children--one pretty little girl, with +eyes as like Countess as they can be." + +"Oh, have you any notion what is become of Countess?" + +"They removed from Reading to Dorchester, I believe, and then I heard +old Leo had divorced Countess, and married Deuslesalt's daughter and +heir, Drua. What became of her I don't know." + +"By the way, did either of you know aught of the Wise Woman of +Bensington? Mother Haldane, they used to call her. She'll perhaps not +be alive now, for she was an old woman eight years gone. She did me a +good turn once." + +"I don't know anything about her," said Leuesa. + +"Ah, well, I do," answered Roscius. "I went to her when our cow was +fairy-led, twelve years gone; and after that for my sister, when she had +been eating chervil, and couldn't see straight before her. Ay, she was +a wise woman, and helped a many folks. No, she's not alive now." + +"You mean more than you say, Roscius," said Stephen, with a sudden +sinking of heart. What had happened to Haldane? + +"Well, you see, they ducked her for a witch." + +"And killed her?" Stephen's voice was hard. + +"Ay--she did not live many minutes after. She sank, though--she was no +witch: though it's true, her cat was never seen afterwards, and some +folks would have it he'd gone back to Sathanas." + +"Then it must have been that night!" said Stephen to himself. "Did she +know, that she sent us off in haste? Was _that_ the secret she would +not tell?" Aloud, he said,--"And who were `they' that wrought that ill +deed?" + +"Oh, there was a great crowd at the doing of it--all the idle loons in +Bensington and Dorchester: but there were two that hounded them on to +the work--the Bishop's sumner Malger, and a woman: I reckon they had a +grudge against her of some sort. Wigan the charcoal-burner told me of +it--he brought her out, and loosed the cord that bound her." + +"God pardon them as He may!" exclaimed Stephen. "She was no more a +witch than you are. A gentle, harmless old woman, that healed folks +with herbs and such--shame on the men that dared to harm her!" + +"Ay, I don't believe there was aught bad in her. But, saints bless +you!--lads are up to anything," said Roscius. "They'd drown you, or +burn me, any day, just for the sake of a grand show and a flare-up." + +"They're ill brought up, then," said Stephen. "I'll take good care my +lads don't." + +"O Stephen! have you some children?--how many?" + +"Ay, two lads and three lasses. How many have you?" + +"We're not so well off as you; we have only two maids. Why, Stephen, +I'd forgot you were married. I must come and see your wife. But I +never heard whom you did marry: was she a stranger?" + +Poor Stephen was sorely puzzled what to say. On the one hand, he +thought Leuesa might safely be trusted; and as Ermine had already +suffered the sentence passed upon her, and the entire circumstances were +forgotten by most people, it seemed as if the confession of facts might +be attended by no danger. Yet he could not know with certainty that +either of his old acquaintances was incorruptibly trustworthy; and if +the priests came to know that one of their victims had survived the +ordeal, what might they not do, in hatred and revenge? A moment's +reflection, and an ejaculatory prayer, decided him to trust Leuesa. She +must find out the truth if she came to see Ermine. + +"No," he said slowly; "she was not a stranger." + +"Why, who could it be?" responded Leuesa. "Nobody went away when you +did." + +"But somebody went away before I did. Leuesa, I think you are not the +woman who would do an old friend an ill turn?" + +"Indeed, I would not, Stephen," said she warmly. "If there be any +secret, you may trust me, and my husband too; we would not harm you or +yours for the world." + +"I believe I may," returned Stephen. "My cousin Derette knows, but +don't name it to any one else. My wife is--Ermine." + +"Stephen! You don't mean it? Well, I am glad to know she got safe +away! But how did you get hold of her?" + +Stephen told his story. + +"You may be very certain we shall not speak a word to injure Ermine," +said Leuesa. "Ay, I'll come and see her, and glad I shall be. Why, +Stephen, I thought more of Ermine than you knew; I called one of my +little maids after her. Ermine and Derette they are. I can never +forget a conversation I once had with Gerard, when he took me back to +the Castle from Isel's house; I did not think so much of it at the time, +but it came to me with power afterwards, when he had sealed his faith +with his blood." + +"Ah! there's nothing like dying, to make folks believe you," commented +Roscius. + +"Can't agree with you there, friend," answered Stephen with a smile. +"There is one other thing, and that is living. A man may give his life +in a sudden spurt of courage and enthusiasm. It is something more to +see him spend his life in patient well-doing through many years. That +is the harder of the two to most." + +"Maybe it is," assented Roscius. "I see now why you were so anxious +about old Haldane." + +"Ay, we owed her no little. And I cannot but think she had some notion, +poor soul! of what was coming: she was in such haste to get us off by +dawn. If I had known--" + +"Eh, what could you have done if you had?" responded Roscius. "Wigan +told me there were hundreds in the crowd." + +"Nothing, perchance," answered Stephen sadly. "Well! the good Lord knew +best, and He ordered matters both for us and her." + +"Wigan said he thought she had been forewarned--I know not why." + +"Ay, I think some one must have given her a hint. That was why she sent +us off so early." + +"I say, Stephen," asked Roscius rather uneasily, "what think you did +become of that cat of hers? The thing was never seen after she died-- +not once. It looks queer, you know." + +"Does it?" said Stephen, with a little laugh. + +"Why, yes! I don't want to think any ill of the poor old soul--not I, +indeed: but never to be seen once afterwards--it _does_ look queer. Do +you think Sathanas took the creature?" + +"Not without I am Sathanas. That terrible cat that so troubles you, +Roscius, sits purring on my hearth at this very moment." + +"You! Why, did you take the thing with you?" + +"We did. It came away in Ermine's arms." + +"Eh, Saint Frideswide be our aid! I wouldn't have touched it for a +king's ransom." + +"I've touched it a good few times," said Stephen, laughing, "and it +never did aught worse to me than rub itself against me and mew. Why, +surely, man! you're not feared of a cat?" + +"No, not of a real cat; but that--" + +"It is just as real a cat as any other. My children play with it every +day; and if you'll bring your little maids, I'll lay you a good venison +pasty that they are petting it before they've been in the house a +Paternoster. Trust a girl for that! Ah, yes! that was one reason why I +thought she had some fancy of what was coming--the poor soul begged us +to take old Gib. He'd been her only companion for years, and she did +not want him ill-used. Poor, gentle, kindly soul! Ermine will be +grieved to hear of her end." + +"Tell Ermine I'll come to see her," said Leuesa, "and bring the children +too." + +"We have a Derette as well as you," replied Stephen with a smile. "She +is the baby. Our boys are Gerard and Osbert, and our elder girls Agnes +and Edild--my mother's name, you know." + +As Stephen opened the door of his house that evening, Gib came to meet +him with erect tail. + +"Well, old fellow!" said Stephen, rubbing his ears--a process to which +Gib responded with loud purrs. "I have seen a man to-day who is afraid +to touch you. I don't think you would do much to him--would you, now?" + +"That's nice--go on!" replied Gib, purring away. + +Leuesa lost no time in coming to see Ermine. She brought her two little +girls, of whom the elder, aged five years, immediately fell in love with +the baby, while the younger, aged three, being herself too much of a +baby to regard infants with any sentiment but disdain, bestowed all her +delicate attentions upon Gib. Stephen declared laughingly that he saw +he should keep the pasty. + +"Well, really, it does look very like a cat!" said the mercer, eyeing +Gib still a little doubtfully. + +"Very like, indeed," replied Stephen, laughing again. "I never saw +anything that looked more like one." + +"There's more than one at Oxford would like to see you, Ermine, and +Stephen too," said Leuesa. + +"Mother Isel would, and Derette," was Ermine's answer. "I am not so +sure of any one else." + +"I am sure of one else," interpolated Stephen. "It would be a perfect +windfall to Anania, for she'd get talk out of it for nine times nine +days. But would it be safe, think you?" + +"Why not?" answered Roscius. "The Earl has nought against you, has he?" + +"Oh no, he has nought against me; I settled every thing with him--went +back on purpose to do so. I was thinking of Ermine. The Bishop is not +the same [Note 2], but for aught I know, the sumners are." + +"Only one of them: Malger went to Lincoln some two years back." + +"Well, I should be glad not to meet that villain," said Stephen. + +"You'll not meet him. Then as to the other matter, what could they do +to her? The sentence was carried out. You can't execute a man twice." + +"That's a point that does not generally rise for decision. But you see +she got taken in, and that was forbidden. They were never meant to +survive it, and she did." + +"I don't believe any penalty could fall on her," said Roscius. "But if +you like, I'll ask my cousin, who is a lawyer, what the law has to say +on that matter." + +"Then don't mention Ermine's name." + +"I'll mention nobody's name. I shall only say that I and a friend of +mine were having a chat, and talking of one thing and another, we fell +a-wondering what would happen if a man were to survive a punishment +intended to kill him." + +"That might serve. I don't mind if you do." + +The law, in 1174, was much more dependent on the personal will of the +sovereign than it is now. The lawyer looked a little doubtful when +asked the question. + +"Why," said he, "if the prisoner had survived by apparent miracle, the +chances are that he would be pardoned, as the probability would be that +his innocence was thus proved by visitation of God. I once knew of such +a case, where a woman was accused of murdering her husband; she held her +mute of malice at her trial, and was adjudged to suffer _peine forte et +dure_." + +When a prisoner refused to plead, he was held to be "mute of malice." +The _peine forte et dure_, which was the recognised punishment for this +misdemeanour, was practically starvation to death. In earlier days it +seems to have been pure starvation; but at a later period, the more +refined torture was substituted of allowing the unhappy man on alternate +days three mouthfuls of bread with no liquid, and three sips of water +with no food, for a term which the sufferer could not be expected to +survive. At a later time again, this was exchanged for heavyweights, +under which he was pressed to death. + +"Strange to say," the lawyer went on, "the woman survived her sentence; +and this being an undoubted miracle, she received pardon to the laud of +God and the honour of His glorious mother, Dame Mary. [Such a case +really happened at Nottingham in 1357.] But if you were supposing a +case without any such miraculous intervention--" + +"Oh, we weren't thinking of miracles, any way," answered Roscius. + +"Then I should say the sentence would remain in force. There is of +course a faint possibility that it might not be put in force; but if the +man came to me for advice, I should not counsel him to build much upon +that. Especially if he happened to have an enemy." + +"Well, it does not seem just, to my thinking, that a man should suffer a +penalty twice over." + +"Just!" repeated the lawyer, with a laugh and a shrug of his shoulders. +"Were you under the impression, Cousin Roscius, that law and justice +were interchangeable terms?" + +"I certainly was," said Roscius. + +"Then, you'd better get out of it," was the retort. + +"I daren't take Ermine, after that," said Stephen, rather sorrowfully, +"The only hope would be that she might be so changed, nobody would know +her; and then, as my wife, she might pass unharmed But the risk seems +too great." + +"She's scarcely changed enough for that," replied Leuesa. "Very likely +she would not be recognised by those to whom she was a comparative +stranger; but such as had known her well would guess in a moment. +Otherwise--" + +"Then her name would tell tales," suggested Stephen. + +"Oh, you might change that," said Roscius. "Call her Emma or Aymeria-- +folks would never think." + +"And tell lies?" responded Stephen. + +"Why, you'd never call that telling lies, surely?" + +"It's a bit too like it to please me. Is Father Dolfin still at Saint +Frideswide's?" + +"Ay, he's still there, but he's growing an old man, and does not get +outside much now. He has resigned Saint Aldate's." + +"Then that settles it. He'd know." + +"But he's not an unkindly man, Stephen." + +"No, he isn't. But he's a priest. And maybe the priest might be +stronger than the man. Let's keep on the safe side." + +"Let us wait," said Ermine quietly. + +"I don't see how waiting is to help you, unless you wait till every body +is dead and buried--and it won't be much good going then." + +"Perhaps we may have to wait for the Better Country. There will be no +sumners and sentences there." + +"But are you sure of knowing folks there?" + +"Saint Paul would scarcely have anticipated meeting his friends with joy +in the resurrection if they were not to know each other when they met. +There are many passages in Scripture which make it very plain that we +shall know each other." + +"Are you so sure of getting there yourself?" was the query put by +Roscius, with raised eyebrows. + +"I am quite sure," was Ermine's calm answer, "because Christ is there, +and I am a part of Christ. He wills that His people shall be with Him +where He is." + +"But does not holy Church teach rather different?" [Note 3.] + +Stephen would fain have turned off the question. But it was answered as +calmly as before. + +"Holy Church is built on Christ our Lord. She cannot therefore teach +contrary to Him, though we may misunderstand either." + +Roscius was satisfied. He had not, however, the least idea that by that +vague term "holy Church," while he meant a handful of priests and +bishops, Ermine meant the elect of God, for whom His words settle every +question, and who are not apt to trouble themselves for the +contradictions either of priests or critics. "For the world passeth +away, and the lust thereof"--the pleasures, the opinions, the prejudices +of the world--"but he that doeth the will of God abideth for ever." + +The times of Henry Second knew neither post-offices nor carriers. When +a man wanted to send a parcel anywhere, he was obliged to carry it +himself or send a servant to do so, if he could not find some +acquaintance journeying in that direction who would save him the +trouble. + +A few weeks after Stephen had come to the conclusion that he could not +take Ermine to Oxford, he was passing down Bread Street to his shop +early one morning, when Odinel hailed him from the door. + +"Hi, Stephen! Just turn in here a minute, will you?--you don't happen +to be going or sending up into the shires, do you, these next few days?" + +"Which of the shires?" inquired Stephen, without committing himself. + +"Well, it's Abingdon I want to send to--but if I could get my goods +carried as far as Wallingford, I dare say I could make shift to have +them forwarded." + +"Would Oxford suit you equally well?" + +"Ay, as well or better." + +Stephen stood softly whistling for a moment. He might work the two +things together--might at least pay a visit to Derette, and learn from +her how far it was safe to go on. He felt that Anania was the chief +danger; Osbert would placidly accept as much or as little as he chose to +tell, and Isel, if she asked questions, might be easily turned aside +from the path. Could he be sure that Anania was out of the way, he +thought he would not hesitate to go himself, though he no longer dared +to contemplate taking Ermine. + +"Well, I might, mayhap, be going in that direction afore long,--I can't +just say till I see how things shape themselves. If I can, I'll let you +know in a few days." + +"All right! I'm in no hurry to a week or two." + +Stephen meditated on the subject in the intervals of superintendence of +his oven, and serving out wassel and cocket, with the result that when +evening came, he was almost determined to go, if Ermine found no good +reasons to the contrary. He consulted her when he went home, for she +was not at the shop that day. She looked grave at first, but her +confidence in Stephen's discretion was great, and she made no serious +objection. No sooner, however, did the children hear of such a +possibility as their father's visiting the country, than they all, down +to three-year-old Edild, sent in petitions to be allowed to accompany +him. + +"Couldn't be thought of!" was Stephen's decided though good-tempered +answer: and the petitioners succumbed with a look of disappointment. + +"I might perchance have taken Gerard," Stephen allowed to his wife, out +of the boy's hearing: "but to tell truth, I'm afraid of Anania's hearing +his name--though, as like as not, she'll question me on the names of all +the children, and who they were called after, and why we selected them, +and if each were your choice or mine." + +"Better not, I think," said Ermine, with a smile. "I almost wish I +could be hidden behind a curtain, to hear your talk with her." + +Stephen laughed. "Well, I won't deny that I rather enjoy putting spokes +in her wheels," said he. + +The next morning he told Odinel to make up his goods, and he would carry +them to Oxford on the following Monday. + +Odinel's parcel proved neither bulky nor heavy. Instead of requiring a +sumpter-mule to carry it, it could readily be strapped at the back of +Stephen's saddle, while the still smaller package of his own necessaries +went in front. He set out about four o'clock on a spring morning, +joining himself for the sake of safety to the convoy of travellers who +started from the Black Bull in the Poultry, and arrived at the East Gate +of Oxford before dark, on the Tuesday evening. His first care was to +commit Odinel's goods to the safe care of mine host of the Blue Boar +[Note 4] in Fish Street, as had been arranged. Here he supped on fried +fish, rye bread, and cheese; and having shared the "grace-cup" of a +fellow-traveller, set off for Saint John's anchorhold. A young woman in +semi-conventual dress left the door just as he came up. Stephen doffed +his cap as he asked her--"I pray you, are you the maid of the Lady +Derette?" + +"I am," was the reply. "Do you wish speech of her?" + +"Would you beseech her to let me have a word with her at the casement?" + +The girl turned back into the anchorhold, and the next minute the +casement was opened, and the comely, pleasant face of Derette appeared +behind it. She looked a little older, but otherwise unaltered. + +There was nothing unusual in Stephen's request. Anchorites lived on +alms, and were also visited to desire their prayers. The two ideas +likely to occur to the maid as the object of Stephen's visit were +therefore either a present to be offered, or intercession to be asked +and probably purchased. + +"Christ save you, Lady!" said Stephen to his cousin. "Do you know me?" + +"Why, is it Stephen? Are you come back? I _am_ glad to see you." + +When the natural curiosity and interest of each was somewhat satisfied, +Stephen asked Derette's advice as to going further. + +"You may safely go to see Mother," said she, "if you can be sure of your +own tongue; for you will not meet Anania there. She has dislocated her +ankle, and is lying in bed." + +"Poor soul! It seems a shame to say I'm glad to hear it; but really I +should like to avoid her at Aunt Isel's, and to be able to come away at +my own time from the Lodge." + +"You have the chance of both just now." + +Stephen thought he would get the worse interview over first. He +accordingly went straight on into Civil School Lane, which ran right +across the north portion of Christ Church, coming out just above Saint +Aldate's, pursued his way forward by Pennyfarthing Street, and turning +up a few yards of Castle Street, found himself at the drawbridge leading +to the porter's lodge where his brother lived. There were voices inside +the Lodge; and Stephen paused for a moment before lifting the latch. + +"Oh dear, dear!" said a querulous voice, which he recognised as that of +Anania, "I never thought to be laid by the heels like this!--not a soul +coming in to see a body, and those children that ungovernable--Gilbert, +get off that ladder! and Selis, put the pitchfork down this minute! Not +a bit of news any where, and if there were, not a creature coming in to +tell one of it! Eline, let those buttons alone, or I'll be after--Oh +deary dear, I can't!" + +Stephen lifted the latch and looked in. Anania lay on a comfortable +couch, drawn up by the fire; and at a safe distance from it, her four +children were running riot--turning out all her treasures, inspecting, +trying on, and occasionally breaking them--knowing themselves to be safe +from any worse penalty than a scolding, for which evidently they cared +nothing. + +"You seem to want a bit of help this afternoon," suggested Stephen +coolly, collaring Selis, from whom he took the pitchfork, and then +lifting Gilbert off the ladder, to the extreme disapprobation of both +those young gentlemen, as they showed by kicks and angry screams. +"Come, now, be quiet, lads: one can't hear one's self speak." + +"Stephen! is it you?" cried Anania incredulously, trying to lift herself +to see him better, and sinking back with a groan. + +"Looks rather like me, doesn't it? I am sorry to find you suffering, +Sister." + +"I've suffered worse than any martyr in the Calendar, Stephen!--and +those children don't care two straws for me. Nobody knows what I've +gone through. Are you come home for good? Oh dear, this pain!" + +"No, only for a look at you. I had a little business to bring me this +way. How is Osbert?" + +"He's well enough to have never a bit of sympathy for me. Where are you +living, Stephen, and what do you do now?" + +"Oh, up London way; I'm a baker. Have you poulticed that foot, Anania?" + +"I've done all sorts of things to it, and it's never--Julian, if you +touch that clasp, I declare I'll--Are you married, Stephen?" + +"Married, and have one more trouble than you," answered Stephen +laughingly, as he took the clasp from his youthful and inquisitive +niece; "but my children are not troublesome, I am thankful to say. I +was going to tell you that marsh-mallows makes one of the finest +poultices you can have. Pluck it when Jupiter is in the ascendant, and +the moon on the wane, and you'll find it first-rate for easing that foot +of yours.--Gilbert, I heard thy mother tell thee not to go up the +ladder." + +"Well, what if she did?" demanded Gilbert sulkily. "She's only a +woman." + +"Then she must be obeyed," said Stephen. + +"But who did you marry, for I never--Oh deary me, but it does sting!" + +"Now, Anania, I'll just go to the market and get you some marsh mallow; +Selis will come with me to carry it. I've to see Aunt Isel yet, and +plenty more. Come, Selis." + +"_Ha, chetife_!--you've no sooner come than you're off again! Who did +you marry? That's what I want to know." + +"The sooner you get that poultice on the better. I may look in again, +if I have time. If not, you'll tell Osbert I've been, and all's well +with me." + +Stephen shut the door along with his last word, disregarding Anania's +parting cry of--"But you haven't told me who your wife is!" and marched +Selis off to the market, where he laded him with marsh mallow, and sent +him home with strict injunctions not to drop it by the way. Then, +laughing to himself at the style wherein he had disposed of Anania, he +turned off to Turlgate Street (now the Turl) where Raven Soclin lived. + +The first person whom he saw there was his cousin Flemild. + +"Why, Stephen, this is an unexpected pleasure!" she said warmly. +"Mother, here's Cousin Stephen come." + +"I'm glad to see thee, lad," responded Isel: and the usual questions +followed as to his home and calling. But to Stephen's great +satisfaction, though Isel expressed her hope that he had a good wife, +nobody asked for her name. The reason was that they all took it for +granted she must be a stranger to them; and when they had once satisfied +themselves that he was doing well, and had learnt such details as his +present calling, the number of his family, and so forth, they seemed +more eager to impart information than to obtain it. At their request, +Stephen promised to sleep there, and then went out to pay a visit to +Romund and Mabel, which proved to be of a very formal and uninteresting +nature. He had returned to Turlgate Street, but they had not yet gone +to rest, when Osbert lifted the latch. + +"So you're real, are you?" said he, laughing to his brother. "Anania +couldn't tell me if you were or not; she said she rather thought she'd +been dreaming,--more by reason that you did not tarry a minute, and she +could not get an answer to one question, though she asked you three +times." + +Stephen too well knew what that question was to ask for a repetition of +it "Nay, I tarried several minutes," said he; "but I went off to get +some marsh mallow for a poultice for the poor soul; she seemed in much +pain. I hope Selis took it home all right? Has she got it on?" + +"I think she has," said Osbert. "But she wants you very badly to go +back and tell her a lot more news." + +"Well, I'll see," replied Stephen; "I scarcely think I can. But if she +wants news, you tell her I've heard say women's head-kerchiefs are to be +worn smaller, and tied under the chin; that's a bit of news that'll take +her fancy." + +"That'll do for a while," answered Osbert; "but what she wants to know +most is your wife's name and all the children's." + +"Oh, is that it?" said Stephen coolly. "Then you may tell her one of +the children is named after you, and another for our mother; and we have +an Agnes and a Derette: and if she wants to know the cat's name too--" + +Osbert roared. "Oh, let's have the cat's name, by all means," said he; +and Stephen gravely informed him that it was Gib. + +As Agnes was at that time one of the commonest names in England, about +as universal as Mary or Elizabeth now, Stephen felt himself pretty safe +in giving it; but the name of his eldest son he did not mention. + +"Well, I'd better go home before I forget them," said Osbert. "Let's +see--Osbert, Edild, Agnes, and Derette--and the cat is Gib. I think I +shall remember. But I haven't had your wife's." + +"I'll walk back with you," said Stephen, evading the query; and they +went out together. + +"Stephen, lad," said Osbert, when they had left the house, "I've a +notion thou dost not want to tell thy wife's name. Is it true, or it's +only my fancy?" + +"Have you?" responded Stephen shortly. + +"Ay, I have; and if it be thus, say so, but don't tell me what it is. +It's nought to me; so long as she makes thee a good wife I care nought +who she is; but if I know nothing, I can say nothing. Only, if I knew +thou wouldst as lief hold thy peace o'er it, I would not ask thee +again." + +"She is the best wife and the best woman that ever breathed," replied +Stephen earnestly: "and you are right, old man--I don't want to tell +it." + +"Then keep thine own counsel," answered his brother. "Farewell, and God +speed thee!" + +Stephen turned back, and Osbert stood for a moment looking after him. +"If I thought it possible," said the porter to himself,--"but I don't +see how it could be any way--I should guess that the name of Stephen's +wife began and ended with an _e_. I am sure he was set on her once--and +that would account for any reluctance to name her: but I don't see how +it could be. Well! it doesn't matter to me. It's a queer world this." + +With which profoundly original and philosophical remark, Osbert turned +round and went home. + +"Well, what is it?" cried Anania, the moment he entered. + +"Let me unlade my brains," said Osbert, "for I'm like a basket full of +apples; and if they are not carefully taken out, they'll be bruised and +good for nought. Stephen's children are called Edild, Agnes, Osbert, +and Derette--" + +"But his wife! it's his wife I want to know about." + +"Dear, now! I don't think he told me that," said Osbert with lamb-like +innocence, as if it had only just occurred to him. + +"Why, that was what you went for, stupid!" + +"Well, to be sure!" returned Osbert in meek astonishment, which he acted +to perfection. "He told me the cat's name, if that will suit you +instead." + +"I wish the cat were inside you this minute!" screamed Anania. + +"Thank you for your kind wishes," replied Osbert with placid amiability. +"I'm not sure the cat would." + +"Was there ever any mortal thing in this world so aggravating as a man?" +demanded Anania, in tones which were not placid by any means. "Went +down to Kepeharme Lane to find something out, and came back knowing +ne'er a word about it! Do you think you've any brains, you horrid +tease?" + +"Can't say: never saw them," answered Osbert sweetly. + +"I wonder if you have your match in the county!" + +"Oh, I don't think there's any doubt of that." + +"Well, at any rate, first thing to-morrow morning, if you please, back +you go and ask him. And mind you don't let him slip through your +fingers this time. He's as bad as an eel for that." + +"First thing! I can't, Anania. The Earl has sent word that he means to +fly the new hawks at five o'clock to-morrow morning." + +"Bother the--hawks! Couldn't you go again to-night?" + +"No, they'll be gone to bed by now. Why, wife, what on earth does it +matter to thee?" + +Anania's reply to this query was so sharp a snarl that Osbert let her +alone thereafter. + +The next morning, when released from his duties, he went again to +Kepeharme Lane--to hear that Stephen had set out on his return journey +half-an-hour before. "Well, now, it's plain to me what _that_ means!" +announced Anania solemnly, when this distressing fact was communicated +to her. "He's married somebody he's ashamed of--some low creature, +quite beneath him, whom he doesn't care to own. That must be the +explanation. She's no better than she should be; take my word for it!" + +"That's quite possible," said Osbert drily. "There's another or two of +us in that predicament." + +Anania flounced over on her couch, thereby making herself groan. + +"You are, and no mistake!" she growled. + +"Father Vincent said, when he married us, that you and I were +thenceforth one, my dearest!" was the pleasing response. + +"What in the name of wonder I ever wished to marry you for--!" + +"I will leave you to consider it, my darling, and tell me when I come +back," said Osbert, shutting the door and whistling the _Agnus_ as he +went up Castle Street. + +"Well, if you aren't the worst, wickedest, aggravatingest man that ever +worrited a poor helpless woman," commented Anania, as she turned on her +uneasy couch, "my new boots are made of pear jelly!" + +But it did not occur to her to inquire of what the woman was made who +habitually tormented that easy-tempered man, nor how much happier her +home might have been had she learnt to bridle her own irritating tongue. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Note 1. Close Roll, 32 Henry Third. About 5 pence per loaf according +to modern value. + +Note 2. The Bishop of Lincoln who sat on the Council of Oxford was +Robert de Chesney. He died on January 26th, 1168, and was succeeded by +the King's natural son, Geoffrey Plantagenet, a child of only nine years +of age. Such were the irregularities in the "apostolical succession" +during the "ages of faith!" + +Note 3. Even Wycliffe taught that no man could know whether he were +elected to salvation or not. + +Note 4. The Blue Boar in Saint Aldate's Street really belongs to a +later date than this. + + + +CHAPTER TWELVE. + +REUNITED. + + "With mercy and with judgment + My web of time He wove, + And ay the dews of sorrow + Were lustred with His love: + I'll bless the hand that guided, + I'll bless the heart that planned, + When throned where glory dwelleth, + In Immanuel's land." + + Mrs Cousins. + +It was a very tiny house in Tower Street, at the corner of Mark Lane. +There were but two rooms--above and below, as in Isel's house, but these +were smaller than hers, and the lower chamber was made smaller still by +a panel screen dividing it in two unequal parts. + +The front division, which was a very little one, was a jeweller's shop; +the back was larger, and was the family living-room. In it to-night the +family were sitting, for business hours were over, and the shop was +closed. + +The family had a singular appearance. It consisted of four persons, and +these were derived from three orders of the animate creation. Two were +human. The third was an aged starling, for whose convenience a wicker +cage hung in one corner; but the owner was hopping in perfect freedom +about the hearth, and occasionally varying that exercise by pausing to +give a mischievous peck to the tail of the fourth, a very large white +and tan dog. The dog appeared so familiarised with this treatment as +scarcely to notice it, unless the starling gave a harder peck than +usual, when he merely moved his tail out of its way, accompanying the +action in specially severe cases by the most subdued of growls, an +action which seemed to afford great amusement to that impertinent and +irrepressible fowl. + +The relationship of the human inhabitants of the little chamber would +not have been easy to guess. The elder, seated on a cushioned bench by +the fire, was one whose apparent age was forty or perhaps rather more. +She was a woman of extremely dark complexion, her hair jet-black, her +eyes scarcely lighter--a woman who had once been very handsome, and +whose lost youth and beauty now and then seemed to flash back into her +face, when eagerness, anger, or any other strong feeling lent animation +to her features. The other was a young man about half her years, and as +unlike her as he well could be. His long flaxen hair waved over a brow +as white as hers was dark, and his eyes were a light clear blue. He sat +on a stool in front of the fire, gazing into the charred wooden embers +with intent fixed eyes. The woman had glanced at him several times, but +neither had spoken for above half an hour. Now she broke the silence. + +"Well, Ralph?" + +"Well, Mother?" echoed the youth with a smile. Both spoke in German--a +language then as unfamiliar in England as Persian. + +"What are you thinking about so intently?" + +"Life," was the ready but unexpected answer. + +"Past, present, future?" + +"Past and future--hardly present. The past chiefly--the long ago." + +The woman moved uneasily, but did not answer. + +"Mother, if I am of age to-day, I think I have the right to ask you a +few questions. Do you accord it?" + +"Ah!" she said, with a deep intonation. "I knew it would come some +time. Well! what is to be must be. Speak, my son." + +The young man laid his hand affectionately on hers. + +"Had it not better come?" he said. "You would not prefer that I asked +my questions of others than yourself, nor that I shut them in my own +soul, and fretted my heart out, trying to find the answer." + +"I should prefer any suffering rather than the loss of thy love and +confidence, my Ralph," she answered tenderly. "To the young, it is easy +to look back, for they have only just left the flowery garden. To the +old, it may be so, when there is only a little way to go, and they will +then be gathered to their fathers. But half-way through the long +journey--with all the graves behind, and the dreary stretch of trackless +heath before--Speak thy will, Ralph." + +"Forgive me if I pain you, Mother. I feel as if I must speak, and +something has happened to-day which bids me do it now." + +It was evident that these words startled and discomposed the mother. +She had been leaning back rather wearily in the corner of the bench, as +one resting from bodily strain. Now she sat up, the rich crimson +mantling her dark cheek. + +"What! Hast thou seen--hast thou heard something?" + +"I have seen," answered Ralph slowly, as if almost unwilling to say it, +"a face from the long ago. At any rate, a face which carried my memory +thither." + +"Whose?" she said, almost in tones of alarm. + +"I cannot tell you. Let me make it as plain as I can. You may be able +to piece the disjointed strands together, when I cannot." + +"Go on," she said, settling herself to listen. + +"You know, Mother," he began, "that I have always known and remembered +one thing from my past. I know you are not my real mother. Kindest and +truest and dearest of mothers and friends you have been to me; my true +mother, whoever and wherever she may be, could have loved and tended me +no better than you. That much I know: but as to other matters my +recollection is far more uncertain. Some persons and things I recall +clearly; others are mixed together, and here and there, as if in a +dream, some person, or more frequently some action of such a person, +stands out vividly, like a picture, from the general haze. Now, for +instance, I can remember that there was somebody called `Mother Isel': +but whether she were my mother, or yours, or who she was, that I do not +know. Again, I recollect a man, who must have been rather stern to my +childish freaks, I suppose, for he brings with him a sense of fear. +This man does not come into my life till I was some few years old; there +is another whom I remember better, an older friend, a man with light +hair and grave, kindly blue eyes. There are some girls, too, but I +cannot clearly recall them--they seem mixed together in my memory, +though the house in which I and they lived I recollect perfectly. But I +do not know how it is--I never see you there. I clearly recall a big +book, which the man with the blue eyes seems to be constantly reading: +and when he reads, a woman sits by him with a blue check apron, and I +sit on her lap. Perhaps such a thing happened only once, but it appears +to me as if I can remember it often and often. There is another man +whose face I recall--I doubt if he lived in the house; I think he came +in now and then: a man with brown hair and a pleasant, lively face, who +often laughed and had many a merry saying. I cannot certainly remember +any one else connected with that house, except one other--a woman: a +woman with a horrible chattering tongue, who often left people in tears +or very cross: a woman whom I don't like at all." + +"And after, Ralph?" suggested the mother in a low voice, when the young +man paused. + +"After? Ah, Mother, that is harder to remember still. A great tumult, +cross voices, a sea of faces which all looked angry and terrified me, +and then it suddenly changes like a dream to a great lonely expanse of +shivering snow: and I and some others--whom, I know not--wander about in +it--for centuries, as it appears to me. Then comes a blank, and then-- +you." + +"You remember better than I should have expected as to some things: +others worse. Can you recollect no name save `Mother Isel'?" + +"I can, but I don't know whose they are. I can hear somebody call from +the upper chamber--`Gerard, is that you?' and the pleasant-faced man +says, `Tell Ermine' something. That is what made me ask you, Mother. I +met a man to-day in Cheapside who looked hard at me, and who made me +think both of that pleasant-faced man, and also of the stern man; and as +I had to wait for a cart to pass, another man and woman came and spoke +to him, and he said to the woman, `Well, when are you coming to see +Ermine?' The face, and his curious, puzzled look at me, and the name, +carried me back all at once to that house and the people there. He +looked as if he thought he ought to know me, and could not tell exactly +who I was. And just as I came away, I fancied I heard another word or +two, spoken low as if not for me or somebody to hear--something +about--`like him and Agnes too.' I wonder if I ever knew any one called +Agnes? I have a faint impression that I did. Can you tell me, Mother?" + +"I will tell thee, Ralph. But answer me first. Wert thou always called +Ralph?" + +"I cannot tell, Mother," replied the youth, with an interested look. "I +fancy, somehow, that I once used to be called something not that +exactly, and yet very like it. I have tried to recover it, and cannot. +Was it some pet name used by somebody?" + +"No. It was your own name--which Ralph is not." + +"O Mother! what was it?" + +"Wait a moment. Did you ever hear of any one called--Countess?" + +She brought out the second name with hesitation, as if she spoke it +unwillingly. The youth shook his head. + +"Let that pass." + +"But who was it, Mother?" + +"Never mind who it was. No relative of yours--Rudolph." + +"Rudolph!" The young man sprang to his feet. "That was my name! I +know it was, but I never could get hold of it. I shall not forget it +again." + +"Do not forget it again. But let it be for ourselves only. To the +world outside you are still `Ralph.' It is wiser." + +"Very well, Mother." + +This youth had been well trained, and was far more obedient to his +adopted mother than most sons at that time were to their real parents. +With the Saxons a mother had always been under the control of an adult +son; and the Normans who had won possession of England had by no means +abolished either the social customs or modes of thought of the +vanquished people. In fact, the moral ascendancy soon rested with the +subject race. The Norman noble who dried his washed hands in the air, +sneered at the Saxon thrall who wiped his on a towel; but the towel was +none the less an article of necessary furniture in the house of the +Norman's grandson. It has often been the case in the history of the +world, that the real victory has rested with the vanquished: but it has +always been brought about by the one race mixing with and absorbing the +other. Where that does not take place, the conquerors remain dominant. + +"Now, my son, listen and think. I have some questions to ask. What +faith have I taught thee?" + +"You have taught me," said Rudolph slowly, "to believe in God Almighty, +and in His Son, our Lord Jesus Christ, who suffered on the cross to +expiate the sins of His chosen." + +"Is that the creed of those around us?" + +"Mother, I cannot tell. One half of my brain answers, Ay, it is; but +the other half says, No, there is a difference. Yet I cannot quite see +what the difference is, and you have always so strictly forbidden me to +speak to any one except yourself on religious subjects, that I have had +no opportunity to learn what it is. Others, when I hear them talking to +you, speak of God, of our Lord, and of our Lady, as we ourselves do: and +they speak of the holy Apostles and others of whom we always read in the +big book. Mother, is that the same big book out of which the grave-eyed +man used to read? But they mention a great many people who are not in +the book,--Martin, and Benedict, and Margaret, and plenty more--and they +call them all `Saint,' but I do not know who they were. You never told +me about those people." + +There was silence for a moment, till she said--"Thou hast learnt well, +and hast been an obedient boy. In the years that lie before thee, thou +mayest have cause to thank God for it. My questions are done: thou +mayest ask thine." + +"Then, Mother, who am I?" was the eager inquiry. "Thou art Rudolph, son +of Gerhardt of Mainz, and of Agnes his wife, who both gave their lives +for the Lord Christ's sake, fourteen years ago." + +"Mother!--were my real parents martyrs?" + +"That is the word which is written after their names in the Lamb's Book +of Life. But in the books written by men the word is different." + +"What is that word, then, Mother?" + +"Rudolph, canst thou bear to hear it? The word is--`heretic'." + +"But those are wicked people, who are called heretics!" + +"I think it depends on who uses the word." + +Rudolph sat an instant in blank silence. + +"Then what did my father believe that was so wrong?" + +"He believed what I have taught you." + +"Then were they wicked, and not he?" + +"Judge for thyself. There were about thirty of thy father's countrymen, +who came over to this country to preach the pure Word of God: and those +who called them heretics took them, and branded them, and turned them +out into the snow to die. Would our Lord have done that?" + +"Never! Did they die?" + +"Every one, except the child I saved." + +"And that was I, Mother?" + +"That was thou." + +"So I am not an Englishman!" said Rudolph, almost regretfully. + +"No. Thou seest now why I taught thee German. It is thine own tongue." + +"Mother, this story is terrible. I shall feel the world a worse place +to my life's end, after hearing it. But suffer me to ask--who are you? +We are so unlike, that sometimes I have fancied we might not be related +at all." + +"We are not related at all." + +"But you are German?" + +"No." + +"You are English! I always imagined you a foreigner." + +"No--I am not English." + +"Italian?--Spanish?" + +She shook her head, and turned away her face. + +"I never cared for the scorn of these other creatures," she said in a +low troubled voice. "I could give them back scorn for scorn. But it +will be hard to be scorned by the child whom I saved from death." + +"Mother! I scorn you? Why, the thing could not be. You are all the +world to me." + +"It will not be so always, my son. Howbeit, thou shalt hear the truth. +Rudolph, I am a Jewess. My old name is Countess, the daughter of +Benefei of Oxford." + +"Mother," said Rudolph softly, "you are what our Lady was. If I could +scorn you, it would not be honouring her." + +"True enough, boy: but thou wilt not find the world say so." + +"If the world speak ill of you, Mother, I will have none of it! Now +please tell me about others. Who was Mother Isel?" + +"A very dear and true friend of thy parents." + +"And Ermine?" + +"Thy father's sister--one of the best and sweetest maidens that God ever +made." + +"Is it my father that I remember, with the grave blue eyes--the man who +read in the book?" + +"I have no doubt of it. It is odd--" and a smile flitted over +Countess's lips--"that all thou canst recollect of thy mother should be +her checked apron." + +Rudolph laughed. "Then who is the stern man, and who the merry one?" + +"I should guess the stern man to be Manning Brown, the husband of Isel. +The merry, pleasant-faced man, I think, must be his nephew Stephen. +`Stephen the Watchdog' they used to call him; he was one of the Castle +watchmen." + +"At Oxford? Was it Oxford, then, where we used to live?" + +"It was Oxford." + +"I should like to go there again." + +"Take heed thou do not so. Thou are so like both thy father and mother +that I should fear for thy safety. No one would know me, I think. But +for thee I am not so sure. And if they were to guess who thou art, they +would have thee up before the bishops, and question thee, and brand thee +with the dreadful name of `heretic,' as they did to thy parents." + +"Mother, why would they do these things?--why did they do them?" + +"Because they loved idols, and after them they would go. We worship +only the Lord our God, blessed be He! And thou wilt find always, +Rudolph, that not only doth light hate darkness, but the darkness also +hateth the light, and tries hard to extinguish it." + +"Yet if they worship the same God that we do--" + +"Do they? I cannot tell. Sometimes I think He can hardly reckon it so. +The God they worship seems to be no jealous God, but one that hath no +law to be broken, no power to be dreaded, no majesty to be revered. `If +I be a Master,' said the Holy One by Malachi the Prophet, `where is My +fear?' And our Lord spake to the Sadducees, saying, `Do ye not +therefore err, because ye know not the Scriptures, neither the power of +God?' They seem to be strangely fearless of breaking His most solemn +commands--even the words that He spake to Moses in the sight of all +Israel, on the mount that burned with fire. Strangely fearless! when +the Master spake expressly against making the commands of God of no +effect through man's tradition. What do they think He meant? Let them +spill a drop of consecrated wine--which He never told them to be careful +over--and they are terrified of His anger: let them deliberately break +His distinct laws, and they are not terrified at all. The world has +gone very, very far from God." + +They sat for a little while in silence. + +"Mother," said Rudolph at last, "who do you think that man was whom I +met, that looked so hard at me, and seemed to think me like my parents? +He spoke of `Ermine,' too." + +"I can only guess, Rudolph. I think it might be a son of Mother Isel-- +she had two. The Ermine of whom he spoke, no doubt, is some girl named +after thine aunt. Perhaps it may be a child of their sister Flemild. I +cannot say." + +"You think it could not be my aunt, Mother? I should like to know one +of my own kin." + +"Not possible, my boy. She must have died with the rest." + +"Are you sure they all died, Mother?" + +"I cannot say that I saw it, Rudolph: though I did see the dead faces of +several, when I was searching for thee. But I do not see how she could +possibly have escaped." + +"Might she not--if she had escaped--say the same of me?" + +Countess seemed scarcely willing to admit even so much as this. + +"It is time for sleep, my son," she said; and Rudolph rose, lighted the +lantern, and followed her upstairs. The chamber above was divided in +two by a curtain drawn across it. As Rudolph was about to pass beyond +it, he stopped to ask another question. + +"Mother, if I should meet that man again,--suppose he were to speak to +me?" + +A disquieted look came into the dark eyes. + +"Bring him to me," she said. "Allow nothing--deny nothing. Leave me to +deal with him." + +Rudolph dropped the curtain behind him, and silence fell upon the little +house in Mark Lane. + +A few hours earlier, our old friend Stephen, now a middle-aged man, had +come home from his daily calling, to his house in Ivy Lane. He was +instantly surrounded by his five boys and girls, their ages between six +and thirteen, all of whom welcomed him with tumultuous joyfulness. + +"Father, I've construed a whole book of Virgil!" + +"And, Father, I'm to begin Caesar next week!" + +"I've made a gavache for you, Father--done every stitch myself!" + +"Father, I've learnt how to make pancakes!" + +"Father, I stirred the posset!" + +"Well, well! have you, now?" answered the kindly-faced father. "You're +all of you mighty clever, I'm very sure. But now, if one or two of you +could get out of the way, I might shut the door; no need to let in more +snow than's wanted.--Where's Mother?" + +"Here's Mother," said another voice; and a fair-haired woman of the age +of Countess, but looking younger, appeared in a doorway, drawing back +the curtain. "I am glad you have come, Stephen. It is rather a stormy +night." + +"Oh, just a basinful of snow," said Stephen lightly. "Supper ready? +Gerard--" to his eldest boy--"draw that curtain a bit closer, to keep +the wind off Mother. Now let us ask God's blessing." + +It was a very simple supper--cheese, honey, roasted apples, and brown +bread; but the children had healthy appetites, and had not been +enervated by luxuries. Conversation during the meal was general. When +it was over, the three younger ones were despatched to bed with a +benediction, under charge of their eldest sister; young Gerard seated +himself on the bench, with a handful of slips of wood, which he was +ambitiously trying to carve into striking likenesses of the twelve +Apostles; and when the mother's household duties were over, she came and +sat by her husband in the chimney-corner. Stephen laid his hand upon +her shoulder. + +"Ermine," he said, "dear heart, wilt thou reckon me cruel, if I carry +thy thoughts back--for a reason I have--to another snowy night, fourteen +years ago?" + +"Stephen!" she exclaimed, with a sudden start. "Oh no, I could never +think _thee_ cruel. But what has happened?" + +"Dost thou remember, when I first saw thee in Mother Haldane's house, my +telling thee that I could not find Rudolph?" + +"Of course I do. O Stephen! have you--do you think--" + +Gerard looked up from his carving in amazement, to see the mother whom +he knew as the calmest and quietest of women transformed into an eager, +excited creature, with glowing cheeks and radiant eyes. + +"Let me remind thee of one other point,--that Mother Haldane said God +would either take the child to Himself, or would some day show us what +had become of him." + +"She did,--much to my surprise." + +"And mine. But I think, Ermine--I think it is going to come true." + +"Stephen, what have you heard?" + +"I believe, Ermine, I have seen him." + +"Seen _him_--Rudolph?" + +"I feel almost sure it was he. I was standing this morning near Chepe +Cross, to let a waggon pass, when I looked up, and all at once I saw a +young man of some twenty years standing likewise till it went by. The +likeness struck me dumb for a moment. Gerard's brow--no, lad, not thou! +Thy mother knows--Gerard's brow, and his fair hair, with the very wave +it used to have about his temples; his eyes and nose too; but Agnes's +mouth, and somewhat of Agnes in the way he held his head. And as I +stood there, up came Leuesa and her husband, passing the youth; and +before I spoke a word about him, `Saw you ever one so like Gerard?' +saith she. I said, `Ay, him and Agnes too.' We watched the lad cross +the street, and parting somewhat hastily from our friends, I followed +him at a little distance. I held him in sight as far as Tower Street, +but ere he had quite reached Mark Lane, a company of mummers, going +westwards, came in betwixt and parted us. I lost sight of him but for a +moment, yet when they had passed, I could see no more of him--north, +south, east, nor west--than if the earth had swallowed him up. I reckon +he went into an house in that vicinage. To-morrow, if the Lord will, I +will go thither, and watch. And if I see him again, I will surely +speak." + +"Stephen! O Stephen, if it should be our lost darling!" + +"Ay, love, if it should be! It was always possible, of course, that he +might have been taken in somewhere. There are many who would have no +compassion on man or woman, and would yet shrink from turning out a +little child to perish. And he was a very attractive child. Still, do +not hope too much, Ermine; it may be merely an accidental likeness." + +"If I could believe," replied Ermine, "that Countess had been anywhere +near, I should think it more than possible that she had saved him." + +"Countess? Oh, I remember--that Jewish maiden who petted him so much. +But she went to some distance when she married, if I recollect rightly." + +"She went to Reading. But she might not have been there always." + +"True. Well, I will try to find out something to-morrow night." + +The little jeweller's shop at the corner of Mark Lane had now been +established for fourteen years. For ten of those years, David and +Christian had lived with Countess; but when Rudolph was old enough and +sufficiently trained to manage the business for himself, Countess had +thought it desirable to assist David in establishing a shop of his own +at some distance. She had more confidence in David's goodness than in +his discretion, and one of her chief wishes was to have as few +acquaintances as possible. Happily for her aim, Rudolph's disposition +was not inconveniently social. He liked to sit in a cushioned corner +and dream the hours away; but he shrank as much as Countess herself from +the rough, noisy, rollicking life of the young people by whom they were +surrounded. Enough to live on, in a simple and comfortable fashion--a +book or two, leisure, and no worry--these were Rudolph's desiderata, and +he found them in Mark Lane. + +He had no lack of subjects for thought as he sat behind his tiny counter +on the evening of the following day. Shop-counters, at that date, were +usually the wooden shutter of the window, let down table-wise into the +street; but in the case of plate and jewellery the stock was too +valuable to be thus exposed, and customers had to apply for admission +within. It had been a very dull day for business, two customers only +having appeared, and one of these had gone away without purchasing. +There was one wandering about outside who would have been only too glad +to become a customer, had he known who sat behind the counter. Stephen +had searched in vain for Rudolph in the neighbourhood where he had so +mysteriously vanished from sight. He could not recognise him under the +alias of "Ralph le Juwelier," by which name alone his neighbours knew +him. Evening after evening he watched the corner of Mark Lane, and some +fifty yards on either side of it, but only to go back every time to +Ermine with no tale to tell. There were no detectives nor inquiry +offices in those days; nothing was easier than for a man to lose himself +in a great city under a feigned name. For Countess he never inquired; +nor would he have taken much by the motion had he done so, since she was +known to her acquaintances as Sarah la Juweliere. Her features were not +so patently Jewish as those of some daughters of Abraham, and most +people imagined her to be of foreign extraction. + +"It seems of no use, Ermine," said Stephen mournfully, when a month had +passed and Rudolph had not been seen again. "Maybe it was the boy's +ghost I saw, come to tell us that he is not living." + +Stephen was gifted with at least an average amount of common sense, but +he would have regarded a man who denied the existence of apparitions as +a simpleton. + +"We can only wait," said Ermine, looking up from the tunic she was +making for her little Derette. "I have asked the Lord to send him to +us; we can only wait His time." + +"But, Wife, suppose His time should be--never?" + +"Then, dear," answered Ermine softly, "it will still be the right time." + +The morning after that conversation was waning into afternoon, when +Rudolph, passing up Paternoster Row, heard hurried steps behind him, and +immediately felt a grasp on his shoulder--a grasp which seemed as if it +had no intention of letting him go in a hurry. He looked up in some +surprise, into the face of the man whose intent gaze and disconnected +words had so roused his attention a month earlier. + +"Caught you at last!" were the first words of his captor. "Now don't +fall to and fight me, but do me so much grace as to tell me your name in +a friendly way. You would, if you knew why I ask you." + +The kindliness and honest sincerity of the speaker's face were both so +apparent, that Rudolph smiled as he said-- + +"Suppose you tell me yours?" + +"I have no cause to be ashamed of it. My name is Stephen, and men call +me `le Bulenger.'" + +"Have they always called you so?" + +"Are you going to catechise me?" laughed Stephen. "No--you are right +there. Fifteen years ago they called me `Esueillechien.' Now, have you +heard my name before?" + +"I cannot say either `yes' or `no,' unless you choose to come home with +me to see my mother. She may know you better than I can." + +"I'll come home with you fast enough," Stephen was beginning, when the +end of the sentence dashed his hopes down. "`To see your--mother!' +That won't do, young man. I have looked myself on her dead face--or +else you are not the man for whom I took you." + +"I can answer you no questions till you do so," replied Rudolph firmly. + +"Come, then, have with you," returned Stephen, linking his arm in that +of the younger man. "Best to make sure. I shall get to know something, +if it be only that you are not the right fellow." + +"Now?" asked Rudolph, rather disconcertedly. He was not in the habit of +acting in this ready style about everything that happened, but required +a little while to make up his mind to a fresh course. + +"Have you not found out yet," said Stephen, marching him into Saint +Paul's Churchyard, "that _now_ is the only time a man ever has for +anything?" + +"Well, you don't let the grass grow under your feet," observed Rudolph, +laughing. + +Being naturally of a rather dreamy and indolent temperament, he was not +accustomed to getting over the ground with the rapidity at which Stephen +led him. + +"There's never time to waste time," was the sententious reply. + +In a shorter period than Rudolph would have thought possible, they +arrived at the corner of Mark Lane. + +"You live somewhere about here," said Stephen coolly, "but I don't know +where exactly. You'll have to show me your door." + +"You seem to know a great deal about me," answered Rudolph in an amused +tone. "This is my door. Come in." + +Stephen followed him into the jeweller's shop, where Countess sat +waiting for customers, with the big white dog lying at her feet. + +"I'm thankful to see, young man, that your `mother' is no mother of +yours. Your flaxen locks were never cut from those jet tresses. But I +don't know who you are--" he turned to her--"unless Ermine be right that +Countess the Jewess took the boy. Is that it?" + +"That is it," she replied, flushing at the sound of her old name. "You +are Stephen the Watchdog, if I mistake not? Yes, I am Countess--or +rather, I was Countess, till I was baptised into the Christian faith. +So Ermine is yet alive? I should like to see her. I would fain have +her to come forward as my witness, when I deliver the boy unhurt to his +father at the last day." + +"But how on earth did you do it?" broke out Stephen in amazement. "Why, +you could scarcely have heard at Reading of what had happened,--I should +have thought you could not possibly have heard, until long after all was +over." + +"I was not at Reading," she said in a constrained tone. "I was living +in Dorchester. And I heard of the arrest from Regina." + +"Do, for pity's sake, tell me all about it!" + +"I will tell you every thing: but let me tell Ermine with you. And,-- +Stephen--you will not try to take him from me? He is all I have." + +"No, Countess," said Stephen gravely. "You have a right to the life +that you have saved. Will you come with me now? But perhaps you cannot +leave together? Will the house be rifled when you return?" + +"Not at all," calmly replied Countess. "We will both go with you." + +She rose, disappeared for a moment, and came back clad in a fur-lined +cloak and hood. Turning the key in the press which held the stock, she +stooped down and attached the key to the dog's collar. + +"On guard, Olaf! Keep it!" was all she said to the dog. "Now, Stephen, +we are ready to go with you." + +Olaf got up somewhat sleepily, shook himself, and then lay down close to +the screen, his head between his paws, so that he could command a view +of both divisions of the chamber. He evidently realised his +responsibility. + +Stephen had no cause to complain that Countess wasted any time. She +walked even faster than he had done, only pausing to let him take the +lead at the street corner. But when he had once told her that his home +was in Ivy Lane, she paused no more, but pressed on steadily and quickly +until they reached the little street. Stephen opened his door, and she +went straight in to where Ermine stood. + +"Ermine!" she said, with a pleading cadence in her voice, "I have +brought back the child unhurt." + +"Countess!" was Ermine's cry. + +She took Ermine's hands in hers. + +"I may touch you now," she said. "You will not shrink from me, for I am +a Christian. But I have kept my vow. I have never permitted the boy to +worship idols. I have kept him, so far as lay in my power, from all +contact with those men and things which his father held evil. God bear +me witness to you, and God and you to him, that the poor scorned Jewess +has fulfilled her oath, and that the boy is unharmed in body and soul!-- +Rudolph! this is thine Aunt Ermine. Come and show thyself to her." + +"Did I ever shrink from you?" replied Ermine with a sob, as she clasped +Countess to her heart. "My friend, my sister! As thou hast dealt with +us outcasts, may God reward thee! and as thou has mothered our Rudolph, +may He comfort thee!--O my darling, my Gerhardt's boy!--nay, I could +think that Gerhardt himself stood before me. Wilt thou love me a +little, my Rudolph?--for I have loved thee long, and have never failed, +for one day, to pray God's blessing on thee if thou wert yet alive." + +"I think I shall not find it hard, Aunt Ermine," said Rudolph, as he +kissed without knowing it that spot on Ermine's brow where the terrible +brand had once been. "I have often longed to find one of my own +kindred, for I knew that Mother was not my real mother, good and true as +she has been to me." + +Countess brought out from under her cloak a large square parcel, wrapped +in a silken kerchief. + +"This is Rudolph's fortune," she said. + +Stephen looked on with some curiosity, fully expecting to see a box of +golden ornaments, or perhaps of uncut gems. But when the handkerchief +was carefully unfolded, there lay before them an old, worn book, in a +carved wooden case. + +Stephen--who could not read--was a little disappointed, though the +market value of any book was very high. But Ermine recognised the +familiar volume with a cry of delight, and took it into her hands, +reading half-sentences here and there as she turned over the leaves. + +"Oh, how have I wished for this! How I have wondered what became of it! +Gerhardt's dear old Gospel-Book! Countess, how couldst thou get it? +It was taken from him when we were arrested." + +"I know it," answered Countess with a low laugh. + +"But you were at Reading!" exclaimed Ermine. + +"I was at Oxford, though you knew it not. I had arrived on a visit to +my father, the morning of that very day. I was in the crowd around when +you went down to the prison, though I saw none of you save Gerhardt. +But I saw the sumner call his lad, and deliver the book to him, bidding +him bear it to the Castle, there to be laid up for the examination of +the Bishops. Finding that I could not get the child, I followed the +book. Rubi was about, and I begged him to challenge the lad to a trial +of strength, which he was ready enough to accept. He laid down the book +on the window-ledge of a house, and--I do not think he picked it up +again." + +"You stole it, sinner!" laughed Stephen. + +"Why not?" inquired Countess with a smile. "I took it for its lawful +owner, from one that had no right to it. You do not call that theft?" + +"Could you read it?" + +"I could learn to do anything for Rudolph." + +"But how did you ever find him?" + +"We were living at Dorchester. Regina came to stay with me in the +winter, and she told me that you were to be examined before the King and +the bishops, and on what day. All that day I watched to see you pass +through the town, and having prepared myself to save the child if I +possibly could, when I caught a glimpse of Guelph, who was among the +foremost, I followed in the rabble, with a bottle of broth, which I kept +warm in my bosom, to revive such as I might be able to reach. Ermine, I +looked in vain for you, for Gerhardt or Agnes. But I saw Rudolph, whom +Adelheid was leading. The crowd kept pressing before me, and I could +not keep him in sight; but as they went out of Dorchester, I ran +forward, and came up with them again a little further, when I missed +Rudolph. Then I turned back, searching all the way--until I found him." + +"And your husband let you keep him?" asked Ermine in a slightly +surprised tone. + +"My oath let me keep him," said Countess in a peculiar voice. + +"Are you a widow?" responded Ermine pityingly. + +"Very likely," was the short, dry answer. + +Ermine asked no more. "Poor Countess!" was all she said. + +"Don't pity me for _that_," replied the Jewess. "You had better know. +We quarrelled, Ermine, over the boy, and at my own request he divorced +me, and let me go. It was an easy choice to make--gold and down +cushions on the one hand, love and the oath of God upon the other. I +never missed the down cushions; and I think the child found my breast as +soft as they would have been. I sold my jewels, and set up a little +shop. We have had the blessing of the Holy One, to whom be praise!" + +"That is a Jewish way of talking, is it not?" said Stephen, smiling. "I +thought you were a Catholic now." + +"I am a Christian. I know nothing about `Catholic'--unless the idols in +the churches are Catholic, and with them I will have nought to do. +Gerhardt never taught me to worship them, and Gerhardt's book has never +taught it either. I believe in the Lord my God, and His Son Jesus +Christ, the Messiah of Israel: but these gilded vanities are +abominations to me. Oh, why have ye Christian folk added your folly to +God's wisdom, and have held off the sons and daughters of Israel from +faith in Messiah the King?" + +"Ah, why, indeed!" echoed Ermine softly. + +"Can you tell me anything of our old friends at Oxford?" asked Countess +suddenly, after a moment's pause. + +"Yes, we heard of them from Leuesa, who married and came to live in +London about six years ago," said Stephen. "Your people were all well, +Countess; your sister Regina has married Samuel, the nephew of your +uncle Jurnet's wife, and has a little family about her--one very pretty +little maid, Leuesa told us, with eyes like yours." + +"Thank you," said Countess in a tone of some emotion. "They would not +own me now." + +"Dear," whispered Ermine lovingly, "whosoever shall confess Christ +before men,--not the creed, nor the Church, but Him whom the Father +sent, and the truth to which He bore witness--him will He also confess +before our Father which is in Heaven. And I think there are a very few +of those whom He will present before the presence of His glory, who +shall hear Him say of them those words of highest praise that He ever +spoke on earth,--`She hath done what she could.'" + + + +CHAPTER THIRTEEN. + +HISTORICAL APPENDIX. + +The sorrowful story of Gerhardt's Mission is told by William of Newbury +and Ranulph de Diceto. It seems strange that a company of thirty German +peasants should have set forth to bring England back to the pure +primitive faith; yet not stranger than that four hundred years earlier, +Boniface the Englishman should have set out to convert Germany from +heathenism. Boniface succeeded; Gerhardt failed. The reason for the +failure, no less than for the success, is hidden in the counsels of Him +who worketh all things according to His own will. The time was not yet. + +It was in 1159 that this little company arrived in England, and for +seven years they preached without repression. Gerhardt, their leader, +was the only educated man amongst them, the rest being described as +"rustic and unpolished." Some have termed them Publicani or Paulikians; +whether they really belonged to that body is uncertain. William of +Newbury says they were a sect which came originally from Gascony, and +was scattered over Gaul, Spain, Italy, and Germany. They seem therefore +to have been true descendants of the old Gallican Church--the Church of +Irenaus and Blandina--which we know retained her early purity far longer +than the Church of Rome. Their defence, too, when examined, was that of +Blandina--"I am a Christian, and no evil is done amongst us." + +Their preaching was singularly unsuccessful, if the monkish writers are +to be trusted. "They added to their company, during a sojourn of some +time in England, only one girl (_muliercula_), who, as report says, was +fascinated by magic." Perhaps their work was of more value than +appeared on the surface. After seven years of this quiet evangelising, +the King and the clergy interfered. Considered as a "foreign sect," +they were cited before a council held at Oxford in 1166, the King +stating his desire neither to dismiss them as harmless, nor to punish +them as guilty, without proper investigation. + +Gerhardt was the chief spokesman. To the questions asked he replied +that they were Christians, and "revered the doctrine of the Apostles," +but he expressed abhorrence of certain Romish tenets--_e.g._, Purgatory, +prayers for the dead, and the invocation of saints. He is said to have +shown detestation for the sacraments and for marriage: which, compared +with similar accusations brought against the Albigenses, and their +replies thereto, almost certainly means that he objected to the corrupt +view of these institutions taken by Rome. If Gerhardt denied +consubstantiation, baptismal regeneration, and the sacramental character +of matrimony, the priests were sure to assert that he denied the +sacraments and marriage. The Albigenses were similarly accused, and +almost in the same sentence we are told that they had their wives with +them. When "the Scriptures were urged against them," the Germans +declined disputation. They probably saw that it would be of no avail. +Indeed, what good could be gained by disputing with men who confessed +that they received Scripture only on the authority of the Church (which +they held superior to the Word of God), and who allowed no explanation +of it save their own private interpretation?--who were so illogical as +to urge that the Church existed before the Scriptures as a reason for +her superiority, and so ignorant as to maintain that _pulai adou_ +signified the power of Satan! Asked if they would do penance, the +Germans refused: threatened with penalties, they held firm. Their +punishment was terrible. They were, of course, by Rome's cruel fiction +that the Church punishes no man, delivered over to the secular power; +and the sentence upon them was that of branding on the forehead, their +garments being cut down to the girdle, and being turned into the open +fields. Proclamation was made that none should presume to receive them +under his roof, nor "to administer consolation." The sentence was +carried out with even more barbarity than it was issued, for Gerhardt +was twice branded, on forehead and chin, all were scourged, and were +then beaten with rods out of the city. No compassion was shown even to +the women. Not a creature dared to open his door to the "heretics." +Their solitary convert recanted in terror. But the Germans went +patiently and heroically to their death, singing, as they passed on, the +last beatitude--"Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you and persecute +you, and shall say all manner of evil against you, falsely, for My +sake." Their suffering did not last long. It was in the depth of +winter that they were cast out, and they soon lay down in the snow and +yielded up their martyr-souls to God. + +According to the monkish chroniclers, not one survived. But one +elaborate argument may be found, by an eminent antiquary (_Archaologia_, +nine 292-309), urging that survivors of this company were probably the +ancestors of a mysterious group entitled "Waldenses," who appear in the +Public Records in after years as tenants, and not improbably vassals, of +the Archbishop of Canterbury. They paid to that See 4 shillings per +annum for waste land; 3 shillings 4 pence for "half a plough of land of +gable;" 5 shillings 4 pence at each of the four principal feasts, with +32 and a half pence in lieu of autumnal labours--_i.e._, mowing, +reaping, etcetera. When the Archbishop was resident on the manor of +Darenth, they had to convey corn for his household, in consideration of +which they received forage from his barns, and a corrody or regular +allowance of food and clothing from a monastery. I am not competent to +judge how far the contention of the writer is valid; but the possibility +of such a thing seemed to warrant the supposition in a tale that one or +two of the company might have escaped the fate which undoubtedly +overtook the majority of the mission. + +The story may be found in a condensed form in Milner's Church History, +Three, 459. + +Every one of the singular names, as well as prices, and various other +details, has been taken from the Pipe Rolls of Henry Second, from the +first to the twenty-seventh year. All the characters are fictitious +excepting the Royal Family, the Earl and Countess of Oxford, the members +of the Council, Gerhardt himself, and--simply as regards their +existence--Osbert the porter, his wife Anania, and Aliz de Norton, who +are entered on the Pipe Roll as inhabitants of Oxford at this date. + +The language spoken at that time, whether French or English, would be +wholly unintelligible to read, if enough of it had come down to us to +make it possible to be written. It seemed best, therefore, to use +ordinary modern English, flavoured with the Oxfordshire dialect, and now +and then varied by antique expressions. + +THE END. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of One Snowy Night, by Emily Sarah Holt + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ONE SNOWY NIGHT *** + +***** This file should be named 27962.txt or 27962.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/7/9/6/27962/ + +Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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