CHAPTER SIX.
THE SHADOW BEFORE.
"Oh for the faith to grasp Heaven's bright For Ever, Amid the shadows of earth's Little While!"
_Jane Crewdson_.
Sheer amazement kept Mistress Winter silent for one moment after Agneshad made her startling revelation. That her bondslave should have daredto dream of freedom was almost too preposterous for belief. And she waspowerless to stop this most insubordinate proceeding; for, neveranticipating such a calamity, and not fond of spending money, except onherself and her daughters, she had not, as she might have done, boundAgnes her apprentice. But after that minute of astonished silence, athunderstorm such as even Agnes had never before experienced, burst uponher devoted head. If Mistress Winter might be believed, no suchinstance of rebellion, perversity, ingratitude, and all imaginablewickedness, had ever before occurred since Adam and Eve quittedParadise. Agnes was asked to what she expected to come in this life,and where she expected to go after it. When Mistress Winter becameweary of scolding, which was not soon, Joan took up the tale, and whenshe was tired Dorothy succeeded, and as all were gifted withconsiderable powers of speech, the ball was kept going until bedtime.Then Agnes was allowed to creep to her coarse rug and bundle of straw,feeling herself in peace at last.
Thenceforward there was not much peace left, at least in the day-time.Having been interrogated as to the name and calling of her suitor, Agneswas at once dubbed Madam Dominic, my Lady's Grace of Blackfriars, andvarious similar titles. Dorothy, clasping her hands in mock rapture,falsely averred that she had foreseen this delightful ending to thestory, when she caught sight of Agnes and Friar Laurence talking at theCross; and proceeded to give an ironical description of the Friar'spersonal charms, sufficiently spiced to be very amusing to her motherand sister, and just sufficiently seasoned with truth to be exceedinglygalling to Agnes. Henceforth she took every opportunity to playill-natured practical jokes on the latter. It was not likely that Agneswould particularly enjoy having shreds of dirty flannel and linen flunginto her lap, with a tittering remark that they would enrich hertrousseau; nor feeling, when she sat at needlework, a rotten egg gentlybroken over her head, with the bland intimation that it was to dress herhair for the wedding; nor the presentation, in solemn form, of torn andfaded ribbons, accompanied by the information that they would become hersweetly on her bridal. Of all approach to wedding attire poor Agnes wasdevoid. She had but two gowns in the world--the washed-out linenbed-gown and stuff petticoat in which her work was generally done, andthe well-patched serge which replaced it upon holy days. But Agnes boreall these outrages with a patience born of long practice, and nourishedby glad hope. It was now May, and it had been agreed with John Laurencethat the twenty-ninth of the following March was to set her free.
They would gladly have made arrangements for an earlier date, had itbeen possible. But John Laurence was not much richer than Agnesherself, and they had to wait till he thought that he could reasonablyafford to marry. Beside this, it was a most perilous time for a priestto think of wedlock. Things might change. Hope told that "flatteringtale" which she is so fond of recapitulating to young people--often mostunjustifiably. Who could tell what might happen, if they waited?
Meanwhile, what was happening was not particularly cheering, at least tothe apprehension of the Gospellers. Wyatt's insurrection had been putdown, and its leader beheaded; and its fruitlessness was shown by thesetting out of the Queen's envoys to escort Philip to England, whileWyatt yet lay in prison waiting for his trial. The Princess Elizabeth,sent to the Tower in March, on charge of complicity in Wyatt's evildeeds--who will ever know whether it was true?--had been released (atPhilip's request, it was said) a few days before Corpus Christi.Cranmer, Ridley, and Latimer lay imprisoned at Oxford, and undersentence of death. Nearly every day somebody was exhibited in thepillory--women as well as men--the most frequent charge being, as itappears in the diary of that comical speller, Mr Henry Machyn--"spekyngyll of good Qwen Mare." The difficulty which presents itself to thepresent generation is, how else her subjects could well speak of herproceedings. However, they could have held their peace. Probably thediscreet portion of the community did so.
It may seem a little strange, on the surface, when one considers how itwas that the reign of Mary was felt so galling, that the accession ofElizabeth was welcomed with such a fever of delight and triumph, such asense of relief and freedom, as was undoubtedly the case--and yet thatmen bore the former and made no sign, waited for the latter withindescribable longing, but without any attempt to bring it about.Perhaps we must attribute this partly to that law-abiding instinctinherent in the ordinary Englishman: yet I think still more to the factthat as a rule, at all times, in all respects, the majority of thenation are indifferent. There were men who died at the stake in defenceof the free Gospel. There were men who kindled those fires, and stampedout the truth, so far as in them lay. But these, even when puttogether, were still a minority. The majority were the watchers whostood round the stake, and who cared nothing for the cause on eitherside--who went to see a martyrdom as a Spaniard goes to see abull-fight, with neither sympathy nor enmity towards the martyr. Ofcourse, these would be, as to religious profession, what they found itto their own interest that they should be. The most popular and crowdedof all the Seven Churches is the Church of Laodicea.
"_Because_ thou art lukewarm... I will spue thee out of My mouth."
It was not without some difficulty that Agnes contrived to enjoy anoccasional, and always short, interview with her betrothed. Suchinterviews were generally followed by forced audiences of Dorothy, whoprofessed an entirely hypocritical interest in the progress of thelove-match, and did her best to make Agnes recount what her lover hadsaid to her. Agnes, however, was wise enough to keep out of the traplaid for her, and Dorothy took little by her motion.
Sometimes the lovers met for a few minutes before or after the readingin the Cathedral; sometimes there could be a few words as Agnes carriedher pails to and from the Horsepool; once or twice, when Mistress Winterhad barred the door on her for misdemeanour, they walked to some quietnook in the fields near Clerkenwell, refreshing themselves with converseon the one grand subject nearest to both hearts--nearer even than eachother. But the readings in the Cathedral were becoming much fewer thanof old. It was a perilous thing to do now, and John Laurence was amarked man. Not that he feared danger: his motto was that of the oldFrench knight--"Fais ce que dois, advienne que pourra!" But his brotherclergy were afraid lest it should be known that such compromisingproceedings as regular Scripture lessons were permitted at Saint Paul's.Some from dislike of the Bible-reading, a few from honest kindlyfeeling towards the reader, managed to take care that the lectern wasotherwise occupied, during the hour which alone John Laurence couldusually spare from other duties.
At last King Philip landed in England, and his meeting and marriage withthe Queen took place at Winchester. The City and suburbs blazed withbonfires, and rang with bells; the _Te Deum_ was chanted in everychurch; the utmost delight had to be felt, or at any rate professed, byall who did not wish to be reported as disaffected persons. On thetwelfth of August, the royal bride and bridegroom made their state entryinto London. A heretic had been burnt at Uxbridge four days previous.
Every house in Cow Lane, imitating every other street in London, pouredforth its members to see the procession. The good folks locked theirdoors, and left their houses to take care of themselves. Agnes, wholiked a pretty sight as well as other people, had taken her stand withthe crowd, and was looking out with interest as the first of theadvancing horsemen who opened the procession became visible, whensuddenly she felt a hand upon her own. She looked up into the welcomeface of John Laurence.
"Art come to see the sight, John?" she asked with a smile.
"I am come to see two sights," said he, returning it,--but his smileswere always grave. "To wit, the King's and Queen's Graces of the onehand, and Agnes Stone of the other. Hast a mind for a walk toward theC
lerks' Well, when all be gone by?"
"With a very good will," she answered.
But the pageant was coming past now, and they exchanged the use of theirtongues for that of their eyes. It was entirely equestrian, and cameover London Bridge, from Suffolk Place, where the King and Queen hadpassed the night. Our friends were not prepossessed by the royalbridegroom, whose low stature, want of beauty, and gloomy expression,struck them in the same light that they did most Englishmen, as denotingneither grace nor graciousness. Only two persons are recorded ever tohave loved Philip--Queen Mary herself, and her successor, the fair andsagacious Elizabeth of France.
Just opposite the place where Agnes and the Friar stood was anallegorical group, of which one painted figure, supposed to be Henry theEighth, was holding out to the Queen an open Bible, inscribed with thewords _Verbum Dei_. But before night a warning had been conveyed to theauthorities that the Queen was offended with this representation of herfather, and the Bible was painted out so hastily that the hand of thefigure was partly obliterated with it.
When the pageant had gone by, and the crowd had sufficiently dispersed,John Laurence and Agnes set out for their walk to Clerkenwell. Theyfound a shady field, in a corner of which they sat down, and the Friardrew from his pocket a Latin Psalter,--the only form of the Bible withwhich it was then safe to be caught. From this he read to Agnes thehundred and seventh Psalm, translating it as he went on into the onlytongue she knew.
"And He led them forth by the right way, that they might go to the Cityof Habitation."
He paused at that seventh verse, and half closing the book, sat lookingthoughtfully into the blue heaven.
Very vaguely did Agnes enter into his deeper thoughts. Her ideasconcerning public events, and possible future dangers, were of a verymisty description. She kept silent a moment. Then, when he did notspeak, she said--
"Well, John?"
"By the right way!" he said dreamily, rather as if speaking to himselfthan to her. "And He leads them, too, _inportum voluntatis eorum_--tothe haven of their desire."
"That is, Heaven?" said Agnes questioningly. Her admiration for hisknowledge and wisdom was high.
"That is Heaven," he replied in the same tone as before.
"John, what thinkest Heaven shall be like?"
"Like God!" said the Black Friar slowly. "Therefore, glorious--wonderful--perfect in every part--holy--satisfying."
"And right fair and beauteous, doubtless," she added, by way ofcompleting the picture.
"That which is perfect must be fair," said John Laurence. "He saith toHis Church, `Thou art all fair, My love, and a stain is not in thee.'That is, to thee, and me, Agnes."
"To _me_?" she repeated, in an awe-struck voice. "Nay, how so, trow? Iam all o'er a stain with my sins."
The answer was in inspired words. "`For perfect wert thou, in My beautywhich I put upon thee, saith the Lord God.'"
Agnes sat still, trying to take in the idea.
"Hear yet again another His saying to the Church: `Thou hast woundedMine heart, My sister-spouse; thou hast wounded Mine heart in one ofthine eyes, and in one chain of thy neck.' Now what is the eye?--is itnot a member of the body? Doth not this learn us that every one ofChrist's members hath his proper and peculiar love of Him, that cannotbelong to any other? Yea, more; for the chain of the neck is not amember, but only the ornament of a member. Wherefore one grace--for theornaments of the soul be his graces--one grace of one Christian soul isenough to delight Christ's heart."
Both were silent for a while, Agnes learning her new lesson.
"Mine heart!" said John Laurence suddenly, "the right way at times lookslike the wrong."
"What meanest thou, John?" said Agnes, looking into his face, andstartled by its expression of pain.
"Dear heart, we know not what lieth afore us. We be so blind, Agnes!But He knows. It is enough, if we are ready to follow Him. Canst thoudare follow, as well through the flood and the fire as through theflowery mead?"
"I cannot tell," she said tremulously. "I would try."
"There be two staves to lean on in our weariness," he said. "The one isfor earth: `Fear not, because I am with thee.' And the other is ofHeaven, but gildeth earth with hope: `Where I am, there shall My servantbe.' There must be glory and sweetness, where is Jesus Christ."
Long years afterwards, Agnes recalled those words.
For the Master's Sake: A Story of the Days of Queen Mary Page 6
