Robin Tremayne

by Emily Sarah Holt

  CHAPTER THREE.

  GOING FORTH.

  "O Day of endless brightness, dawn o'er these darkened skies! O Land of changeless beauty, break on these weary eyes! O Home whence no outgoing shall blind us with our tears-- O rest and peace! O life and love! O summer of all years!"

  The night of the fourth of July came hot and sultry, without a breath ofwind. Isoult Avery had sunk to sleep after a weary day. The verywarmth brought languor, and Walter had been naughty and peevish, needingall her patience; and Mr Tremayne had had a large party to supper, ofwhich she had been one; and a multitude of little worries had pressedupon her--those worries which seem too insignificant to repeat or careabout, yet form in the mass a large portion of our troubles. Hardlyknowing it herself, her last thought before she slept had been a prayerfor rest. But it was not rest that she really needed, and therefore itwas not rest she was to have. Our Father giveth us often what we ask,but always what we need.

  From a troubled dream Isoult was now aroused, by a sound which at firstwove itself into her dream, and made her imagine herself in the greathall of the Palace of Westminster, where carpenters were busy pullingdown the throne.

  Knock, knock, knock!

  Isoult hardly roused herself enough to recognise what the reality waswhich answered to her imaginary carpenters, and John Avery slept calmly.

  The knocking was repeated more loudly.

  "Jack!" said Isoult at last--much too faintly to arouse any but a verylight sleeper.

  Again came the knocking, and this time a voice with it. "Mr Avery!"

  Isoult, thoroughly awake at last, sat up, and succeeded after a minutein bringing John to consciousness. The knocking went on. John sprangup, and threw open the window.

  "Who are you, and what do you lack?" he called to the unseen visitantbelow.

  "Let me in, and in haste, for God's sake!" cried a voice in answer,which both the listeners immediately recognised as Robin Tremayne's.

  "There is somewhat gone wrong," said John, and hurrying down, heunbarred the door, and let in Robin. Isoult followed as quickly as shecould.

  "Why, Robin, lad, what is the matter?" she cried in dismay. "What canail thee? Is somewhat amiss at Tremayne?"

  For Robin's face was white with terror, and he trembled from head tofoot, and his clothes were soiled and torn.

  "All that can ail me in this world," murmured the poor lad, droppingupon the settle. "There is no Tremayne. The enclosure men came thitheryestereven, and burned every brick of it to the ground."

  "The rascals!" exclaimed Avery. "And what came of thy father, andmother, and sister, poor Robin?"

  The lad looked up with tearless eyes. "I am all of us."

  Isoult was silent. This was a sorrow beyond human comforting. It hadbeen mockery to bid him be of good cheer then.

  "My father had enclosed, as you know," resumed Robin in a low voice."And these rioters would no enclosures."

  "Would to God he had let it alone!" murmured Avery under his breath.

  "God would not, Mr Avery," quietly answered Robin, "or he had let italone."

  And dropping his head upon his hands, the poor boy rocked himself to andfro silently. He seemed very faint and weary, yet Isoult doubted if hecould eat; but she fetched a jug of milk, and set it before him, biddinghim drink if he could.

  "It would choke me, Mrs Avery," he answered. "But you are exceedinggood unto me."

  "Poor child!" said Avery, pityingly. "Thou wilt be safe here at theleast. I have not enclosed, I thank God."

  "I thought you would take me in for a few days," said the lad, "until Imay see my way afore me, and win some little heart to pursue it."

  "Thy way shall be my way, Robin," replied Avery tenderly. "Twenty yearsand more gone, when I was a stripling about thy years, thy father helpedme unto my calling with a gift of twenty pounds, which he never wouldgive me leave to pay him. Under thy leave, I will pay it thee."

  "You are exceeding good," he said again, not lifting his head.

  "And how didst thou get away, poor Robin?" asked Isoult.

  "I dropped from the window," said he. "My chamber window was low built;and when I heard the horrid shouts and yells at the front of the house,I jumped out at the back, and hid me in the bushes beyond. And there,not daring to creep away till they were gone, lest they should discoverme, I heard and saw all."

  "Then the bushes took not fire?" suggested Avery.

  "Nay," said he, "the fish-pond lieth atween them and the house, mindyou."

  He was silent a little while. Then he said softly, under hisbreath--"Mr Avery, when I saw the fiends lay hold upon Mother and Arbel,I thought God must surely strike from Heaven for us. But when, tenminutes later, I saw the flames shooting up to the welkin, I thanked Himin mine heart that He had taken them to His rest ere that."

  "But, Robin, lad! didst thou not strike for them?" cried Avery, whocould not bear anything that seemed like cowardice.

  "Should I, think you?" he made answer, in that low, hopeless tone thatgoes to the heart. "There were seventy or more of the enclosure men. Icould but have died with them. Maybe I ought to have done that. Ithink it had cost less."

  "Forgive me, Robin!" said John, laying his hand on the lad's shoulder."Poor heart! I meant not to reproach thee. I spake hastily, thereforeunadvisedly."

  "Let me have thee abed, poor Robin," said Isoult. "'Tis but one of theclock. Canst thou sleep, thinkest?"

  "Sometime, I count I shall again," he answered; "but an' I were to judgeby my feeling, I should think I never could any more."

  "Time healeth," whispered Avery, rather to his wife than Robin; but thelad heard him.

  "God doth, Mr Avery," he said. "And they are with God."

  "Art thou less, Robin?" asked Avery tenderly.

  "God is with me; that is the difference," he replied.

  Robin Tremayne had always been a quiet, thoughtful boy; and even whenthe first gush of his agony was over, there remained upon him a gentle,grave pensiveness which it appeared as if he would never lose.

  The next day proved as uneventful as other days at Bradmond. No rioterscame near them.

  In the evening Dr Thorpe appeared. When the old man saw Robin, he castup his hands, and thanked God.

  "Lad," said he, "I thought thou wert dead."

  "I count God hath somewhat for me to do," answered Robin. "But if Hehath not, I would I were."

  "Hush thee, Robin dear!" said Isoult, uneasily.

  "What wouldst thou be, Robin?" inquired Kate, her eyes wide open.

  "Dead and buried," answered he.

  "Then may I be dead and buried too?" she asked.

  "Nay, Kate, not so!" cried Isoult, in dismay.

  "It will not do, Robin," said Dr Thorpe, smiling. And his face growinggrave, he pursued, "Lad, God setteth never too hard a lesson, nor layethon us more than we are able to bear."

  "Too hard for what?" answered Robin. "There have been that have hadlessons set that they might not learn and live. Is that not too hard?"

  "Nay, child!" Dr Thorpe answered. "If it be not too hard to learn, andkeep hold on eternal life, the lesser life of this little world is of nomatter."

  "Nor the happiness of it, I suppose?" said Robin, gloomily.

  "The plant God careth to grow now in us is holiness," he answered."That other fair flower, happiness, He keepeth for us in His own gardenabove, where it is safer than in our keeping. 'Tis but stray fragmentsand single leaves thereof that find their way down hither."

  "I think so," said Robin, bitterly.

  "Lad, lad! kick not against the pricks!" exclaimed Dr Thorpe, moresternly. "God's will is the best for us. His way is the safe way, andthe only way."

  "Easy to say so," answered Robin, slowly. "And it was easy to thinkso--yesterday morning."

  Dr Thorpe looked on him and did not reply.

  "O Robin!" cried Kate, running to him from the door. "The sun isshining again. It was raining so fast all the morn; and now the sun is
come, and all the little drops are so pretty in the sunshine. Come andsee! They are so pretty shining on the roses."

  Robin rose to follow her, with the first smile (though a mournful one)that Isoult had seen flit across his face.

  "Kate is the better comforter, Dr Thorpe, and hath learned the sweeterlesson," he said. "At least she hath learned it me. You would have mecount the chastening joyous, even at this present: God's word pointethto the joyousness to come. `Blessed are they that mourn,--for theyshall be comforted.'"

  And he went after Kate.

  For a few days more after Robin's coming all was quiet. No one came toinquire for him, and they began to hope the worst was over. But late onthe Sunday evening, which was the seventh of July, suddenly there came arapping on the door. And there, to the surprise of all, stood DrThorpe.

  "Welcome, good friend!" said Avery; "but your occasion should be greatto have you forth this even."

  "So it is," said he. "Is it not bed-time, Mrs Avery?"

  "In very deed, Doctor," she answered. "We were going above but now."

  "Leave the lad and the maids go, then," said he, "and you and Jack bidea space."

  So the maids and Robin departed.

  "What is it, Doctor?" asked Avery, when they were gone.

  "What it is, Jack," said Dr Thorpe, who sat in the corner with his handsupon his knees, "is a great burning mountain that is at this momentquiet. What it may be, is a great rushing and overflowing of the fierymatter, that shall deal death all around. And what it will be--the LordGod knoweth, and He only."

  "You speak in parables, Doctor," replied Avery.

  "The safest matter to speak at this time," answered he.

  "You look for a new riot, an' I take you rightly."

  "Hardly for a riot," the other answered. "Is the door fast?"

  "I bolted it after you," said Avery.

  Doctor Thorpe drew his chair closer, and spoke in a low, earnest voice."Not a riot," he said. "Say an uprising--a civil war--a mightyrebellion of all that be under, against all that be above. Men thatwill know no ruler, and bear no curb--little afraid to speak evil ofdignities, or to do evil against them. `We are, and there is nonebeside us:' yea, `we are the people, and wisdom shall die with us.'"

  "There be such spirits alway," answered Avery, "but, I thank God, rarelyso many come together as shall do a mischief."

  "There shall be mischief enough done in Cornwall and Devon within thenext month or twain," said Dr Thorpe, gloomily. "I see more than you;and I am come to tell you of somewhat that nearly toucheth both you andme. A year gone or thereabout, I was a-riding from Bodmin on the Truroway, when I was aware of a little ragged lad that sat by the roadside,the tears a-rolling down his not over clean face. I drew bridle, andasked the lad what ailed him. He told me his mother did lie at death'sdoor, not far thence. `Hath she any doctor or apothecary?' quoth I.`Nay,' saith he, `neither the priest nor the apothecary would comewithout money, and father hath not a penny.' Well, I 'light from minehorse, and throwing his bridle athwart mine arm, I bade the lad lead meto his mother, for I was a physician, and could maybe do her some good.I found her under an hedge, with nought save a ragged rug to cover her,twain other children beside clamouring for bread, and her husband, arugged sullen-faced man, weaving of rushes for baskets. All they weredark-faced folk, and were, I take it, of that Egyptian [gipsy] crew thatdoth over-run all countries at times. I saw in a moment that thoughbeyond their skill, her disorder was not (with God's blessing) beyondmine; yet it did require speedy remedy to serve her. The physic that Ifetched for her quickly gave her ease, and I was something astonied atthe blessings which the husband did heap upon me when I departed fromthem. Methought, though he were rugged of face, yet he must be a manthat had some power of affection. Well, the woman amended, and all theyleft that part. I heard no more of them sithence, until late lastnight, as I was a-riding home, very nigh the same place, all suddenly anhand was laid upon my bridle. An highwayman, thought I; and Iremembered that I had little money upon me. But in the stead of easingme of my purse, mine highwayman put unto me a strange question.--`Whatis your name, and where dwell you?'--`Verily,' said I, `I might ask thesame of you. But sithence I am in no wise ashamed neither of my namenor my dwelling-place, know you, that the one is Stephen Thorpe, and theother is Bodmin. What more would you?'--`Your calling?'--`Aphysician.'--`Enough,' quoth my strange questioner. `I pray you toalight from your horse, and have no fear of me. I will do you no harm;I would not hurt you for a thousand pieces in good red gold. I wantneither your money (howsoever much it be) nor your valuables that may beon you. Only, I pray you, let us two whisper together a season.'--`Ingood sooth,' said I, `I have nought to whisper unto you.'--`But I haveto you,' saith he, `and what I say must not be spoken aloud. You wouldtrust me if you knew what I would have.'--`Well, friend,' quoth I, `fora friend metrusteth you be, I will do as you bid me. All the money Ihave upon me is but some few shillings, and to them, if you lack, youare welcome. For valuable matter, I carry none; and I myself am an oldman, no longer of much service unto any. If you desire me to ply mytrade of healing, I am content; but I warn you that by murdering of meyou should gain little beside an evil conscience.'--So with that I'lighted down.--`Throw the bridle on your arm,' saith he, `and followme.'--So, linking his arm in mine, he drew me (for it was pitch dark,and how he found his way I know not) aside from the road, unto a smallforsaken and ruinated hut that stood on the common.--`Stand where you bea moment,' quoth he; and striking the tinder, he lit a rush candle.`Now, know you me?' saith he. `Not a whit better than afore,' quothI.--He blew out the candle.--`You have forgot my face,' he saith. `Mindyou a year gone, ministering unto a dying woman (as was thought), inthis place, under an hedge, whereby you did recover her of hermalady?'--`I know you now,' said I; `you are that woman's husband.'`Then you are aware,' answereth he, `that I would do you no hurt.'--`Sayon,' quoth I.--`Suffer me,' saith he, `to ask you certainquestions.'--`So be it,' said I.--Then he,--`Is your house in Bodminyour own?'--`It is so,' answered I, marvelling if he were about to askme for mine house.--`Sell it,' quoth he, `and quickly.'--`Wherefore?'answered I.--`I passed no word touching your questions,' quoth he,grimly.--`In good sooth,' said I, `this is a strange matter, for a manto be bidden to sell his house, and not told wherefore.'--`You shall seestranger things than that,' he answered, `ere your head be hoarier bytwain s'ennight from now.'--`Well! say on,' quoth I.--`Have you,'pursueth he, `any money lent unto any friend, or set out at usury? Youwere best to call it in, if you would see it at all.'--`Friend,' said I,`my money floweth not in so fast that my back lacketh it not so soon asit entereth my purse.'--`The better,' quo' he.--`Good lack!' said I, `Ialway thought it the worse.'--`The worse afore, the better now,' heanswered. `But once more--have you any friend you would save fromperil?'--And I,--`Why, I would save any from peril that I saw like tofall therein.'--`Then,' quoth he, `give them privily the counsel that Inow give you. If the sun find you at Bodmin,--yea, any whither inCornwall or Devon--twain s'ennights hence, he shall not set on youalive. Speak not another word. Mount your horse, and go.'--I strave,however, to say another word unto him, but not one more would hehearken. `Go!' he crieth again, so resolute and determinedly that I didgo. Now, I fear greatly that this man did tell me but truth, and thatsome fearful rising of the commons is a-brewing. I shall surely takehis counsel, and go hence. What say you, Jack? Shall we go together?"

  There was dead silence for a minute. Isoult's head was in a whirl.

  At last her husband said slowly, "What sayest thou, Isoult?"

  "Jack," she replied, "whither thou art will I be."

  "And that shall be--whither?" asked Dr Thorpe. "It must be no whitherwithin Cornwall or Devon."

  "But we have not enclosed," objected Avery, answering rather histhoughts than his words.

  "I doubt," he answered, "whether they shall wait to ask that."

  "For me," Avery resumed, "I have friends in London, and Isoult likewise;and if I thought i
t should be long ere we may turn again, thither shouldI look to go rather than otherwhere. But an' it be for a few weeks, itshould be unworth so long a journey."

  "Weeks!" cried Dr Thorpe. "Say months, Jack, or years. For my part, Ilook not to see Bodmin again. But there be thirty years betwixt theeand me."

  "In that case," said he, "and methinks you have the right--I say,London, if Isoult agree therewith. There should be room in that greatcity, I account, for both you and me to ply our several callings."

  "Whither thou wilt, be it, Jack," said his wife, softly. "But Mother,and Hugh, and Bessy! And Frances at Potheridge, and Mrs Philippa atCrowe--what is to come of them, and who shall warn them?"

  Dr Thorpe shook his head.

  "Little time for all that, Mrs Avery," answered he. "Send, an' youwill, to the two places--Potheridge and Crowe; but leave Potheridge towarn Wynscote, and Wynscote to warn Matcott and Bindon."

  "Let Robin take the brown horse," suggested Avery, "and ride post with aletter from thee to Mrs Philippa; and Tom the white nag, and I will sendhim likewise to Mr Monke. I might have gone myself to one of the twain,but--"

  "Nay, Jack! bide thou with me," entreated Isoult, fearfully.

  "Well said," answered Dr Thorpe.

  "Well!" Avery replied, "there seemeth little time to choose or bowne[prepare] us; but as the Italians have it, `_Che sara, sara_.' [`Whatwill be, will be.'] When set we forth, Doctor?"

  "Now, if we could," answered Dr Thorpe, significantly.

  Preparations for the journey were made in haste, and without waiting fordaylight. Robin and Tom were sent on horseback to Crowe and Potheridge,starting with the earliest gleam of dawn. Isoult summoned Jennifer,Barbara, and Ursula the cook, and asked whether they would cast in theirlot with hers or remain in Cornwall. Jennifer answered that she fearedthe journey more than the commons, and the fourth of July was a veryunlucky day on which to commence any undertaking: she would stay whereshe was. Ursula and Barbara, both of whom had been with their mistressever since her marriage, replied that they would go with her now.

  "Nor have I any of mine own that I may well go unto," Ursula added."Mine only brother dwelleth in Somerset, and he is but an husbandman,with little wages and a great sort of childre; and beside him I have nokin."

  "My mother is wed again," Barbara explained, "and my father that now isshould grudge to be troubled with me; and my sister, that is newlywedded, hath but one chamber in a poor man's house. I will hie afteryou, Mistress, an' you will have me."

  This question being settled, another arose. Who should be left atBradmond? Tom was too necessary for the journey; besides which, he wasignorant of the arts of reading and writing, and would not be able tosend word how matters went on after their departure. In this emergency,while Isoult and John were talking over the subject, Barbara presentedherself with a deprecatory courtesy, or rather lout.

  "Mistress," said she, "if you and our master bethink not yourselvesreadily of any that should serve for to dwell here in your absence, Iwould you would think on Marian my sister, and her husband [fictitiouspersons]. They should, I do know, be right willing to be set in charge;and Simon Pendexter (that is my brother) can right well read and write,for he hath been a schoolmaster; and is (though I say it) a sad andsober honest man, such as I do know you should be willing to use in thismatter."

  This information settled the question. Barbara was despatched to askSimon and Marian if they would be willing to come, and she returned witha reply that they were not only willing, but thankful for the offer, andhad no fear of the rioters.

  In such arrangements time passed on until the Friday evening, when Robinreached home from Crowe, bringing Philippa Basset with him. Sheexpressed her gratitude for the warning sent, and said that she wasready to go to London.

  "As for Crowe," she said, "'tis Arthur his house, not mine; and to meall places be nigh alike. I set some seeds that I looked to see come upthis next spring; but that is all I have to lose, save an old gown ortwain, and the like. And," added she, turning away her head, "they willnot harm what alone I care for--my dead."

  On the Sunday morning came Dickon, Dr Thorpe's man, with a message fromhis master, desiring that all should be ready to set out by five o'clockon the following morning. "Bodmin," said he, "was plainly ill at ease:men gathered together in knots in the streets, and the like, with allmanner of rumours and whisperings about; and if they were to go, go theymust."

  "But Tom is not yet back," said Isoult.

  It was settled, however, that it would not do to wait for him; but totheir relief, two or three hours before the time fixed for starting, Tomcame. He brought letters from Mr Monke to John, and from Lady Francesto Isoult; but he arrived alone. Mr Monke thanked them heartily fortheir loving care, and would readily undertake to warn Wynscote andCombe; but he declined to join them. Potheridge was well fortified withwalls and moat; and he had seven able-bodied men-servants, and doublethe number of tenants, who could be called within at a few minutes'notice: the house was well provisioned, and his armoury equipped: and heended his letter by saying,--"My trust is in God. You do well to go;yet methinks I do as well to abide."

  "Metrusteth all shall be well," said Isoult, with a sigh; "yet if Imight have known how it should be with them, I had gone with an heartthe lighter."

  "A wilful man," responded Philippa; "let him be."

  Lady Frances said in her letter, "Dear heart, God is not gone fromDevon. Fear not for us, only pray; and wheresoever we be, andhowsoever, let us abide in Him."

  At last the preparations were completed. Simon and Marian Pendexter hadbeen installed in office, with orders to write in a month: three sumptermules were laden with the family luggage: and the last farewells weretaken. The party mounted their horses. First rode John Avery onBayard, with his wife behind him on the pillion; then, on Blanche, awhite mare, came Ursula, with Kate strapped before her; on the blackfarm mare, which had no particular name, rode Tom, with Barbara behind,and Walter before him; and lastly, on a wiry white nag, came Robin, withPhilippa on the pillion. So they moved slowly away from the home which,for aught they knew, they might never see again.

  It was a trial which cost Isoult Avery many tears. Barbara, too, wept;but no one else, only when Philippa spoke, it was in that short,constrained manner with which some people hide sorrow. Little Kate wasin high glee, until she saw her mother weep; and then she looked graveand thoughtful--for about ten minutes.

  When they reached the end of the lane which led into the high road fromBradmond, they found Dr Thorpe seated on his bay horse, awaiting them.Behind, on a brown nag, was Dickon, with a bundle strapped at his back.

  "Come, friends mine!" cried Dr Thorpe. "If you urge on your horses nofaster, we shall sleep on the common to-night." Then as Bayard came upwith him, he added in a lower tone, "It was too true, Jack. Fourteenhouses were sacked in Bodmin last night."

  "Of them that had enclosed?"

  "Mostly, but not all," he answered. "They opened the cellars, and setthe conduits a-flowing with wine; then, having well drunken, marched tothe church, where they cast the new service-book into a bonfire [Note1]; and at after surrounded Father Prideaux [a fictitious person] hishouse, shouting and singing in uproarious wise, calling upon him to comeforth and set himself at their head. (A fair body to be head of!) ByGod's providence, he was not within; but it was full two hours ere theywould depart, for all the handmaid's telling of them that her master wasfrom home. At long last they did go thence, and down the streets,shrieking and yelling like fiends."

  "And is it over, think you?" suggested Avery.

  "Is it begun?" answered Dr Thorpe. "Tidings came yestre'en of riots inSomerset; and, Jack, the commons have taken Exeter."

  "Taken Exeter!" cried John and Isoult in a breath.

  "Taken Exeter!" repeated he. "What think you now?"

  "Lord, have mercy upon us!" said Isoult under her breath.

  "A letter is come from the King," pursued Dr Thorpe, "exhorting thecommo
ns to obedience and patience, and they shall receive redress oftheir griefs."

  Philippa and Robin now came ambling alongside, for here they could ridethree abreast.

  "But what profess the commons to be their griefs?" said Isoult; "for Idid never yet rightly understand."

  "Firstly," said Dr Thorpe, "they do allege the young age of the King,and the having a Protector over them."

  "What foolishness!" exclaimed Avery. "Would they have the King growunto manhood in a day? or think they that he abideth a child of setpurpose?"

  "Then," pursueth Dr Thorpe, "their second matter is, the 'stablishing ofLutheranism within the realm. They would fain see the mass set upagain, and have the Six Articles back."

  "The Bloody Statute!" cried Isoult. "God forgive them!"

  "And the third matter is the enclosures," added he.

  "Methinks men are not over weighted with religion, that be so ready topull it down," remarked Philippa.

  "That hangeth on whether it be truth or error," replied he.

  "Nay," said she, "you draw lines too fine for me. What I learnt in myyouth is truth enough for me."

  "So do many think," said Avery. "But there is yet an other question,Mrs Basset, which they shall some day have to front, though they willnot now; and that is, whether it be truth enough for God?"

  But to that she made no answer.

  The fugitives journeyed as quietly as possible, yet as quickly as wassafe, until the Saturday. And then, about four o'clock, as they gainedthe ridge of a hill, Dr Thorpe, who rode first, suddenly drew bridle.

  "Back, all of you!" cried he. "Hide you behind the rocks yonder. Animmense crowd of men is in the valley, advancing this way. If these bethe commons, God be our help, for we can have none other."

  "We can sell our lives dearly, at least," said Avery, looking to hismatchlock.

  "We that be men were best to light off our horses," pursued Dr Thorpe,"and leave the women thereon, that they may fly the faster if need be.Set them and the childre behind, and thou, Jack, with me and Tom andDickon, stand out afore."

  "They shall fly cruel slow on yon old black jade," said Tom, grinning.

  "Master," inquired Dickon (who was a Somerset man), "if they catch I,what shall they do to I?"

  "Hold your idle tongues!" answered Dr Thorpe sternly, "and see that yourarms are in good order. Robin, shall we count thee a man, or as one ofthe childre?"

  "You shall not count me to be guarded, but to guard," said Robin,stoutly.

  "Well said," replied Dr Thorpe.

  "Truly, good Doctor, on my word," interposed Philippa, "but you shallnot count me as a sely woman. I have handled a matchlock afore now, andI can knock down a man an' I have hold of a poker. I stand to thefront, an' it like you."

  "Well said, brave heart!" answered he. "So do."

  So set, they awaited the death that might be at hand, and prayed to Godto guard them. All were brave enough but Dickon, and he shivered likean aspen leaf.

  "Thou white-livered [our ancestors believed literally that cowards hadwhite livers] dolt!" cried Dr Thorpe sharply, and took the matchlock outof his hands. "Go behind for a child as thou art."

  "And give me his matchlock," said Philippa.

  "Take it," he answered. "You are ten times over the man that he is."

  Slowly they heard the tramp of feet advancing nearer and nearer. Allwere silent now. The feet gained the ridge of the hill--they crossedit--they came forward on the road. All at once Avery, who was next thatside, threw down his matchlock with a shout.

  "Forward, friends!" cried he triumphantly. "These are no rebels--theseare the King's Majesty's troops. See you not the royal lions flying atthe van? God be with the armies of England!"

  The revulsion was great from such terror to comfort, joy, andthankfulness. All came forward. The leader of the army looked at thegroup, stayed his horse, and lifted his visor. A cry of joy broke fromPhilippa and Isoult, for they saw beneath his helm a face that they hadknown well in the old Calais days.

  "Mrs Philippa Basset!" exclaimed he in amazement; "at the least if mineeyes bewray me not. And Mrs Barry! God keep you both! How come youhere? and do you lack aid?"

  "Your eyes be true men, my Lord Grey de Wilton," [Note 2] said Philippa,"and right glad are mine to light on no unfriendlier face. Truly at thefirst we took you for rebels, and had it not been for your coats andyour standard, I had picked you off with my matchlock ere I wist who itwere."

  Lord Grey laughed merrily.

  "Nay," said he, "we are marching against the rebels, by the King'sgracious commission. What may I do for you, my mistresses? Whither goyou?"

  "We be on our way to London," answered Philippa, "if it like the saintsto have us there."

  "It may like the troops, maybe, the better," said Lord Grey. "Well, Iwill then send with you certain picked soldiers, good men and true, tosee you safe on your way, if God permit."

  "We thank you heartily, and will accept of your goodness with a verygood will," she replied. "And what news, now?"

  "Very ill news," answered he. "The rebels be up all through Somerset,and Kent, and Essex, and Lincoln, and Norfolk, and Suffolk."

  "Thanks be to our Lady!" cried she; "none of those lie in our way toLondon."

  "Laud be to God therefor!" answered Lord Grey, gravely; "yet be wary.How soon may Dorset and Wilts be up likewise? My Lord of Northamptonlayeth siege to Norwich, and ere this, I trust, is my Lord Russell andhis troops around Exeter. But our work is not yet done by many a day'slabour."

  "I pray you, noble sir," asked Dr Thorpe, "if I may aventure myself tospeak unto your Lordship, what think you of this rebellion? Shall it bea thing easily crushed, or a more graver matter?"

  "I know not," said Lord Grey, turning his head to the speaker. "Itshould seem a very grave matter--another Jack Cade's rebellion. Yet itmay be subdued readily. I know not. This only I know--that `unless theLord keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain.'"

  Lord Grey, turning, called to him one of his officers, and spoke quietlywith him a moment. Then turning again to Philippa, he said, "Look youhere, Mrs Basset, an't like you. I will send with you twelve pickedmen, that shall be a guard unto you, and shall not leave you until (byGod's allowing), they have you safe in London. And there come," pursuedhe to the captain of the men, "report yourself unto Sir Francis Jobson,and await his order. Stay--take with you a token."

  Lord Grey drew a ring from his finger, and gave it to that officer whoseemed to be in authority as captain over the twelve men forming theguard. Then bowing low, he bade God keep them; and the troops marchedforward at his giving the word.

  The little group journeyed on towards Dorset, their guard marchingbefore with their halberds in their hands. The captain [a fictitiousperson] had some talk with Dr Thorpe and Avery; he told them he was aLondon man, and that his mother--a widow--dwelt in the Minories; andboth were Gospellers. So in due time they reached Dorchester; andthence Salisbury, both which they found quiet. And at Windsor theyheard a rumour that Norwich had yielded; which on coming to London theyfound true. They heard further that Exeter was taken by Lord Russell;and that Lord Grey de Wilton had reached Cornwall.

  The captain of their guard took them to his mother, Mistress Brent,[fictitious persons] whom they found a pleasant and pious woman. Thenext day they began looking for a house; and being inclined to settle inthe Minories [Note 3], Mrs Brent told them of a comfortable house whichwas empty next door to her own. John and Isoult went to see it, likedit, and took it. Philippa went to her sister, Lady Elizabeth Jobson, inthe Tower; and Dr Thorpe agreed to remain with the Averys until heshould make up his mind what to do. Perhaps it was difficult to makeup; for without any regular agreement on the subject, yet to everybody'ssatisfaction, they formed one family thereafter.

  Meantime there was sad work at Exeter.

  The Lord Privy Seal [John Russell, afterwards first Earl of Bedford],who was sent there with his troops, finding his own forces fewer thanthe
rebels, stayed at Honiton, while the rebels besieged Exeter: andright valiantly the men of Exeter kept their town. [King Edward, fromwhose Diary these details are taken, spells these names Honington andOutrie.] The rebels burnt the gates, but those within "kept them off byhot fire, till they had made a rampart; and when they were undermined,they drowned the mine and the powder with water." The Lord Privy Seal,hearing of their bravery, endeavoured to go round a bye-way to reinforcethem; but the rebels, having spies, discovered his movements, and cutdown all the trees between Saint Mary Ottery and Exeter. Lord Russellthen burnt the town, intending to return home. But the rebels held abridge against him, forcing him with his small band to fall upon them;when he gained a great victory, killing some hundreds of them, andretreating homeward without any loss of his own men. Then Lord Greycame to his help, and together they raised the siege of Exeter.

  At Bodmin, Sir Anthony Kingston, who was sent there, hanged the Mayor, afervent Papist: and Father Prideaux would have fared ill at his hands,had not all the Lutherans and Gospellers in the town risen in hisfavour, and testified that he had not joined with other priests in therising (for the priests urged and fomented all these risings), but was agood Protestant and faithful subject.

  The fugitives were at first too busy to have much time for lamentation.But when the pressure of constant occupation was relaxed, and thefurnishing and arranging of matters ended, they began to feel a littlelike ship-wrecked men, thrown upon a strange coast. Isoult Avery wasastonished to find what a stranger she felt in London, where she hadlived some years with Anne Basset and the Duchess of Suffolk. Oneafternoon in September she was peculiarly oppressed by this sense ofsolitude in a crowd--the most painful solitude of any--but was trying tobear up bravely. She sat at her work, with Kate at her hornbook besideher, when the door was unlatched, and Isoult heard her husband'swell-known voice say,--"Come in,--you shall see her now."

  Isoult rose to receive her unknown visitor.

  He was a man of some fifty years or upwards, neither stout nor spare,but tall, and of an especially stately and majestic carriage. His facewas bronzed as if with exposure to a southern sun; his hair and eyeswere dark, and he had a long dark beard. Grave and deliberate in allhis actions, his smile was exquisitely sweet, and his expressionthoughtfully gentle.

  "Isoult," said her husband, "this is Mr Rose, an ancient friend of mine,and now parson of West Ham, nigh unto Richmond. He would be acquaintwith thee, and so would his wife and daughter."

  Isoult rose and louted to the visitor, and gave him her hand; and to hersurprise, Kate, who was commonly very shy with strangers, went up atonce to Mr Rose, and suffered him to lift her upon his knee and kissher.

  "I knew not you were a man so much to childre's liking," said Avery;"methinks I never saw my little maid so friendly unto a stranger afore."

  "I love them dearly," answered Mr Rose. "And I pray you, Mrs Avery, ifit will please you to take the pain to visit my wife, that you bringthis little maid withal."

  This was Isoult's first introduction to one of the most remarkable menof the sixteenth century. Not so, perhaps, as the world sees eminence;but as God and His angels see it. Thomas Rose was a Devonshire man, andhad begun to preach about the same time as Latimer. He was one of theearliest converts of the Reformation, and was constantly andconsistently persecuted by the Papal party. Much of his life had beenspent: abroad to escape their machinations. The entire history of thisman was full of marvellous providences and hairbreadth escapes; and itwas to be fuller yet. Weary of dealing in this manner, Rome had atlength tried upon him those poisoned shafts which she launched at many aGospeller--suborning false witnesses to accuse him of uncommittedcrimes. Mr Rose stood the trial, and came unscathed out of it.

  Isoult readily promised to visit Mrs Rose, though she was slightlydismayed on afterwards hearing from John that Mr Rose had married aforeigner.

  "A Protestant, I trust?" she asked doubtfully, for she knew little offoreigners, and with the exception of a handful of Lutherans andHuguenots, thought they were all Papists--with a margin, of course, forJews, Turks, heretics, and infidels.

  John laughed as if the question amused him exceedingly. "Were itpossible," he responded, "that Thomas Rose's wife should be any thingelse?"

  The train of visitors was only just beginning. When Isoult came in fromthe market, feeling very tired and overworked, on the following morning,she found Philippa Basset in her large chair, looking very much at home,while Kate, on her knee, was chattering away to her with the utmostfreedom.

  "Well, Isoult!" was Philippa's greeting. "Thou dost well to goa-cheapening of carrots, and leave thy friends that come to visit theeto find none in the house that they know save this," pointing to Kate."How dost thou, dear heart?"

  "The better to see you, Mrs Philippa," said she. "I will not ask howyou do, for you look rarely well. Verily, I left more in the house thanKate, or I had taken her withal."

  "Isoult, dost thou mean to call me mistress all the days of thy life?"she asked in answer.

  "I mean to call you what it list you," said Isoult, "but truly you nevergave me leave to do other."

  "And truly you never asked for it," replied she. "Howbeit, take it now,prithee, for ever henceforward."

  Isoult thanked her, and asked her "if any news were abroad."

  "Any news, quotha?" she answered. "But a yard or twain. Hast heardthat my Lord Protector is not in very good case?"

  "Nay!" cried Isoult. "My Lord Protector! what mean you, Mrs Philippa?"

  "This, Mrs Avery," answered she. "My Lord Protector, being no Lutheran,but a Gospeller, is not over well liked of some that be Lutherans, andno Gospellers: and as for us poor Catholics, we never (you know) heldhim for a saint. So this being the case (this in thine ear,Isoult--'tis under _benedicite_ [under the seal of confession]),certain, if not all of the King's Council, be resolved to be rid of myhigh and mighty Lord. And ere thou be ten days older, I count thoushalt hear somewhat thereof. I have so much from a good hand, that canbe trusted; the name I utter not."

  "Then," said Isoult, "be the Catholics and Lutherans conspiring togetherfor this?"

  "Truth," answered she; "they that be least Christians of both."

  "You say well, Mrs Philippa," replied Isoult.

  "Do I so, Mrs Avery?" she answered.

  "I cry you mercy!" said Isoult; "Philippa, then, if you will have itso."

  "Ay, I will have it so," said she, laughing.

  "But," answered Isoult, "what saith the King's Highness thereto?"

  "The King!" exclaimed she. "The King marketh but his twelfth birthdaythis month, dear heart. What can he know? or an' he spake, who wouldheed him?"

  "But," said Isoult, "we hear for ever of his Highness' sageness andwisdom, such as 'tis said never had Prince afore him."

  "Did we not so of his father?" asked she, with a short laugh. "There bealway that will sing loud hymns to the rising or risen sun. Sagenessand wisdom, forsooth! of a lad of twelve years! He may be as sage as hewill, but he will not match Dr Stephen Gardiner yet awhile."

  A shudder ran through Isoult Avery at the name of the deviser of theBloody Statute. But the danger of the Protector was too serious aquestion to every Gospeller not to be recurred to and prayed against.

  "It doth seem to me, Jack," said Isoult that evening, when the story hadbeen told, "as though the cause of the Gospel should stand or fall withmy Lord Protector. What thinkest thou?"

  "Sweet wife," he answered, "if my Lord Protector were the only prop ofthe Gospel, it had fallen long ago. The prop of the Gospel is not myLord or thy Lord, but the Lord of the whole earth. His strength isenough to bear it up."

  "I know that, Jack," she said. "Yet God worketh by means; and my LordProtector gone, who else is there?"

  "Nay, child!" answered Dr Thorpe. "Is God so lately become unable ofthese stones to raise up children unto Abraham? Shall He, by whose worda nation shall be born in a day, be too weak to strengthen the King, indespite of his tender y
ears, or to raise up another man that shallfollow in the wake of my Lord Protector?"

  "I know God can do miracles," said Isoult, somewhat despondingly.

  "`For all but me'--is that thy thought, sweeting?" asked Avery, smiling.

  "But where is there a man?" cried Isoult.

  "How know I?" said Dr Thorpe. "Some whither in the Indies, it may be.But the Lord shall surely fetch him thence when the time cometh.Prithee, Jack, bid thy friend the Hot Gospeller to dinner, and leave ussee if he (that I gather from thy talk to be mighty busy in publicmatters) can find us a man for the time."

  Avery smiled, and said he would ask Mr Underhill to dinner. But Isoultshook her head, averring that neither Dr Thorpe nor even the HotGospeller could find a man for the time.

  For some days, at her husband's desire, Isoult had been on the look-outfor a bower-woman to replace Jennifer. She inquired from Mrs Brent andother neighbours, but could nowhere hear of a satisfactory person. Onthe Sunday evening following Philippa's visit, as they were coming homefrom Saint Botolph's, the church which stood at the top of the Minories,Isoult heard her name softly called from the crowd of dispersingworshippers. She looked up into a pair of black, pensive eyes, whichshe knew to belong to an old friend--a converted Jewess, who had beenone of her bridesmaids, but whom she had never met since that time. Thefriends halted and clasped hands.

  "I knew not you were in this vicinage," said Esther in her grave manner,"but methought that face could belong to none other."

  "We dwell at this present in the Minories," said Isoult, "and are butnow come hither, by reason of certain riots in the western parts. Andwhere dwell you?"

  "I am now abiding," she replied, "with a friend, one Mistress Little,until I may find conveniency to meet with a service: for I have left theone, and am not yet fallen in with the other."

  "And I am but now looking for a bower-woman," said Isoult.

  "Have you covenanted with any?" asked she quickly.

  "Nay," was the answer, "I have not yet fallen in with any with whom tocovenant."

  "Mrs Avery, will you take me?" she said, earnestly.

  "Nay," answered Isoult, "but will you come to me? I had thought youshould look for a much better service than mine."

  "I could not have a better, methinks," she responded, with a rathersorrowful smile. "I would right fain come to you, if that might be."

  "Then it may be, dear heart!" said Isoult, much moved by her urgency."I would fainer have you than any which I do know, unless it were AnnisHolland, that I have known from the cradle. But should it like you tofollow me into Devon? for we do look to return thither when the troublesare past."

  "I will follow you any whither," answered she. "I care nothing where Iam, only this,--that I would liefer be out of London than in it."

  So Esther came, and took up her quarters at the sign of the Lamb. Everyhouse in London had then its sign, which served the purpose of a number.

  Meanwhile the clouds gathered more darkly over the only man in power(excepting the boy-King himself), who really cared more for the welfareof England than for his own personal aggrandisement. And it was notEngland which forsook and destroyed Somerset. It was the so-calledLutheran faction, to the majority of whom Lutheranism was only the cloakwhich hid their selfish political intrigues. There had been a time whenSomerset was one of them, and had sought his own advancement as they nowdid theirs. And the deserted regiment never pardons the deserter. Thefaction complained that Somerset was proud and self-willed: he workedalone; he acted on his own responsibility; he did not consult hisfriends. This of course meant in the case of each member of the faction(as such complaints usually do), "He did not consult _me_." Somersetmight truthfully have pleaded in reply that he had not a friend toconsult. The Court held no friend to him; and, worst of all, his ownhome held none. He had, unquestionably, a number of acquaintances, ofthat class which has been well and wittily defined as consisting of"intimate enemies;" and he had a wife, who loved dearly the high titlehe had given her, and the splendid fortune with which she kept it up.But neither she nor any one else loved _him_--except One, who wassitting above the Water-floods, watching His tried child's life, andready, when his extremity should have come, to whisper to that weary andsorrowful heart, "Come and rest with Me."

  But that time was not yet. The battle must be fought before the restcould come.

  On Friday, the 5th of October, a private gathering of nineteen of theCouncil was held at Lord Warwick's house in Holborn--that Lord Warwickof whom I have already spoken as John Dudley, the half-brother of LadyFrances Monke. No man on earth hated Somerset more heartily thanWarwick, and perhaps only one other man hated him quite as much. Whilethey were yet debating how to ruin Somerset, a letter came in the King'sname from Secretary Petre, inquiring for what cause they thus gatheredtogether: if they wished to speak with the Protector they must comepeaceably. This letter sealed the fate of the conference--and ofSomerset. The victim, it was evident, was awake and watching. Ruinmight have served the original purpose: now only one end would serveit--death. But Warwick was one of the few who know how to wait.

  In this emergency--for he manifestly feared for his life--Somersetappealed to the only friends he had, the people of England. And Englandresponded to the appeal. Hour after hour thickened the crowd whichwatched round Hampton Court, where the King and Protector were; and inthe middle of Sunday night, when he thought it safe, Somerset hastenedto take refuge with his royal nephew in the strong-hold of Windsor [Note4], the crowd acting as guards and journeying with them.

  It was a false move. The populace were with Somerset, but the army waswith Warwick. The crowd melted away; the Lords held London; and onevery gate of the city a list of the charges against the Protector wasposted up. The bird, struggling vainly in the toils of the serpent, wasonly exhausting its own life.

  These were the charges (in substance), which Isoult Avery found DrThorpe carefully reading when she came home from the market on Mondaymorning. The old man was making comments as he proceeded, not verycomplimentary to my Lord of Warwick and his colleagues.

  "One. That he hath made inward divisions.

  "Two. That he hath lost his Majesty's pieces beyond the sea.

  "Three. That he did enrich himself in the war, and left the King's poorsoldiers unpaid of their wages.

  "Four. That he hath laboured to make himself strong in all countries.

  "Five. That he hath subverted all law, justice, and good order, wherebyhe hath fearfully shaken the chair of the King's seat.

  "Six. That he hath little esteemed the grave advice of the King's goodand faithful councillors.

  "Seven. That he hath little regarded the order appointed by King Henry,for the government of his son.

  "Eight. That he hath laboured to sow dissension in the kingdom amongthe nobles, gentlemen, and commoners.

  "Nine. That the King and kingdom hath suffered great loss by his wilfulnegligence."

  "`Shaken the chair of the King's seat!'" cried he. "If the men be notrebels that writ this paper, I have little wit to know what a rebel is.How dare they speak or think of shaking the King's seat, which is in thehands of God, and is accountable unto none save Him?--`Little esteemedthe advice of the King's faithful councillors'--to wit, the runagatesthat writ this paper. `Laboured to sow dissension betwixt the gentryand the commoners!' 'Tis the enclosures they point at, I reckon. What!was he the only man that allowed them? and who could have thought thecommons had been such dolts? Now let us see the names of these wise,good, and faithful councillors. `R. Rich, W. Saint John, W.Northampton, J. Warwick,'" [Note 5] and he paused a minute. "Isoult,"said he again, "methinks that Earl of Warwick is a knave."

  "I never thought him otherwise, Dr Thorpe," said Isoult quietly.

  Sir Anthony Wingfield was sent by the Lords of the Council to Windsor onthe following Friday. He parted the Lord Protector from the King, andset a strong guard to watch him until the coming of the Lords. On theSaturday the Lord Cha
ncellor and the Council rode to Windsor, and thatnight the Protector was set in ward in the Beauchamp Tower of WindsorCastle. And on the Monday afternoon was the Duke of Somerset (no longerLord Protector) brought to the Tower of London, riding between the Earlsof Southampton and Huntingdon, accompanied by many gentlemen, and threehundred horse. At his own desire, he came into London by way of SaintGiles in the Fields; and opposite Soper Lane were knights sitting onhorseback, and all the officers with halberds. And so they led him fromHolborn Bridge to Cheapside; where, with a loud voice, he cried to thebystanders, "Good people, I am as true a man to the King as any here."In all the streets were Aldermen or their deputies, on horseback; andthe householders, each man at his door, all standing with bills in theirhands, as he passed. And so he was conducted to the Tower, where heremained.

  "As true a man to the King!" Poor little Edward, bewildered anddeceived! He did not know there was none other half so true.

  ------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Note 1. The enclosure riots had a more religious aspect in the Westthan in the East or the Midland Counties.

  Note 2. William Lord Grey de Wilton was an eminent General, and astaunch Gospeller. He had been a member of the Council at Calais duringthe persecution, and his close friendship with Lord and Lady Lisle isshown by the fact that of his three children, two bore their names.Lord Grey died at Cheston, near Waltham, December 25, 1562.

  Note 3. The Minories was then to all intents in the country. A singlestreet, Whitechapel Bars, lay between it and the Spital Field on thenorth; in front (west) was the city wall, with its gardens; on the eastlay Goodman's Fields, and an open space to the south, bounded by theTower enclosure and the Thames. It must have been a very pleasantsuburb.

  Note 4. Most historians say that the removal was against Edward's will.The account given by himself shows no trace of any such feeling.

  Note 5. At this era, peers did not use their titles only in signature,but added at least the initial of the Christian name.