CHAPTER THIRTY NINE.
THE LAST MARTYRDOM.
"Good-morrow, Mistress Clere! Any placards of black velvet have you?"
A placard with us means a large handbill for pasting on walls: in QueenMary's time they meant by it a double stomacher,--namely anornamentation for the front of a dress, put on separate from it, whichmight either be plain silk or velvet, or else worked with beautifulembroidery, gold twist, sometimes even pearls and precious stones.
Mrs Clere came in all haste and much obsequiousness, for it was no lessa person than the Mayoress of Colchester who thus inquired for a blackvelvet placard.
"We have so, Madam, and right good ones belike. Amy, fetch down yonderbox with the bettermost placards."
Amy ran up the little ladder needful to reach the higher shelves, andbrought down the box. It was not often that Mrs Clere was asked forher superior goods, for she dealt chiefly with those whose purses wouldnot stretch so far.
"Here, Madam, is a fine one of carnation velvet--and here a blackwrought in gold twist; or what think you of this purple bordered inpearls?"
"That liketh me the best," said the Mayoress taking up the purplevelvet. "What cost it, Mistress Clere?"
"Twenty-six and eightpence, Madam, at your pleasure."
"'Tis dear."
"Nay, Madam! Pray you look on the quality--velvet of the finest, andpearls of right good colour. You shall not find a better in any shop inthe town." And Mrs Clere dexterously turned the purple placard to thelight in such a manner that a little spot on one side of it should notshow. "Or if this carnation please you the better--"
"No, I pass not upon that," said the Mayoress; which meant, that she didnot fancy it. "Will you take four-and-twenty shillings, MistressClere?"
It was then considered almost a matter of course that a shopkeeper mustbe offered less than he asked; and going from shop to shop to "cheapen"the articles they wanted was a common amusement of ladies.
Mrs Clere looked doubtful. "Well, truly, Madam, I should gain not apenny thereby; yet rather than lose your good custom, seeing for whom itis--"
"Very good," said the Mayoress, "put it up."
Amy knew that the purple placard had cost her mother 16 shillings 8pence, and had been slightly damaged since it came into her hands. Sheknew also that Mrs Clere would confess the fraud to the priest, wouldprobably be told to repeat the Lord's Prayer three times over as apenance for it, would gabble through the words as fast as possible, andwould then consider her sin quite done away with, and her profit of 7shillings 4 pence cheaply secured. She knew also that the Mayoress, inall probability, was aware that Mrs Clere's protestation about notgaining a single penny was a mere flourish of words, not at all meant tobe accepted as a fact.
"Is there aught of news stirring, an' it like you, Madam?" asked MrsClere, as she rolled up the placard inside out, and secured it withtape.
"I know of none, truly," answered the Mayoress, "save to-morrow'sburning, the which I would were over for such spectacles like me not--not that I would save evil folks from the due penalty of their sins, butthat I would some less displeasant manner of execution might be found.Truly, what with the heat, and the dust, and the close crowds thatgather, 'tis no dainty matter to behold."
"You say truth, Madam. Indeed, the last burning we had, my daughterhere was so close pressed in the crowd, and so near the fire, she fairswooned, and had to be borne thence. But who shall suffer to-morrow,an' it like you? for I heard nought thereabout."
Mrs Clere presented the little parcel as she spoke.
"Only two women," said the Mayoress, taking her purchase: "not nigh sogreat a burning as the last--so very likely the crowd shall be lessalso."
The crowd was not much less on the waste place by the Lexden Road, whenon the 17th of September, 1557, those two martyrs were brought forth todie: Agnes Bongeor, full of joy and triumph, praising God that at lengthshe was counted worthy to suffer for His Name's sake; Margaret Thurston,the disciple who had denied Him, and for whom therefore there could beno triumph; yet, even now, a meek and fervent appeal from the heart'score, of "Lord, Thou knowest that I love Thee!"
As the chain was being fastened around them a voice came from thecrowd--one of those mysterious voices never to be traced to a speaker,perpetually heard at martyrdoms.
"`He remembered that they were but flesh.' `He hath remembered Hiscovenant forever.' `According to Thy mercy, remember Thou me!'"
Only Margaret Thurston knew who spoke three times that word never to beforgotten, once a terrible rebuke, now and evermore a benediction.
So went home the last of the Colchester martyrs.
As Mr Ewring turned back, he caught sight of Dorothy Denny, and madehis way back to her.
"You come to behold, do you, Dorothy?" said he, when they had turnedinto a quiet side street, safe from hostile ears.
"Ay, Master, it strengthens me," she said.
"Thou'rt of the right stuff, then," he answered. "It weakens such as benot."
"Eh, I'm as weak as any one," replied Dorothy. "What comforts me is tosee how the good Lord can put strength into the very feeblest lamb ofall His flock. It seems like as if the Shepherd lifted the lamb intoHis arms, so that it had no labour to carry itself."
"Ay, 'tis easy to bear a burden, when you and it be borne together,"said Mr Ewring. "Dorothy, have you strength for that burden?"
"Master Ewring, I've given up thinking that I've any strength for anything, and then I just go and ask for it for everything, and methinks Iget along best that way."
"Ay, so? You are coming on fast, Dorothy. Many Christian folks missthat lesson half their lives."
"Well, I don't know but they do the best that are weak," said Dorothy."Look you, they know it, and know they must fetch better strength thantheir own; so they don't get thinking they can manage the little thingsthemselves, and only need ask the Lord to see to the greet ones."
"It's true, Dorothy. I can't keep from thinking of poor Jack Thurston;he must be either very hard or very miserable. Let us pray for him,Dorothy. I'm afeared it's a bad sign that he isn't with them thismorrow."
"You think he's given in, Master Ewring?"
"I'm doubtful of it, Dorothy."
They walked on for a few minutes without speaking.
"I'll try to see Jack again, or pass in a word to him," said Mr Ewringreflectively.
"Eh, Master Ewring don't you go into peril! The Lord's cause can'tafford to lose you. Don't 'ee, now!"
"Dorothy," said Mr Ewring with a smile, "if the Lord's cause can'tafford to lose me, you may be very sure it won't lose me. `The Lordreigneth, be the people never so impatient.' He is on the throne, notthe priests. But in truth, Dorothy, the Lord can afford anything: He isable of these stones to raise up children unto Abraham. `He Himselfknew what He would do,' touching the miracle of the loaves: Andrewdidn't know, and Philip hadn't a notion. Let us trust Him, Dorothy, andjust go forward and do our duty. We shall not die one moment before theMaster calleth us."
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