Freston Tower

CHAPTER XV.

THE JUDGMENT.

The guests were all seated in the ancient palace-hall, and before them were placed the profuse hospitality of one whose board was as regularly supplied by mayor, portmen, burgesses, commonalty, and gentry in the country, as if they were all tenants of the See, and bound to furnish the Bishop's board. There was, in those days, no niggard bounty, no measured dole to the comer; but such as could feast on ample fare, without intoxicating potions, were welcome to the palace. Latimer had been introduced to Alice as the friend of Lord De Freston. Alice took her seat in the assembly, as if every creature before her was her slave. Her stern, majestic, pale, oval face, with the conical headdress of the period, gave her such a lofty look, that it was the theme of observation amongst most of the guests.

How haughty is the Bishop's queen! was the speech of more than one of the guests, as she surveyed the assemblage before her, and scarcely condescended to give a glance of recognition, much less a word, to any one.

Ellen De Freston, who had known the failing of Alice, was pained to see how deeply it had grown upon her since she had last seen her; but she was doubly pained to observe in her a contempt for every one there present, but more especially for her cousin, William Latimer.

In vain did he endeavor to elicit one word from his haughty companion. To see the man in whose society men so delighted, whose converse was the purest and most gentle, and, at the same time, so wise and elegant, set at naught, by one whose pride alone gave her any pretension to dignity, was something so revolting to her nature, and so foreign to her ideas of respect, that she could not fail to feel for Latimer at every attempt he made to address the haughty Alice.

The proud Alice would condescend to speak to the Lord De Freston, but a supercilious stare was the sole result of every attempt on the part of Latimer to draw a word from her.

'He is the friend of my father,' thought Ellen. 'Surely, he cannot be aware of the indignity she puts upon that friend by her behaviour. He would never encourage such hauteur by engaging in conversation with her, if he could see the gentle and manly Latimer treated as he in by Alice. But he sees it not.'

It was evidently observed by Daundy, who was seated near to Ellen.

'Do you see, my fair Ellen, how that haughty maid flaunts at the young scholar's address to her? Latimer must feel himself very uncomfortable. I rejoice that I am not near her; I might be apt to forget even the courtesy of the Bishop, and tell her she had better keep to her own closet than pretend to come into society, and not know how to behave in it.'

'I perceive it,' replied Ellen, 'and I am almost indignant enough to wish that you had the opportunity of giving a deserved rebuke to the spirit of pride which, delights in paining the humble. I am sure Latimer feels deeply wounded by such treatment.'

If the conduct of Alice wounded the gentle and generous Latimer, he was more than repaid by the sign of interest which Ellen evinced for him. It was then, for the first moment of his life, that the thought of love came down upon his soul, and dispelled the gloom of sorrow which had brooded over his mind at the pride of the fair one near him. It was a similar thought that aroused in Ellen the blush of consciousness, as she felt the first throb of the warm blood rush from her heart, in sympathy with the architect of Freston Tower.

It was perhaps well, just at this moment, that Latimer and Ellen were called upon to listen to the language of orators upon the most vital and important subject which could come under human contemplation.

John Bale, who had waited patiently till grace had been chaunted, and was expected to speak publicly before the Bishop upon matters touching some scruples he entertained, rose. Silence being enjoined, he addressed the Bishop in these words:

'I rise, my Lord Bishop, though with many misgivings, on account of the time and place for such occasion, to put a very serious question for your judgment. Nothing where you preside can be said, I trust, in an unbecoming spirit, and nothing, certainly, should be spoken without charity. I humbly, pray, then, for the full protection of your presence upon this occasion, that if we speak with respect, we may not be insulted with ribaldry.

'We maintain that the Scriptures are given by God, to be a chastening warning and correction to the sinner's soul, a comfort to the righteous, and God's great boon to all the world. That without these Scriptures, commonly called the Bible, salvation cannot be properly known and understood. That they alone contain the truth which we ought to preach and teach, and the observances which we ought to hold. That the pious should receive such truth, and the learned preach it. That no man can know anything of God's will or his decrees but from the Sacred Scriptures. That all our learning of languages is but to keep these Scriptures pure, and to teach the unlearned and ignorant therefrom the sure and certain meaning of the Word ones spoken to man.

'We advocate the cause of the Scriptures being placed in the hands of the people, and maintain that, so far from this derogating from our authority, such a step would tend to increase the respect paid us, since all men can then see that the doctrines we preach and teach are the solid truth. That if the Scriptures be withheld, no man's judgment can be sound upon what we teach; for without them, it is impossible they should acknowledge the truth of our preaching.

'I request your voice and judgment hereupon, to say whether we hold or not, in these matters, anything contrary to true discipline and the right directions of mankind. I know your mind to be replete with learning, and that you do not despise others, nor would destroy research, in the bosom of the church. I, therefore, the more confidently commit what I say to your consideration, and await your answer.'

There was a pause among the auditors before the Bishop; though the priest of St. Peter looked as if he would tear his crimson vest in pieces. The priest also of St. Saviour's was so much stirred that he felt as if the sin of schism was in the very palace. He rose up from his seat like a rampant and roaring lion, and for very rage could scarcely keep his hands off the humble man who had resumed his seat. He did not, as it was, fail to give him a curse in no very gentle terms.

'Heretic!' he exclaimed, 'thou art doomed to the fiercest and deadliest death. Down to the darkest doom beneath, where the devil and death prevail.

'Canst thou hear him, my Lord Bishop, defame the very church of which thou art thyself a prelate? Does he dare to mention in thy presence his deeds of shame? Hear him, Bishop Goldwell! Like Wickliffe, he wishes that all could read that he might sell his Bible, and get paid for his pains. He would raise up the people like wild hyenas to come and feast upon the priesthood. Observe how insidiously he turns the whole tenor of his argument upon placing the Bible in the hands of the common people. He does not say he would subvert the hierarchy; he does not say he would do away with the priesthood; but he speaks as if we were all dishonest, and he would not have the people believe one word we speak.

'He will not abide by the decision of the Papal power, though he now seems to acknowledge thy right of jurisdiction over him. This is but an insidious covering for treachery; for whilst he pays thee court, and owns thy supremacy in ecclesiastical affairs, he denies the very power by which thou, O Goldwell! holdest thine authority. His words are as smooth as oil, yet he will not own that the church has the right of sole interpretation of those Scriptures which he is such an advocate for placing in the hands of the people.

'He will not admit that the Pope has the keys of St. Peter; that he is the head of the Christian church, and the only infallible source from which decision can be given. He would have the people taught no longer to depend upon our teaching, but would have them dispute our authority and deny to us the powers of absolution. So, my lord, he would have the people believe they are quite as good judges of scriptural things as we are; and shortly they will think they have quite as much right to this palace and the revenues thereof as thou hast.

'But shall this heretic teach them never to believe in our commission to stand betwixt their souls and heaven, to give them their meat in proper season, and explain the Word, as we ourselves receive it? I flatter thee not with enticing words, knowing that the judgment of the church is with thee, and that thou wilt not fear to pronounce that heresy which militates against the teaching of the church. I beseech thee not to cherish and encourage heretics within the precincts of thy palace. I have done. I await thy judgment with confidence.'

He had no sooner taken his seat than the youthful Bilney rose, his heart full of sorrow, woe, and trouble, yet throbbing alone for the truth. He had seen, with an eagle's eyes, the sins of the papal hierarchy, and sighed to be free from the pestilential darkness which covered, as with a veil, the light of the Scriptures. He addressed himself to the Bishop in the following terms:

'Thou knowest, Bishop Goldwell, that I came not here this day, to intrude upon thy privacy, or to boast in defiance of thine authority; but that thou thyself didst desire that I should speak out candidly before others that which I had more privately and conscientiously divulged to thee. I know that thine intention was good in this: that thou didst it to elicit the truth, and never intended that we should be in thy presence and in thine own palace insulted and have epithets of opprobrium cast upon us; nay, that we should be condemned without benefit of clergy to the nethermost shades of hell.

'It is the rule of thy board that every man should have full liberty to speak, provided he confine his arguments within the prescribed limits of decency and order. I cannot enter upon the all-important matters which I conceive it my duty to lay before thee, if I am to meet with the same frantic and uncourteous treatment which my friend has just received at the hands of the priest of St. Saviour's. There can no charity dwell where rancor burns within.

'Owning thy full authority here, I shall not attempt to speak until I hear thee lay down the law of thy palace, and command that we be at least so far respected before thee, that we may not be afraid to give utterance to whatever we may advance.'

Bilney sat down, and the priests of Ipswich looked a little confused at the clear and manly tone of speech with which this young man then addressed the Bishop before the company. There was wisdom enough in it to call forth these words from Goldwell.

'Thou art invited freely to speak, and not summoned hither to answer to any accusation of crime or heresy, and to deliver thy sentiments without any personal fear. I like thy temper, and must insist upon my clergy's observance of such forms of decorum as the courtesy of my palace demands. Thou must not be surprised, indeed, if thy doctrines and those of thy friend Bale should create a little rheum in the spirits of those so unaccustomed to have any of their decisions disputed.

'Thou mayest go on, and should thine opponents, friends as they are to me, and subordinate to my authority, conduct themselves in an unbecoming manner, thou mayest depend upon the soundness of my judgment to give them a merited rebuke. Hoping I shall hear nothing more of acrimony, I invite thee to proceed.'

CHAPTER XVI.

JUDGMENT CONTINUED.

All paid respect to the person and speech of Goldwell; all acknowledged his influence; and, had he rose to retire, not an individual would have remained to dispute one moment longer any matter whatsoever. All knew this well; so that, when the Bishop had once declared his decision, not the most furious zealot dared to utter a word. Bilney rose amidst the most profound silence.

'I can perceive,' he said, 'most worthy prelate, how very quickly these priests of Ipswich judge our motives, how little credit they give us for sincerity, and how soon they would gag our mouths, could they prevent our speech before thee. I am glad to find, however, that they pay thee the respect which not only thine office, but thyself dost deserve, inasmuch as they retain silence at thy command. I am silent, Bishop Goldwell, if thou dost command me; but, as thou hast given me liberty to speak, I will confine my observations to the one point which my friend has taken up upon this occasion—namely, the giving the Word of God into the hands of the people.

'Now, if I, or any other person having authority so to do, preaches the gospel, is the source whence we derive all our knowledge to be concealed? I would ask, supposing a messenger came to thee to order thee to go to such a place, wouldst thou not ask whence he derived his authority, what credentials he had to show for thine undertaking such a journey?

'No man would attend the bidding of another unless the bidding came from a source he could not dispute, and he was convinced it was his duty to obey. So I maintain before thee and all this assembly, that when we preach and teach the glad tidings of salvation, the people should have the law and the testimony, the Old and New Testaments, before them, that they may judge of the truth of the message, invitation, or threatenings which we hold forth.

'How is it possible for the people to believe any truth of Scripture without the assurance of the Scriptures themselves? I might as well preach the heathen mythology if they are merely to believe what we tell them, without our laying before them the grounds of our belief.

'I would never believe there were such persons as Adam, Abel, Seth, or Noah, or such an event as the Deluge, or such a person as Abraham, or the promise given to him as is recorded, without I had read or heard the Scriptures read, from whence the knowledge of such things and persons is derived. And how can we expect that the things we would not believe ourselves without such evidences, others should take upon a man's mere ipse dixit?

'It is here that men are subject both to credulity and incredulity; but give them the whole Word of God, let them see the wisdom which it conveys, let them think for themselves, and I am persuaded that we need never be afraid of the spread of divine knowledge.

'We cannot pretend to be inspired prophets of God, deriving from him a direct communication independent of that which he has once shed upon his ancient prophets and apostles. However secluded and separated we may be from the rest of the world—I ask thee, Bishop Goldwell—can we derive a direct communication from Heaven beyond the written Word of God? I do maintain then, that we should teach nothing for doctrine, but what the Revelation of God has unfolded.

'I would not, therefore, have the Word of God a sealed book amongst us, but spread far and wide among all people, that honest hearts may see the salvation of God, and glorify the Father of Light from whom it proceeded.

'Such appearing, to my mind, to be the wisdom required in the present day to drive from men's minds the clouds of darkness, I ask thee, Bishop Goldwell, wherein I speak what can, with justice, be called heretical? I should be glad to hear thy decision upon this point.'

The priest of St. Peter rose quickly from his seat, and stood erect before the company. He had his hair shorn with the utmost precision, his scalp bald, save the curling edges of grey hair which were allowed to cover his ears. He had a dark, black, piercing eye, which told of anything but calmness, every now and then flashing at Bilney and at the Bishop, as if it would strike a spark out of theirs to consume them. His spirit was evidently perturbed within him, and he could scarcely compose his nerves sufficiently to let his words come forth without passion.

He shook his vest with anger, as if he would not be contaminated with the touch of such men as spake that day.

'Shall the church,' he exclaimed vehemently, 'hold no more traditions? Shall we teach no kind of observances? Is the advice of our prelates and preachers to be no longer listened to, except it accord with the crude notions of this man? Are the people to run wild here and there after such preachers as John Bale and Thomas Bilney? We may as well at once give up our holy vows, and yield our right to the power of this wild abuse—that the people are to have private judgment, and cavil at our interpretation of the Bible. They hear our anthems, they join our prayers, they attend our altars, receive our absolution, and what would they have more? They want not to trouble their heads about the Scriptures. It is surely much better for them to accept what we tell them than to seek to be wise above learned men.

'But if their minds become disturbed by such men as these, there is no telling what may be the consequence. The real fact, Bishop Goldwell, is, these men have become bitter enemies to the Church of Rome, and, under the pretence of introducing the Scriptures to the notice of the people, they take every opportunity of inveighing against our authority. They know themselves deserving of censure from the church, they subject themselves to punishment, and I should think it no more than a duty I owed to the church, if I were in thy place, to commit them at once to the custody of some keeper.

'I conjure thee, venerable Prelate, not to listen to their complaint; "the poison of asps is under their lips, and they do but flatter with their tongues." I conjure thee, by the vows thou hast taken to support the church, to summon at once to thy court at Norwich these refractory sons of the church, that they may be made to answer before thy dean and chapter for the evil they have done; that if they do not cease publishing their absurd notions of religious freedom, their mouths may be stopped by thine authority, which, if thou dost fail to use, I tell thee before this company that I shall at once make a complaint to the Pope.

'It is all very well for thee to make this show of popularity in this ancient palace, and at thine own board, but a bishop who is so discourteous to his own clergy, and so very partial to these recusants, is not, I conceive, faithful to his trust. I am discontented and dissatisfied with the treatment which we true sons of the Roman Catholic Church have met with this day, and I conceive that a just cause of complaint is given to the hierarchy in Ipswich; and, unless a direct distinction be forthwith made in our behalf, I shall call upon all my brethren to join me in a petition to the higher authorities, that we may be justified in the sight of our fellow-townsmen.'

A dead silence pervaded that assembly, and even the Bishop waited to see if any other speaker would venture to utter a word. All eyes were turned towards the place where he sat; yet the only person seen to move was Alice De Clinton, who, leaning towards the Bishop, begged an exchange of place with Lord De Freston, that she might the more easily communicate what she had to say in the Bishop's ear. From her well-known character, her stern dignity, and cold-blooded, chilly disposition, it was well considered that nothing amiable could proceed. It was with some degree of shame that the Lord De Freston saw this female influence exercised, as unbecoming modesty as it was the real interest of her sex.

Ellen read in her father's face his dissatisfaction, little thinking that the sight of her intelligent countenance would awaken the eloquence of her friend Latimer; but De Freston had been speaking to him and urging him to say a word upon the occasion. Alice, however, having taken her seat with immoveable frigidity of feature, and silence still prevailing, Latimer rose.

'As a stranger to thee, Bishop Goldwell, and to the greater part of this company, I should not have risen to give utterance to the words of my heart had I not been urged thereto by my learned and truly liberal friend Lord De Freston. He assures me that, so far from being affronted with my boldness, thou wilt be the rather pleased that I venture to trespass upon the attention of thine assembly. At Oxford we are, as it is well-known, infected, if I may so call it, with orthodoxy, overgrown to such a state of particularity as to make things in themselves of no moment appear of the utmost consequence, and things of the most vital interest of but minor consideration. We are, moreover, intent upon learning, and never doubt for a moment that wisdom will ultimately prevail.

'If a youth who departed from this town a few years ago, and who has since become so distinguished for his learning and wisdom were here this day, I should keep silence before him and thee, well convinced that he would be much better able to speak those truths which I conceive ought this moment to be spoken. His relatives and friends I see before me, and some of them may not be sorry to hear me reëcho his sentiments, though they may regret his absence. Speaking in our theatre, some days ago, upon the same subject this day discussed, I heard him declare, in a long and animated speech, the duties of students with regard to scriptural learning, and the study of the original languages in which the Scriptures were written; but as all could not be learned enough to understand many things difficult therein, the duty of the ministry is to explain those things, and to afford living examples of that faith which they teach and preach. He hoped to see the time when the Scriptures might be unlocked and distributed in abundance to feed the people. His arguments were based upon the grounds of truth, that the Word of God can never be too widely circulated.

'The clergy, he declared, were but a very small portion of the visible church, and would lose nothing of their influence with the people by liberating their minds from ignorance of the Word of the living God. In speaking of heresy, he maintained before the whole university that it was nothing heretical to disseminate the Scriptures.

'I mention Wolsey as my authority for this assertion, not only because I know that in this his native place his fame is justly celebrated, his learning esteemed, and he himself, though young, is so highly respected, but because, Bishop Goldwell, his sentiments accord with my own. I would ask any man here present, who desires to know anything of his Redeemer, how he is to do so without the Scriptures? Our Saviour said, "Search the Scriptures, for in them ye think ye have eternal life, and these be they which testify of me." Now if we can have the Scriptures to search, it is our duty to look into them, that we may discover the truth as it is in Him.

'I see before me all the principal priests of the various parishes in this town, who all are attached to the ancient See of Rome. I value the preservation of the records of truth there as highly as any of them; but I say now, that heresy consists in the introduction of impositions, not required by the Word of God. The impositions I call heresies, are those of teaching for doctrine the commandment of men.

'I was at Bury lately, and saw what numbers of devout penitents were sent from all parts of the kingdom to pay their devotion to a piece of St. Edmund's shirt: Is not this heresy? There I saw what was termed the sinew of St. Edmund, his sword, the parings of his toes; and are such things to be held sacred?

'The monks showed me certain drops of what they termed St. Stephen's blood. Even if it had been the blood of Stephen, was it an object to be worshipped? is not this heresy? They showed me the coals on which St. Lawrence was broiled, Thomas à Becket's boots and his penknife, and numerous other things, to all of which they attributed such a degree of sanctity, that I was convinced of their ignorance; and however much history, revelation, and faith, might induce me to thank God for the examples of such men, I could not but think it heresy to pay any kind of adoration to relics of such things.

'But the spread of God's Word cannot be heresy, nor are those who preach it heretics. God grant that our country may be the foremost to spread the light of truth over this benighted world. Nothing can be productive of so much happiness, either to the priest or the people, as this enlightenment. But I have done, Bishop Goldwell, and I have only to apologise for the length of time I have occupied the attention of this assembly.'

Latimer took his seat, not without a smile of thanks from Ellen, which not even the stern expression of Alice could in the least chill. Yet Alice frowned at Ellen as if she despised her for that look; and nothing but the rising of Bishop Goldwell to speak to his guests prevented her precipitate and indignant retirement.

CHAPTER XVII.

ST. IVAN'S WARNING.

Silence prevailed amongst the guests as the venerable prelate rose to reply. Looks, yes, fiery looks, shot to the head of that board against the learned Latimer; and even Lord De Freston, with all his well-known bounty, liberality, orthodoxy, and piety, did not escape the furious glances of St. Peter's priests; nor of the violent advocates for the Pope's supremacy. They gnashed upon him with their teeth; and could have wept for very vexation. So serious did the matter seem, that there were many peaceful townsmen who wished most heartily that they were at home with their wives and children, instead of being witnesses of this unbecoming hospitality.

The Bishop, with great knowledge of the world—a truly liberal heart, yet not without deep prejudices, which in that day were not so easily subdued as in this, replied:

'I have ever considered it one of the best privileges of my palace of Wykes, that here the stranger may speak unmolested, that we may all reap the benefit of each other's experience in learning, science, travel, or the wonders of nature, art, or industry. On this account has the hospitality of this roof been devoted to the purposes of an open free court; wherein as long as men behave themselves with courtesy, so long shall they and their communications be respected.

'It has been my lot, frequently, to hear interesting discussions upon science, upon the ancient interpretation of words. Frequently, both naval and military works have been propounded, the uses of the rudder, and very lately, that new and wonderful invention, the compass. The discoveries of distant shores have been spoken of; the manners, arts, customs, and peculiarities of people scarcely heard of before are made familiar to us; and we have all participated in the interesting information.

'The very openness of my table has afforded the power to suppress mere hearsay reports of things, and to bring forward those that are trustworthy. But nothing has so much puzzled the brains of many leading liberal men, as the now rising discussions upon the subject of religion.

'Each speaker claims for himself sincerity, and we are bound to respect what he says as coming from a heart devoted to a holy cause. Yet how opposite do I find the tendencies of both. On one side it is maintained that the Scriptures should be freely given to the people, and be expanded as the waters of the broad sea over the earth. Another maintains that it is unprofitable so to do; that the Scriptures should be confined to the contemplation of the learned; so that the priesthood alone should be the readers, preachers, and expounders thereof, and that the people should he hearers and doers.

'Now there is much truth in both these positions. We well know that if one nation goes to war with another, that which has the best disciplined army will generally prevail. If soldiers were to fight just as they pleased, and be under no orders from their superior officers, they would soon be but a rabble route, and be easily defeated by steady and well-conducted troops. If battles are to be fought, it is evident there must be command and a commander; obedience and men to observe it. Mutual confidence is necessary to ultimate success. Even officers have to obey their superiors, and though each must rely on the aid of Heaven for success, yet each must obey some superior on earth.

'So do I maintain that obedience is necessary in every department of the church, and that if the spread of the Scriptures among the people shall tend to disaffection instead of obedience, we do wisely to keep the records of religion confined to the knowledge of the priesthood.

'My opinion, therefore, is given freely upon this subject. It is our duty to obey the Pope as our chief commanding officer, who holds his head-quarters at Rome. Your officers receive their commissions from him, and are responsible for their obedience to him. And, as one of his marshals, I command you to keep holy your sacred vow of obedience, and to fight the fight of faith under his banners.

'I do not see that Wolsey should have any weight whatever in the councils of the church. He is, no doubt, a good and clever young man; and is held in very proper estimation among his friends in this, his native place; but others in the church are as good and wise as he, and their judgment is not to be despised. Older heads opine that it is not at all necessary to salvation that a man should read the Scriptures; and I, for one, think if the people are thereby to be stirred up to rebellion, they had better never read them at all.

'We do not intend to cite you, Bale and Bilney, to our court, at Norwich, to answer for the dissemination of doctrines which we deem calculated to stir up strife and contention in the church. Nor thee, Latimer, for thy harsh declarations against the Prior and monks of St. Edmund's Bury, albeit we do seriously admonish thee not to let words of indiscretion escape thy lips. To all we freely extend the customary privileges of the Palace of Wykes, and declare that you are irresponsible for your expressions here this day, but I warn you to beware how you take advantage of this custom only to lie here observed, and venture to express these vague opinions in the world.

'We command you, by virtue of our ecclesiastical authority, to spread no more those doctrines which we do consider tending to mutiny in our camp, and exhort you as good soldiers to keep your ranks free from disaffection.

'Though we freely pardon the errors of all this day, and shall dismiss you in peace to your respective homes; yet we are assured, that if these contentions should continue beyond these walls, some delegate from Rome will receive ample powers to punish all refractory children who may provoke the displeasure of the Holy See. We spare you now, and bid you all obey, and all farewell.'

At the very instant in which the Bishop rose to depart, a voice from without exclaimed—'Make way for the Hermit St. Ivan!' and, with breathless agitation, the venerable old man strode up to that part of the hall directly opposite the Bishop. It was evident to every one that he was fatigued with over exertion. He leaned against a pillar, as if to recover himself—refused to be seated, though he kept every one standing around him. He twice essayed to speak—lifted his arms to heaven, and demanded, by his actions, that they would pause a moment to hear him.

The sight of the man was enough to interest any one. His head uncovered, his staff in his hand, his eye beaming with philanthropy, though evidently excited by his intended communication. He had, indeed, hurried into the hall, he had seen the vibrations of the waters, and knew that the walls of Wykes' Bishop's Palace could not stand long. He knew, likewise, that unless he could deliver himself in an authoritative and alarming manner, that many souls must perish. He had no desire they should, and therefore he assumed a sort of prophetical manner of address which the imminence of the danger alone warranted.

His warning is given in such quaint, old poetry, and is yet so forcible, that to narrate it in a set speech would destroy its effect; and to give it in its old style would be tedious to the reader. He must pardon, therefore, its transposition into language more in accordance with modern phraseology, though, perhaps, not so genuinely characteristic of the hermit.

St. Ivan's Warning.

'The time is come, proud Goldwell, hear?
I speak to thee no more with fear!
Though round thee shining lords attend
And priests with burgesses may blend;
And haughty in thy palace fair,
Alice De Clinton has her share,
And mocks to scorn whoe'er she will,
And bids the hermit's voice be still.
I bid her listen to my lay,
I call her from this scene away;
And tell both thee and her and all,
They must obey the hermit's call.

'The time is come! the warning lake
Already doth the palace shake.
There stands by thee the haughty maid
Whose pride and cruelty are said
To govern thee and urge thee on
To deeds no bishop yet hath done.
The poor despise her though they bow
In fear of frowns from such a brow.
I, too, have felt within my cell
Her hate can burn as demon's spell;
For none who humbly live to love,
To her can acceptable prove;
And were not here a better found,
These walls would tremble to the ground.
But her I warn to haste away,
Nor longer in this palace stay,
Lest she and thee, and hers and thine,
Be buried by St. Agnes' shrine.

'The time is come—the doom is spoken,
Spells of life and charms are broken;
And thou mayst live as yet thy day,
But here thy bones thou shalt not lay!
No more on thee, Wykes' Bishop's Hill,
With verdure green find pleasant rill,
Shall smile upon thy turrets' dome,
Nor more to thee thy people come
To meet thee in this place of peace;
Its pleasant days must quickly cease;
And men from yonder hill shall say,
"How soon does grandeur pass away!
There stood in state Wykes' Bishop's Hall,
How sudden was its rise and fall."

'The time is come; I look around
On those who now within are found;
De Freston, hasten thou away,
Nor let thy maiden longer stay.
Lest thou shouldst rue the hapless hour
Thou didst forsake thy lofty tower,
And seek to minister thine aid
Of friendship to a haughty maid.
Go! haste away. Oh, couldst thou tell
How deeply in my lowly cell
I oft have prayed for thee and thine,
Thou wouldst respect the hermit's shrine.

The time is come! fair maid of peace,
Ellen De Freston, thy release
From danger here will only prove
A greater danger in thy love.
But haste away! thou dost not know
The anger of thy deadly foe.

The time is come! Good townsmen flee.
These walls are tottering, and must be
Known as a place of midnight feast,
Where owls and bats by day will rest.
But never more will matin bell,
Or vespers' sound, be heard to tell
Wykes' Bishop's priests the anthem raise,
A duty to the saints they praise;
But bell and belfry both shall fall
Before another matin's call.

'The time is come, thou haughty maid,
Whose eye now shining on the dead,
With stain of pride and cruel scorn,
Falls not on one who feels forlorn.
Thou'lt feel the loftiness of pride
When raised, unknown, unseen, denied.
Thou think'st thyself to be a queen,
And com'st to nothing in thy spleen!
He comes to raise, and take thee home:
Proud maid he comes—the time—'

The old man's voice here totally failed him. A pallid hue was seen to spread itself over his countenance, which underwent a complete change. His head fell gently back against the stone pillar, and the hermit St. Ivan stood a corpse in the hall of Wykes' Bishop's Palace. At the same moment, the glass of those beautiful windows cracked from the very top of the arch to the bottom, and fell inwards—a tumbling; noise was heard—the outer walls fell down; and bishop, lord, lady, priest, burgess, townsman, visitor, monk, traveller, friar, and mendicant, together with porter, warder, serving-men, and slaves, all fled in terror over the drawbridge, leaving St. Ivan standing against the pillar, the only one who was unconscious of fear, inasmuch as he was dead.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE FALL OF THE PALACE OF WYKES

Terror was depicted in every countenance as the drawbridge, that mass of stone, iron, wood, and brick-work was seen to give way, and divide with a crash, falling into the waters of the deep moat which surrounded the palace. Every inmate of that place who could move escaped before this catastrophe took place; and a motley group of terrified faces stood looking upon the troubled waters, the yawning land, the falling walls, as one after another of those massive pieces of stone fell inwards upon the beautiful tesselated pavements of the courts, and refectory, and cells, which had been so kept by the Bishop's serving men.

It was as if an earthquake had suddenly shaken the building to its foundation; but it was nothing more than a sudden landslip, arising from the springs which let in the banks of the moat, so as to lessen its once formidable barrier into the appearance of a ditch. This was not apparent at this moment, for the waters were so raised by the sudden ingress of the earth, that for a time a flood spread itself over both sides of these banks. It was only when the excess of water had escaped down the stream of the Holy Wells, into the Orwell, that the barrier became less formidable.

The Bishop and his niece were not long spectators of that terrible catastrophe. He was apparently excited to consternation, and showed it by his hasty departure, with Alice De Clinton, for Goldwell Hall.

Philanthropy moved in the heart of De Freston, who, after confiding his daughter to the care of Latimer, desired him to go at once to the mansion, of his relative and friend, Antony Wingfield, then in treaty with De Freston for the sale of those very premises which afterwards became his property. The young Antony had then consigned his mansion in Brook Street, and his chapel of St. Mary's, to the Lord De Freston. This chapel was called the Lady Grey's chapel; and was the spot in which De Freston requested his daughter, and such as liked to accompany her, to go and return thanks for their deliverance. Meantime, a messenger was sent to Freston Castle, for horses and men, to convey his daughter and her attendants home.

Alice De Clinton did not wait even to invite Ellen to accompany her to Goldwell Hall. She would have died before she would have condescended to show any affection towards one whom she considered as a favorer of heretics. Hence her haughty departure with her less haughty uncle, and such retainers as at such a time were not too terrified to attend upon them.

De Freston, having disposed of his daughter Ellen, turned his attention to the state of those unhappy domestics of the palace, who were then without house and home; and by his interest with the monks of St. Peter's Priory, and other religious houses, together with his more private interest with numerous rich householders in the borough, he got them all treated in such a way as to suppress their cries of lamentation at the fall of Wyke's Bishop's Palace.

Thousands of spectators soon collected round the spot, upon the green hills in the vicinity, to look upon the prostrate ruins. The central pillars alone of that proud building stood erect; and every now and then an alarm was given that they were seen to totter. The expanse of waters did not subside that night, so that the flood had reached to the very foot of the hills, in consequence of the main-buttress of the drawbridge having fallen, and choked up the passage of the stream, where the waters usually escaped to the Orwell.

Had any one been disposed to go over to the ruins, they could not have done so without a boat, and the only one belonging to the gardener had been sunk by the pressure of the falling boat-house. There was no fear, however, of any such intrusion. Men who looked upon the sacred edifice were too cautious to think of venturing over the waters, lest they should be buried under its walls.

Conversation, however, was alive, and superstition not less active among the people, for many said they had seen the Hermit St. Ivan hastening over the drawbridge into the castle, and many had heard him say that when he did so the walls would fall down. Some had dreamed one thing, some another. Some prognosticated the fall of Bishop Goldwell and his proud niece. Some had seen a strange thing fly up the chimney the night before—and one had seen St. Ivan riding upon a black cloud over the hills to the river, and was sure some catastrophe would befal him. Innumerable ingenious speculations were started, and as is very often the case in calamities of any kind, it was attributed to all sorts of causes.

'I will not believe,' said butcher Stannard, 'that St. Ivan is dead, until I know his ceil is deserted; so, who will go with me to the Holy Wells? What, none willing to go? What a set of cowards you all are!'

'I saw him go across the drawbridge, and I have heard him say, he should never return alive!'

'And so have I,' replied the butcher, 'and I have heard that he is now beneath those ruins, and yet I have my doubts, and if no one will go to the cave with me, I will go alone.'

The sturdy butcher started off for the deep dell of the Holy Wells, followed at a respectable distance by two or three of the townsmen, whose curiosity had been excited: but who gave him plenty of space to show his bravery by himself, not willing to interrupt him, or interfere with his ascent to the hermit's cell. A party stood at the foot of the stone steps by which Stannard ascended to the cave. He had indeed called aloud to the old man before he ventured to ascend—but of course received no answer.

He entered the cave—he found a rustic table with a Latin Bible thereupon, a lamp suspended from the ceiling, two loaves of brown bread in a recess, and a jug of water.

The cave was dry, and strewed with rushes; his bed was formed of the same material, placed upon a ledge of sandstone rock; a few boxes of salves, and bottles of medicine were ready to be given to the poor: but this strange habitation possessed no pretensions to comforts. Yet here Ivan had been for many years, the celebrated hermit of the Holy Wells.

Butcher Stannard soon returned, convinced, and convincing others that the old man was only to be found under the ruins of the Bishop's Palace.

Gorgeous tapestry might be seen floating in the wind from the various broken down compartments. The walls had mostly fallen inwards, and the waters had rushed into the court, and escaped through the broken and other confined masses on the other side. A more complete specimen of ruin could not be seen: valuable pieces of furniture, panels, and legs of tables, were floated out of the ruins upon the moat, and these were strictly preserved, as relics, and carried to the various religious houses, as mementoes of the once flourishing palace of the Bishops of Norwich, the first and the last in the ancient town of Ipswich. What a wretched sight did that palace now afford: but how much more calamitous might it have been, had the festive hour not been so suddenly interrupted by the entrance of St. Ivan. It was better that the palace should fall down than that souls should perish therein.

The site of the palace—the spot of the Hermit's cell—the stream of the Holy Wells, are still to be seen, though now the square plot of ground is an orchard belonging to the owner of Holy Wells, and the stream which then flowed in a direct line to the river is now diverted, and forms magnificent fish ponds.

Tradition still preserves the name of the Hermit: and the monks of St. Peter, after his decease, though they had been jealous of his sanctity, raised a cross to his memory, at the Holy Wells, which went by the name of St. Ivan's Cross, and became a place of pilgrimage for saints and sinners, for two hundred years afterwards.

Throughout the records of that day, nothing is discoverable but the jarring complaints of the Prior of St. Peter's and his brethren, at the influence of the hermit of the Holy Wells, who would not submit to observe any of the rites and ceremonies of the Church of Rome, without a restitution of his lands, hereditaments, and rights in Wykes Ufford and Whitton, which belonged to his ancestors, and descended from them to himself. It is recorded that he sued the Bishops of Norwich in the ecclesiastical court of Canterbury, for their usurpation of one moiety of that property which belonged to him and his heirs, the whole of which had been seized by the church. Law was the most expensive thing to be had in England in that day, as it is in this. A flaw is to be picked in almost every man's title to his estate, through which lawyers gain an entrance to the property—and there they fed and fatten. Formerly Judges were elected from ecclesiastical bodies, and their amanuenses, generally clergymen, called clerks—they retain the name to this day: but better for them and all men, they are not the judges of the land.

No doubt Goldwell knew the claim which had been urged by Ivan De Linton's descendants to recover the one moiety of the estates in Wykes Ufford and Whitton, as the Bishop of Norwich was left executor, after the various gifts to the church, to see the rightful heir instituted. It might be that this Ivan, who was Dr. Ivan, of St. Mildred's, A.D. 1425, was not considered the rightful heir. Be that as it may, he considered himself such, and spent a fortune in endeavoring to obtain his property. From that day, the gradual decline of the Bishops of Norwich, as far as regarded temporal possessions in Ipswich, began, and there is scarcely now a single acre of land, or a single house in the neighborhood, which belongs to that See.

Every record of that period will produce testimony of their possessions in Wykes Ufford. The Bishop's Hill still forms one of the loftiest features over the town. The deep glens of Holy Wells, at the bottom of that hill, with the stream, the moat, the site of the palace, nay, within the memory of man, the beams of the cross which stood at the head of the stream which gushed from beneath the sandstone rocks, were found crossing each other, and were dug out of the earth during the life of the late owner of the property. Many an hour has the writer of these pages spent in that glen at that spot, and many a book has he perused within the precincts of the Hermit's cave, now closely planted with alders, firs, and brush-wood.

Lord De Freston and his daughter Ellen might be found in the Lady Grey's Chapel of St. Mary's returning thanks for their deliverance. Lord De Freston lived in an age when the support of the Papacy was accounted such an undoubted act of piety, that any nobleman attempting to dispute its sway was to be looked upon as an enemy to his God and his country. Lord De Freston, though he never exercised his authority with the hierarchy, to argue with them upon useless and fanciful customs, which they constantly introduced, was highly pleased with the manner in which William Latimer had conducted himself that day, and fully agreed with him in his animadversion upon the fooleries of the monastic establishments, the wisdom of unfolding the Scripture, and the necessity of learning in those who were to be the public expounders of the truth.

After returning thanks in the chapel, he accompanied Edmund Daundy to his mansion, where the conversation was renewed concerning the steps to be taken for the inspection of the ruins, and the disposal of the body of St. Ivan.

'I do not think the priests of St. Peter's will grant him a place of sepulture within the precincts of their monastery,' said Daundy; 'neither will Bishop Goldwell be disposed to allow that he may be buried within the grounds, inside the walls of Ipswich. For the most part, the priests looked upon him as one excluded from the kingdom of heaven, frequently crossed themselves whenever his name was mentioned, and none of them, I am quite sure, would perform his funeral ceremony.'

'Yet the old man had some virtues, which would be no disgrace to any one! He was conversant with the Scriptures, he was kind to the poor, meek and peaceable in his demeanor, spent many hours of the day in meditation and in the exercise of benevolence, and but for his abhorrence of the superstitious deceptions of those customs which the worst days of Rome have sanctioned, might have been deemed a good Catholic. Abstemious to the utmost, his fasting was an every day temperance. Devout in the extreme—all his hours were spent in devotion; generous to the last farthing, he gave away all that was given him, and lived upon the loaves of charity. I took care that he should not want bread whilst he lived, though he always thought it came from poor people, whom his medicinal cures had restored to health. I will not ask any of the religious houses in Ipswich to give him a place of burial.'

'Where then do you propose to bury him?'

'In the chapel of the Priory of Alneshborne. I will see this fraternity to-morrow morn, and ask their permission that the bones of St. Ivan may rest in my own family vault, beneath the altar in their chapel: for the Lords of Freston, though not all buried there, have a right of sepulture reserved to themselves, beneath the high altar of their chapel. This was one of the conditions upon which the extra-parochial lands, belonging to their monastery, were granted to them. I think I shall have no difficulty in this. The only difficulty I expect to meet with will be the finding a place of rest for the body in some sacred place, until all the preparations for his interment shall be completed. I will bring my men up to the town on the morrow. In the meantime, do you interest yourself in the good graces of the bishop, and the monks of St. Peter's, first that I may search the ruins of the palace for his body, then, that it may be decently kept within the walls of St. Peter's Priory until such time as I am prepared for the burial. I intend to watch the body myself on the night of its burial, as a mark of my respect for the deceased.'

'I will do my best endeavors. I can go to Goldwell Hall, suggest the propriety of searching the ruins, under the authority of the Mayor of the town, both to preserve whatever valuables can be thence recovered—end then ask, for you, the body of St. Ivan.'

This the good Daundy faithfully performed. And that very evening Ellen De Freston and Latimer, together with Lord De Freston, were seated in their favorite room of Freston Tower.

CHAPTER XIX.

ST. IVAN'S FUNERAL.

An interesting conversation was held in Freston Tower that evening between the three persons who wanted nothing to cement their affections, since love reigned in their hearts. Extraordinary circumstances had unexpectedly given birth to the warmest feelings for each other. Interested in the deepest sense had each become. Perhaps that of Ellen De Freston was the greatest, because she felt so much both for her father and Latimer. Again they rejoiced in being seated in their happy retreat, with their souls full of thought, as they surveyed the waves of that river which appeared by the setting sun more beautiful than ever.

'I must go with the sound of the matin bell, and ask John of Alneshborne to grant me leave to bury the body of Ivan De Linton within the precincts of the chapel,' said De Freston. 'I shall have a mournful duty, but I hope a satisfactory one, in committing to the ground the body of a man, who, with all his eccentricities, was a pure philanthropist. Our priesthood will grant no place of burial to an heretic; and from all I hear, St. Ivan was looked upon by them as something worse than a heretic, and only worthy of the burial of a dog. I must propitiate the priests of St. Peter on the morrow, and get through the preparations as well as I can. In the meantime, Latimer, I request your stay at my castle: at least until this funeral be over.'

Latimer had left Oxford with the full intention of being in Padua as soon as wind and weather would permit. Little did he think, when asking his friend Wolsey to give him permission to convey some love token to Ellen De Freston, on his account, that he should be made to feel that he himself had inspired an interest which he could not fail to appreciate. He had no compunctions in regard to Wolsey, for he had received no commission to declare his sentiments, and had no idea of their engagement to the lovely Ellen, for whom now, he could not fail to feel the most animating and grateful interest. In a few days, Latimer found more occasion to concentrate his affections upon the fair object that had excited them.

That evening passed away with many reflections of thankfulness, and on the morrow Lord De Freston ordered his barge, and visited the fraternity at Alneshborne Priory. All that he requested was immediately granted by that truly learned body. The night was fixed upon for the solemn funeral to take place, and De Freston made a vow, more in accordance with the superstition of his age than with true wisdom, to keep watch in the chapel of the priory, and to speak to no one, to answer no one, and to be moved by none, until the priory bell should give the sound of morning prayer.

His next care was to visit the monks of St. Peter's, and obtain their permission to let the body of St. Ivan lay in state within their walls. He had some difficulty in this, and it was only by promising to pay a handsome sum for watching the body, and for prayers against sorcerers, that he could prevail upon that bigotted body to grant him his request. The next thing was to look for the hermit. Bishop Goldwell had sanctioned the Mayor's search for various articles of value, and had given permission to remove the body of St. Ivan.

Lord De Freston and his men were the first to pass over the moat in boats to search the ruins, whilst hundreds collected on the banks to see the removal of the body, which was found erect, against the very pillar upon which he had leaned when he died. A cross-beam had fallen against the top of the pillar so as to form a shield over him. A mass of rubbish, of brick-work, broken tiles, glass, and furniture had to be removed before the corpse could be taken out There was a placid serenity, even in death, upon the face his form was stiff, and the silvery locks fluttered over his features as they moved him through the ruins.

His bearers were awe-struck with the downfall of that princely palace; and, not quite satisfied in their own minds that some of the standing portions of the building might not fall upon their heads, they made what haste they could to Lord De Freston's boat.

Curiosity excited some to pass over the broken walls; and a desire to possess relics of Wykes' Bishop's Palace instigated others. The occasional slip of some congregated mass terrified the pilferers and made them hasten from danger.

When the corpse of St. Ivan was removed to the boat, the Mayor gave orders that none but authorised workmen should be permitted to pass the bounds of the moat, and that a clerk should give an exact account of the articles found for the use of the Town Clerk and the Bishop's Secretary.

De Freston's care was now to convey the body to St. Peter's Priory, there to have it lay in state until all things should be ordered for the funeral.

It was not without great bribes that it was admitted within the precincts of the Priory, but the monks were not insensible to the costly gifts of De Freston, and of Edmund Daundy; nor insensible to the use that might be made among the common people of the fame of St. Ivan. He was, therefore, admitted, embalmed with all due ceremony, and candles were dedicated to the altar for St. Ivan. Priests had to pray for his soul's release from purgatory. A solemn requiem was sung in the chapel, and during the six days' rest in the Priory costly dedications were made to the shrine of St. Peter, at the expense of the nobleman and his friends, who were only anxious that decent respect should be paid to his memory.

How different are the customs of different periods relative to the burial of the dead; how different, likewise, in different countries! That decency should be observed, every Christian will freely acknowledge and where society is formed upon true principles of piety, all these things will be done with propriety; but it is better to have the prayers of the poor destitute than to build the most splendid mausoleum in the world. The heart of one good man is of more real value than the whole fabric of St. Peter's at Rome.

Lord De Freston was not ashamed to show to the world that he considered the old man worthy of the customary Christian burial which, at that time, was bestowed upon the nobles of the land. Hence his preparations were made upon a corresponding scale.

The seventh evening was appointed for the funeral. It was agreed that he should be buried by torchlight at the Priory of Augustine Monks, beneath the shrine of St. Peter, at the altar of Alneshborne Chapel. Lord Ivan De Wykes, as the family were originally called when the estates were conveyed to the See of Norwich, had great possessions in Dorsetshire and Cambridgeshire, as well as in Essex and Suffolk; but retaining only certain estates at Linton and Ipswich, the name of Wykes was dropped and Ivan De Linton substituted. These things were known to De Freston when the old man first spoke to him concerning his titles and family. It might be on this account as well that he chose to pay him every mark of outward respect. He had learnt something of Ivan's private history in conversation with him, and found that much of his eccentricity arose from a disappointment of the heart in early life.

The long procession of boats with torches was collected at the quay of St. Peter's Priory. There were twelve belonging to the Mayor and burgesses; four to the Prior of St. Peter's; Daundy's, Sparrow's, and Wolsey's barge, and others among the common people who chose to accompany the procession with muffled oars, five miles down the river, to the vale of Alneshborne. At midnight, the procession, headed by De Freston's boat, with himself and his friend Latimer, started at the sound of the solemn bells, which, from the various religious houses, gave forth their mournful note. They were all muffled. Torches were seen in the towers; and along the river side the glare of one hundred and sixty torches upon the waters showed a long array of mourning pomp. The body lay exalted on a large flat-bottomed boat, and was towed by the sailors, who were appointed to bear the coffin from its deck. They were seated in another boat, belonging to the Priory. Four portmen, ten burgesses, and a numerous company of priests and choristers brought up the procession. Their lengthened notes came swelling over the waters as they chanted the requiem of the departed.

It was a dark night, the waters were gloomy, the banks of the river seemed in mourning, the clouds looked as if they were gathering to weep, and save the wild note of the curlew as the torch-light disturbed her upon the ooze, one mile down the river, all was profoundly mournful.

De Freston's men were well acquainted with the river, and as the lights from the town began to grow dim, and the sound of the tolling bells distant, and their oars were muffled, a solemn stillness made a feeling of awe creep over their frames, as they thought of the hermit whom they were escorting to his last cave. As they passed the long hanging wood which bent to the waters, then termed Long Island, since corrupted into Hog Island, the startled cormorants rose in succession from their roosting-places, and filled the air with their hoarse chaunt. Darker and darker grew the banks, and still darker spread the clouds above, as the train swept slowly along. The distant turrets of Alneshborne Priory became visible, and soon after torches were seen to glare upon the waters' edge; and the fraternity of monks were visible awaiting the arrival of the funeral.

As the boats approached the sandy strand against the creek of Alneshborne, the whole brotherhood assembled to receive the monks of St. Peter's and Lord De Freston; and along the shore a solemn chaunt arose from the choristers as the men eased down the coffin of St. Ivan from the deck of the barge.

Chaunt.

Holy brethren, we are come
Here to bring St. Ivan home;
Take him, take him, holy men,
As St. Peter's denizen.
            Alma Mater!
            Sancte Pater!
En et ecce! Ecce en!

Holy brethren! now we mourn,
Hear us, monks of Alneshborne!
Take St. Ivan, take him then,
For St. Peter's denizen.
            Alma Mater!
            Sancte Pater!
En et ecce! Ecce en!

Holy brethren! pity take,
For the Great St. Peter's sake;
Lay St. Ivan in your glen,
As St. Peter's denizen.
            Alma Mater!
            Sancte Pater!
En et ecce! Ecce en!

The venerable brethren received Lord De Freston and the mourners with due solemnity, and made the following response to the chaunt of St. Peter's priests.

The Response.

Welcome, welcome, to our shrine,
Here St. Ivan may recline;
Bring him onward, on his way,
Holy friars of orders gray.
            Ora! ora!
            Sine Morâ!
For St. Ivan, brothers, pray.

Here the saint shall taste repose,
Here the tomb shall o'er him close.
Whilst we sing his resting lay,
Holy friar of orders gray!
            Ora! ora!
            Sine Morâ!
For St. Ivan we will pray.

Welcome he who comes in peace,
Here his honours shall not cease;
We will chaunt them night and day,
Bear him, brothers, on his way.
            Ora! ora!
            Sine Morâ!
Thus we chaunt St. Ivan's lay.

The procession was then formed, headed by the monks of the place, and by the whole body of the fraternity of St. Peter's. Then came the bier, on each side of which walked six burgesses, Lord De Freston following as chief mourner. Then Latimer, and the various friends, townsmen, and acquaintances, who, as much out of respect for the living Lord De Freston as for the dead St. Ivan, attended the costly funeral. There was Robert Wulsey, as it was then written. He was an old man, and certainly would have been much better at rest in his own house in St. Nicholas, than braving the midnight air to gratify his friend, De Freston. So grateful did he feel to him for the interest he had taken in his son Thomas, that as soon as Daundy mentioned the subject to him, and told him that it would be a compliment which De Freston would feel, he actually resolved, let the cost be what it might, to attend the funeral of St. Ivan. The cost, as the sequel will prove, was as much an any man could pay.

The corpse was borne to the chapel, which then stood beyond the walls of the Priory, in a small secluded glen, near the bright stream which flowed into the moat, and thence down to the waves of the Orwell. The torches illumined the glen, and when they all entered the little chapel, a person outside might have supposed that the building was on fire, so glaring was the accumulated light of so many torches. In front of the altar was the family vault of De Freston. Amidst the chaunts of the assembled priests, the body was lowered into the vault, the ceremony was concluded, and De Freston alone, with only the candles burning upon the altar, was left to watch, according to his vow, till the morning matin-bell should permit him to open the chapel door.

It may seem singular that a person like Lord De Freston should submit to such unnecessary devotion, but he had made a vow to do it himself, and he was not a man to turn aside from any purpose he had once resolved to put in practice. It was in vain that the elder brother of the monastery offered himself to exonerate him from his vow, and to supply his place. He was determined: consequently the whole body of attendants had to leave him in the chapel. He charged Latimer to return to the castle, and not to think of coming over the waters again until the morning-bell should be heard from the Tower of Alneshborne Priory. The mourners, therefore, retraced their way, the burgesses and townsmen up the waves of the Orwell, and the last to leave his friend was William Latimer, who promised to return at the time appointed. Taking leave of the friendly Augustines, he ordered his rowers to unmuffle their oars and make the best of their way across the tide. A light was to burn all night in the fifth story of Freston Tower. The mourners separated, and their torches were seen quickly ascending the waves of the Orwell, and Lord De Freston was alone in the chapel of Alneshborne.