All's Well

by Emily Sarah Holt

  CHAPTER NINETEEN.

  EUREKA!

  In the court where the prebendaries' chambers were situated, within theCathedral Close at Canterbury, was an underground vault, known asMonday's Hole. Here the stocks were kept, but the place was very rarelyused as a prison. A paling, four feet and a half in height, and threefeet from the window, cut off all glimpses of the outer world from anyperson within. A little short straw was strewn on the floor, betweenthe stocks and the wall, which formed the only bed of any one thereimprisoned. It was a place where a man of any humanity would scarcelyhave left his dog; cold, damp, dreary, depressing beyond measure.

  That litter of straw, on the damp stones, had been for five weary weeksthe bed of Alice Benden. She was allowed no change of clothes, and allthe pittance given her for food was a halfpenny worth of bread, and afarthing's worth of drink. At her own request she had been permitted toreceive her whole allowance in bread; and water, not over clean norfresh, was supplied for drinking. No living creature came near her saveher keeper, who was the bell-ringer at the cathedral--if we except thevermin which held high carnival in the vault, and were there inextensive numbers. It was a dreadful place for any human being to livein; how dreadful for an educated and delicate gentlewoman, accustomed tothe comforts of civilisation, it is not easy to imagine.

  But to the coarser tortures of physical deprivation and suffering hadbeen added the more refined torments of heart and soul. During four ofthose five weeks all God's waves and billows had gone over Alice Benden.She felt herself forsaken of God and man alike--out of mind, like theslain that lie in the grave--forgotten even by the Lord her Shepherd.

  One visitor she had during that time, who had by no means forgotten her.Satan has an excellent memory, and never lacks leisure to tempt God'schildren. He paid poor Alice a great deal of attention. How, he askedher, was it possible that a just God, not to say a merciful Saviour,could have allowed her to come into such misery? Had the Lord's handwaxed short? Here were the persecutors, many of them ungodly men, robedin soft silken raiment, and faring sumptuously every day; their bedswere made of the finest down, they had all that heart could wish; whileshe lay upon dirty straw in this damp hole, not a creature knowing whathad become of her. Was this all she had received as the reward ofserving God? Had she not tried to do His will, and to walk before Himwith a perfect heart? and this was what she got for it, from Him whocould have swept away her persecutors by a word, and lifted her byanother to the height of luxury and happiness.

  Poor Alice was overwhelmed. Her bodily weakness--of which Satan mayalways be trusted to take advantage--made her less fit to cope with him,and for a time she did not guess who it was that suggested all thesewrong and miserable thoughts. She "grievously bewailed" herself, and,as people often do, nursed her distress as if it were something verydear and precious.

  But God had not forgotten Alice Benden. She was not going to be lost--she, for whom Christ died. She was only to be purified, and made white,and tried. He led her to find comfort in His own Word, the richest ofearthly comforters. One night Alice began to repeat to herself theforty-second Psalm. It seemed just made for her. It was the cry of asore heart, shut in by enemies, and shut out from hope and pleasure.Was not that just her case?

  "Why art thou so full of heaviness, O my soul? and why art thou sodisquieted within me? Put thy trust in God!"

  A little relieved, she turned next to the seventy-seventh Psalm. Shehad no Bible; nothing but what her well-stored memory gave her. Ah!what would have become of Alice Benden in those dark hours, had hermemory been filled with all kinds of folly, and not with the pure,unerring Word of God? This Psalm exactly suited her.

  "Will the Lord absent Himself for ever?--and will He be no moreentreated? Is His mercy clean gone for ever?--and is His promise comeutterly to an end for evermore? Hath God forgotten to be gracious?--andwill He shut up His loving-kindness in displeasure? And I said, It ismine infirmity: but I will remember the years of the right hand of theMost Highest."

  A light suddenly flashed, clear and warm, into the weak, low, dark heartof poor lonely Alice. "It is mine infirmity!" Not God's infirmity--notGod's forgetfulness! "No, Alice, never that," it seemed just as ifsomebody said to her: "it is only your poor blind heart here in thedark, that cannot see the joy and deliverance that are coming to you--that must come to all God's people: but He who dwells in the immortallight, and beholds the end from the beginning, knows how to come and setyou free--knows when to come and save you."

  The tune changed now. Satan was driven away. The enemy whom AliceBenden had seen that day, and from whom she had suffered so sorely, sheshould see again no more for ever. From that hour all was joy and hope.

  "I will magnify Thee, O God my King, and praise Thy name for ever andever!"

  That was the song she sang through her prison bars in the early morningof the 25th of February. The voice of joy and thanksgiving reachedwhere the moan of pain had not been able to penetrate, to an intentlylistening ear a few yards from the prison. Then an answering voice ofdelight came to her from without.

  "Alice! Alice! I have found thee!"

  Alice looked up, to see her brother Roger's head and shoulders above thepaling which hid all but a strip of sky from her gaze.

  "Hast thou been a-searching for me all these weeks, Roger?"

  "That have I, my dear heart, ever since thou wast taken from the gaol.How may I win at thee?"

  "That thou canst not, Hodge. But we may talk a moment, for my keeper,that is the bell-ringer of the minster, is now at his work there, andwill not return for an half-hour well reckoned. Thou wert best come atthose times only, or I fear thou shalt be taken."

  "I shall not be taken till God willeth," said Roger. "I will come againto thee in a moment."

  He ran quickly out of the precincts, and into the first baker's shop hesaw, where he bought a small loaf of bread. Into it he pushed fivefourpenny pieces, then called groats, and very commonly current. Thenhe fixed the loaf on the end of his staff, and so passed it through thebars to Alice. This was all he could do.

  "My poor dear heart, hast thou had no company in all this time?"

  "I have had Satan's company a weary while," she answered, "but this lastnight he fled away, and the Lord alone is with me."

  "God be praised!" said Roger. "And how farest thou?"

  "Very ill touching the body; very well touching the soul."

  "What matter can I bring thee to thy comfort?"

  "What I lack most is warmth and cleanly covering. I have no chance evento wash me, and no clothes to shift me. But thou canst bring me nought,Hodge, I thank thee, and I beseech thee, essay it not. How fares littleChristie?--and be all friends well?"

  "All be well, I thank the Lord, and Christie as her wont is. It shalldo her a power of good to hear thou art found. Dost know when thoushalt appear before the Bishop?"

  "That do I not, Hodge. It will be when God willeth, and to the end Hewilleth; and all that He willeth is good. I have but to endure to theend: He shall see to all the rest. Farewell, dear brother; it were bestthat thou shouldst not tarry."

  As Roger came within sight of Staplehurst on his return, he saw a womanwalking rapidly along the road to meet him, and when he came a littlenearer, he perceived that it was Tabitha. Gently urging his horseforward, they met in a few minutes. The expression of Tabitha's facealarmed Roger greatly. She was not wont to look so moved and troubled.Grim and sarcastic, even angry, he had seen her many times; but grievedand sorrowful--this was not like Tabitha. Roger's first fear was thatshe had come to give him some terrible news of Christie. Yet heropening words were not those of pain or terror.

  "The Lord be thanked you were not here this day, Roger Hall!" wasTabitha's strange greeting.

  "What hath happed?" demanded Roger, stopping his horse.

  "What hath happed is that Staplehurst is swept nigh clean of decentfolks. Sheriffs been here--leastwise his man, Jeremy Green--and tookoff a good dozen of Go
spellers."

  "Tom--Christie?" fell tremulously from Roger's lips.

  "Neither of them. I looked to _them_, and old Jeremy knows me. I heardtell of their coming, and I had matters in readiness to receive them. Ireckon Jerry had an inkling of that red-hot poker and the copper ofboiling water I'd prepared for his comfort; any way, he passed our houseby, and at yours he did but ask if you were at home, and backed out, aspleasant as you please, when Nell made answer `Nay.'"

  "Then whom have they taken?"

  "Mine hostess of the White Hart gat the first served. Then they wentafter Nichol White, and Nichol Pardue."

  "Pardue!" exclaimed Roger.

  "Ay, Nichol: did not touch Collet. But they took Emmet Wilson, andFishwick, butcher, and poor Sens Bradbridge, of all simple folks."

  "And what became of her poor little maids?" asked Roger pityingly.

  "Oh, Collet's got them. I'd have fetched 'em myself if she hadn't.They've not taken Jack Banks, nor Mall. Left 'em for next time, maybe."

  "Well, I am thankful they took not you, Tabitha."

  "Me? They'd have had to swallow my red-hot poker afore they took me. Icount they frighted Christie a bit, fearing they'd have you; but I wentto see after the child, and peaced her metely well ere I came thence."

  "I am right thankful to you, sister. Tabitha, I have found Alice."

  "You have so?--and where is she?"

  Roger gave a detailed account of the circumstances.

  "Seems to me they want a taste of the poker there," said Tabitha in herusual manner. "I'll buy a new one, so that I run not out of stock erecustomers come. But I scarce think old Jeremy'll dare come a-nigh me;it'll be Sheriff himself, I reckon, when that piece of work's to bedone. If they come to your house, just you bid Nell set the poker inthe fire, and run over for me, and you keep 'em in talk while I come.Or a good kettle of boiling water 'd do as well--I'm no wise nice whichit is--or if she'd a kettle of hot pitch handy, that's as good asanything."

  "I thank you for your counsel, Tabitha. I trust there may be no need."

  "And I the like: but you might as well have the pitch ready."