Dalaber stood a moment as though turned to stone as the full import of these words flashed into his mind. Again he was conscious of the sensation as though cold water were being poured upon him. He found himself shuddering strongly, and stepped out into the street to breathe the freshness of the air. Almost at the moment two of his comrades and confederates, Udel and Diet by name, both of Corpus Christi College, chanced to come along the street, and Dalaber, catching each by an arm, drew them into the shelter of the doorway, and whispered to them the peril in which they all stood more or less involved.
If an inquiry were set on foot none could say where it would cease, or who might be suspected. It was evident that Garret himself stood in imminent peril, and that to get him safely away from the city was the first duty incumbent upon them. As soon as ever the gates of the town were opened on the morrow he ought to start away to some place of safety.
But where could such a place be found? The three young men went upstairs to Dalaber's lodging, where Garret was standing by the darkening window, lost in thought.
"Yes, I must go," he said, in answer to their words. "I am no longer safe here, and for the sake of the cause I must needs hide myself awhile. And yet I sometimes think it might come as well soon as late, if come it must. And surely that will be the end. I have felt it for long."
"What end?" asked Dalaber, with a little shudder.
"Martyrdom," answered Garret, a quick flash in his eye, which the light, just kindled, seemed to reflect back. "I shall die for the faith at last. I know it, I feel it. And there be moments when I could wish that that day had come, and that I might take the crown which is promised to those who are faithful to the death. Yet something tells me again that this day has not yet come, that the Lord has other work for me to do. Therefore I will fly, and that speedily. Yet whither shall I go? There are many places closed to me already, and I shall be searched for far and wide."
Anthony stood hesitating, his hand upon a piece of paper; and then, as if making up his mind, he spoke eagerly and rapidly.
"Master Garret, I have here a letter written to me by my brother, who is priest of a parish in Dorsetshire; Stalbridge is the name of the place. But a week since, a clerk coming hither from those parts brought to me a letter from him, which I have here in mine hand; and as you will see, he earnestly begs me to find for him here in Oxford a suitable man to act as his curate. Now, if you were to change your name and go to him with a letter from me, no doubt he would incontinently receive you into his house and give you good welcome; and there you could lie hid and unsuspected till the tide of pursuit was over, after which you could make excuse to leave him again, and go back to where you will."
Garret seemed to be turning the matter over in his mind, whilst the other two students appeared to think this just the opportunity desired, and eagerly bade Dalaber commence the letter of introduction, whilst they offered to pack up some clothes and provision for the traveller.
"What manner of man is this brother of thine, Anthony?" asked Garret. "Doth he belong to us of the brethren?"
A slight flush rose to Dalaber's cheek, which else was unwontedly pale.
"Alas, no! He has no knowledge of those things which we prize. There is the trouble. He is a rank Papist. But yet he has a kind heart, and there would surely be no need to speak of such matters with him. You would have your duties to do, as in London, in church and parish. It may be that the Lord would send you thither to sow fresh seed by the wayside."
"If I thought that--" began Garret, with kindling eyes.
"And wherefore not?" questioned the other two eagerly; "it may even be the Lord's way of spreading the truth. Nay, Master Garret, do not hesitate or tarry. The danger is too sore and pressing, and this is, as it were, an open door of escape. Let us garb you something differently, give you a new name, which Anthony will write in his letter; the letter you will bear upon your person; and then, when you are once beyond the reach of pursuit, you can travel easily and pleasantly, sure that you will be believed, by token of the missive you bear to Master Dalaber of Stalbridge."
Garret's face was very set and thoughtful.
"Well, I will do it; I will try it," he answered. "It may be that it comes from the Lord. I like it not altogether; but it may be I have work to do for Him there. At least I will not tarry here, where I may be a source of peril to others. So, with the first of the morning light, I will go forth, and get me well on my way to the south ere the hue and cry begin."
There was no sleep that night in Anthony Dalaber's lodging. The news spread through the little brotherhood that Garret was in peril, that he was about to leave Oxford; and all through the night furtive visits were being paid him by those who desired his blessing, and to wish him well on his way.
As for Dalaber, he wrote his letter with a shaking hand, recommending his friend, one Edmund Thompson, as a curate to help his brother in his parish. Yet all the while he felt a strange sinking at heart which he could not explain or account for. And when, in the grey light of the dawn, he said adieu to his friend, and saw him vanish through the just opened gate and out into the dim murk of the frosty morning, there came over his ardent and impulsive spirit a strange sense of desolation and sinking; and when he returned to his chill and lonely rooms, the first thing he did was to fling himself upon his bed and break into tearless sobs, the revenge of an exhausted nature.
"Cui bono? cui bono?" was the voiceless cry of his heart, and at that moment it seemed as if everything were slipping away, even the faith and the love which had upheld him for so long.
Sleep surprised him as he thus lay, and he slept deeply for some hours, awaking somewhat refreshed, but full of anxious fears, both for the safety of his friend and for his own future.
It was scarcely possible, he argued, that, should Garret's movements be inquired into by the proctors and others, he could fail to fall under suspicion, as, having been much in his company, he would be doubtless suspected, and perhaps apprehended; and a shiver of natural fear and horror ran through him at such a prospect.
What had better be his course now? He mused of this as he got himself some food; and while he was thus musing the door opened hastily, and Fitzjames appeared, looking heated and nervous.
"Hast heard the news, Dalaber?"
"What news ?--not that Master Garret is taken?"
"No; but that strict search is to be made for him in and about Oxford. Is it true that he hath had warning, and is fled? I was told so, but scarce knew what to believe."
"I saw him forth from the gates at dawn. I marvel they were not watched; but he was something disguised, and travelled under another name, so I trust and hope he may escape pursuit. Is it only he for whom they are looking?"
"I have heard naught of others; but who knows where the thing may stop? Thou hadst better have a care to thyself, friend Anthony. It may be that peril will next menace thee."
Alone, Dalaber had felt qualms of fear and dread, but the very sight of a comrade's face restored him to confidence and courage.
"That may well be," he answered; "and if peril come, I trust I may have courage to endure all that may be put upon me. I have done naught of which my conscience accuses me. I can be strong in mine own integrity of heart."
"Yes; but why court danger?" persisted Fitzjames, who had a cordial liking for Dalaber. "Methinks you would be safer in some lodging without the walls, that in case of sudden peril you might the more readily fly. And if these rooms should become suspected and watched, it were better you should be elsewhere. Have you not already spoken of changing into a lodging in Gloucester College, there to prosecute your studies in law?"
"Truly yes," answered Dalaber eagerly; "and it was but two days since that Robert Ferrar told me I could have the chamber next to his, which is now vacant; but I have had so many things to think of since then that the matter has passed altogether from my mind."
"Then let us quickly remove your belongings thither," spoke Fitzjames, with some eagerness. "It were better you should be gone; and I will testify, if question arise, of your reason for moving, which is that you are relinquishing your divinity studies for those of the law, and desire to enter a college where there is a library and more facilities for the prosecution of these studies. It were better, indeed, since you have resigned all thoughts of the priesthood, to commence your new studies without further loss of time. We have had something too much, methinks, of controversy and questionings of late. Let us seek greater safety by leaving such matters alone for the nonce. If happier days dawn anon, we may be able to resume our readings and discussions; but for the moment--"
A significant gesture completed the sentence, and Dalaber made no remonstrance, for indeed he felt that his mind required a space of rest from these perilous controversies. Master Garret's stay had been fraught with intense spiritual excitement for him. As long as the personality of the man was brought to bear upon him his nerves were strung to a high pitch of tension; but the strain had been severe, and the reaction was setting in. He was half afraid of the lengths he had gone in some directions, and there came over him a desire for a breathing space, for a haven of peace and safety; and he felt that Fitzjames had counselled him well in advising a removal to fresh quarters.
In those days it was not unusual for a student to move from one hall or even college to another, if he were not upon the foundation of the latter. Gloucester College (where Worcester College now stands) was one of the many religious houses still to be found in Oxford; but it was open to youths who were neither in orders nor intending to enter the priesthood, but only to prosecute their secular studies. Dalaber had a friend there who was one of the inquirers after truth, and was also a friend of Garret. It was he who had told him of the vacant room so near to his own, and thither he and Fitzjames moved all his belongings during that day.
It was a pleasant chamber, and he was kindly welcomed by Ferrar, who heard with great concern of Garret's peril. He himself had not fallen under any suspicion as yet, so far as he knew; and he agreed with Fitzjames that Dalaber had better keep himself very quiet for the next few days, prosecuting his studies with zeal, and not showing himself much in the streets. It was to be hoped that the flight of Garret, when known, would avert further peril from Oxford; but as Dalaber had certainly been his closest comrade and companion during his visit, it behoved him to have a care that he excited no more suspicion.
"'When they persecute you in one city, flee unto another,'" quoted Fitzjames, as he settled his last load in Dalaber's new lodging, which was beginning to look a little habitable, though still in some confusion. "That is sound Scripture, is it not? and sound sense into the bargain. But the town seems quiet enough to me now; I have gone to and fro in many of the streets, and I have heard and seen nothing to alarm."
Dalaber heaved a sigh of relief. He was nerving himself to meet his fate bravely, whatever that fate might be; but the prospect of being arrested and charged with heresy or the circulation of forbidden books was sufficiently unnerving, and the more so to one whose life seemed opening out so full of promise and crowned with the blessing of love.
"I must see Freda!" he suddenly exclaimed, as the shades of evening began to fall. "What does she know of this matter, Fitzjames? has it reached her ears that I may be in any peril?"
"I trow not; I have told her nothing. She may have heard that the proctors are seeking Master Garret. I know not. When I came away this morn nothing was known at the Bridge House; but if she has heard aught since, she will be anxious for you and for him alike."
"Verily yes, and I will go and show myself, and reassure her," cried Dalaber, throwing on his cloak and cap. "I have time enough and to spare to set my things in order later. I have not seen Freda for full three days. I must e'en present myself tonight."
"I will go, too," answered Fitzjames; "and let us avoid the city walls and gates, and take the meadow paths past Durham College and Austin Friars, for it were best you did not show yourself abroad too much these next few days. I trust that afterwards all peril will be at an end."
There was a clear saffron sky above them, and the crescent moon hung there like a silver lamp. The peace and hush of eventide was in the air, and fell like a charm upon Dalaber's fevered spirit. The sound of the angelus bell was heard from several quarters, and as they passed St. Bernard's Chapel they stepped into the building, and remained kneeling there a brief while, as the vesper service was chanted.
Soothed and refreshed, and feeling more in harmony with life and its surroundings, Dalaber pursued his way, his arm linked in that of his friend.
Fitzjames was one of those who halted somewhat between two opinions. He was willing and ready to hear and receive much of that new teaching which was stirring men's hearts and beginning to arouse bitter opposition; but he was still one who called himself a true son of the church, and he had no wish to draw down upon himself the perils of excommunication and other punishment which threatened the obstinate heretics. He attended many of John Clarke's lectures; he discoursed much with Dalaber, for whom he had a sincere friendship and admiration; but he did not see why there should be strife and disruption. He thought the church could be trusted to cleanse herself of her errors and corruptions, and that her mandates should be obeyed, even if they were sometimes somewhat harsh and unreasonable, as notably in this matter of the circulation of the Scriptures amongst the people.
So he was more anxious for Dalaber to avoid drawing down notice upon himself than that he should play the part of hero and martyr with constancy and courage. And his friendly solicitude had been soothing to Anthony through the day, restoring his balance of mind, and quieting the nervous restlessness which had possessed him hitherto. And now he was approaching the house of his beloved, and her gentle sweetness and tender counsels would fill up the measure of his happiness, and restore that confidence in himself and his cause which had at one time been somewhat rudely shaken.
She met him on the threshold, and for the first time since the troth plight her arms were about his neck, and he felt the tremor of her whole slender frame.
"Anthony, Anthony, thou art safe!"
"Beloved, yes; wherefore didst thou fear for me?"
"How could I not fear, not knowing all, when such stories and rumours have been flying about?"
"What stories? what rumours?" he asked, feeling his heart begin to beat more rapidly.
She drew him into a little antechamber close at hand, and by the light of the flickering fire he saw that her face was pale and anxious, whilst her eyes looked as though they had shed tears.
"My Freda, what is the matter? Thou hast been weeping."
"Yes, for my heart has been heavy within me. How should it not be? And yet I know that the cause is holy and righteous, and I would have all men to be constant and full of courage. Cannot the Lord preserve His own?"
"Yes, yes; let us not fear!" cried Dalaber, his courage rising with the need to reassure his beloved. "But tell me, what hast thou heard?"
"Arthur Cole has been here; he has come thrice today, each time with fresh news. Thou dost know how he regards my sister Magda. None can fail to note his love for her; and I think he will win hers at the last. I trow he has well redeemed the pledge he gave her, and that he will get his reward--in time."
"His pledge?"
"Yes; he vowed to her that if he were able he would give warning to any of the brethren who might be in peril. He hears more than others of what is likely to pass, and he brought us word at daylight this morning that Master Garret was to be closely searched for."
"That is true; but he is fled."
"He was willing, then, to fly! Ah, I am glad, I am glad! It is not always the greatest thing to stand at bay and fall into peril. A man may rightly think of saving his life and those of his friends by flight. I am thankful he is away. Pray Heaven they get not on his track. They say if he fall into their hands he will perish at the stake."
Dalaber shuddered, but answered quietly:
"I think he will escape. Had they overtaken him we should have heard. But what else hath Cole told thee that thou shouldst fear and shed tears, thou who art so bold, and filled with spirit and constancy?"
"He spoke of Master Clarke," answered Freda, lowering her voice. "He is fearful of danger to him."
"Danger for Clarke!" cried Dalaber, almost hotly. "But he has never had aught to do with the sale or distribution of forbidden books. He knows of it, but he takes no part in it. What can they urge against him?"
"They only whisper it as yet, but Arthur says they suspect him of heresy. Men who have heard him lecture and preach have spoken of his doctrine, and others have pronounced it dangerous. Arthur himself is full of wrath, for he loves Master Clarke as a brother, and he says he has never heard aught but holy and pure teaching drop from his lips; and none may doubt that Arthur is a true son of the church. He went forth again for tidings; but he only learned that the Dean of Cardinal College, the Commissary of the University, Dr. London of New College, and a few others of like standing with themselves, have met in consultation more than once during the day, and that it is whispered abroad that whether or not they lay hands on Master Garret, they are going to make strict inquisition throughout Oxford for the discovery of heretical teachers and thinkers in the university, and take measures whereby the spread of the peril may be arrested."
Dalaber and Freda stood face to face in the flickering light, their eyes full upon each other. He bent down suddenly, and kissed her with an almost passionate intensity of feeling.
"If they make strict inquisition, my beloved, they may find that Anthony Dalaber is numbered amongst the heretics."
"I know it," Freda answered, and her voice was very low.
"And if they should hale him to prison what shall he say and do? Wouldst thou that he should save himself by submission and obedience? or shall he be bold to speak, let the consequences be what they may?"
He reached out and held her hands in his. Hers trembled, but his were steady.
"I would have Anthony Dalaber true to his soul and true to his friends. I would have him obey, inasmuch as he can do so with a clear conscience toward God and man, but no farther. O my love, my love, how I shall pray for thee now and ever!"
He clasped her in his arms, as once before he had done when they had been speaking almost upon this same subject, before the danger cloud hung lowering in the horizon of their sky.
"Thou dost bid me be faithful above all things, my Freda--faithful unto death?"
He felt the shudder that ran through her frame. It had been easy once to speak these words, but they sounded more terrible now. Yet for all her tremors her voice did not falter.
"It is the voice of the Spirit, Anthony; it is His word. But ah! how I hope and pray that such a trial of faith will not be thine! Faithful to death-- to such a death! Anthony, my love, my love, how could I bear it?"
"Thou wouldst have the strength, as I trust I should, were such a choice before me," he answered gravely. "But why should we fear the worst, when so little has yet happened? All men say of the cardinal that he is not cruel, nor willingly a slayer of men for conscience' sake. He is the bitter foe of heresy; but it may be that it will suffice him that Garret be gone, and that those of us that have consorted with him remain quiet and silent. That we are willing to do. I have removed my lodging to Gloucester College, where I shall henceforth study the law, since I have abandoned all thoughts of the priesthood. It may well be that the storm will roll over our heads without breaking. And when it has passed away we can recommence our readings and discourses together, but quietly, so as not to arouse notice. Even the holy apostles themselves were content to abide quiet and silent amid perils that threatened their freedom and safety. They escaped out of various dangers, and used caution and carefulness; and if they, why not we?"
Freda heaved a long breath, as of relief from the over pressure of emotion. She had seen that Arthur Cole had entertained some fears on Dalaber's account, knowing the fiery nature of the man, and his quick, impulsive temperament. He had had misgivings lest he, by some rash act, should draw down the anger of the authorities upon himself, and be made a scapegoat, in the stead of the absent Garret.
Therefore Freda heard his words with a certain relief. Constancy and steadfastness she desired to see in him, but not the reckless defiance which rushes upon danger and courts martyrdom. She herself had scarcely known which course her lover would follow, and his appearance in this quiet and thoughtful mood was a great relief to her.
"That is how I feel, Anthony," she answered. "Any trial the Lord sends us we must bear for His sake with all constancy; but even He Himself was obedient and submissive, and careful in His words and acts. Let none have cause to accuse us as brawlers, or headstrong, or enemies to law and order; but yet let us, when the time come, be found faithful, even unto death."
He took her hand and kissed it, as though to seal the compact.
Meantime, in the darkness of that February morning, Thomas Garret stepped forth from the sheltering walls of his still-beloved Oxford, and turned his rapid steps in a southerly and westerly direction.
His heart was hot within him as he pushed along, choosing the most unfrequented lanes and paths. This was not the first time he had been hunted, and he had acquired some of the instincts of the quarry. He knew how to lie hidden awhile in some sheltered nook, listening and watching, himself unseen. He knew how to avoid notice, and how to pass through public places with the quiet air of confidence which drew no sort of attention towards himself. His priest's gown and hood would be a protection to him after he had shaken himself clear of the pursuit which might be set afoot by the proctors. He had Anthony Dalaber's letter in his wallet, and bread sufficient for the day's needs. He could fearlessly present himself at any religious house when he had reached another county, and he was certain of being well received and cared for by the monks, who received all travellers kindly, but especially those of the "household of faith."
He spoke the words half aloud, and then a strange sound broke from his lips, half a laugh and half a groan.
"The household of faith! O my God! What would they say if they knew that he who came to them as one of the faithful, was flying an outcast from the wrath of the cardinal, branded as a dangerous heretic? O Lord, be with me, and guide me right. Am I not faithful? Do I not love Thee, O Lord? Am I not sworn to Thy holy service? O Thou who judgest the hearts of men, and knowest all from the beginning, teach me what I should speak and do. Teach me whither I should bend my steps. I am ready to suffer persecution and death for Thy sake and the truth's. Only make me to see what Thou wilt have of me, that I may know whether Thou hast set before me an open door elsewhere, and art driving me thither, or whether Thou wouldst that I should return whence I came, and abide there whatever may befall me."
For the farther Garret travelled, the more fearful did he become that he was doing wrong in taking flight after this sort. To fly before his persecutors was one thing--his conscience did not upbraid him for that; but to go into Dorsetshire, to present himself to Anthony Dalaber's brother under a false name, to become curate to a man whose own brother termed him a "rank Papist"--was that indeed his bounden duty? Was that a right or righteous course to pursue? But if he gave up that purpose, what next? He knew not whither to turn, or where he might go with safety. The arm of the cardinal was long. He had eyes that reached far and wide. All Garret's own haunts were likely to be closely watched.
The man felt the fire of zeal burning hotly within him. He looked up into the heavens above him, and he felt as though a great work yet lay before him. He broke out into songs of praise and thanksgiving. It seemed to him as though he saw written in the sky glorious promises for those who should endure steadfastly to the end.
There was something of the prophetic spirit in the man. At times the world about him would recede from him, and he would be left, as it were, alone upon some vast immeasurable height, seeing as in a dream the things of God and the mysteries of the heavenlies stretched out before him. Such a moment came upon him late in that day as he journeyed. He seemed to see a vast and mighty struggle--an overturning of thrones, principalities, and powers; a far-reaching upheaval in church and in state; a coming judgment, and a coming glory.
He awoke as from a trance, with his head on fire and his heart hot within him. Words sprang to his lips, and he gave them utterance with a sense of power not his own.
"The Lord will arise. He will judge between man and man, between good and evil, between truth and falsehood. The Lord Himself is our helper. Of whom shall we be afraid? He is the upholder of the righteous cause. Shall we fear what man can do unto us? The time will come when all shall come to the knowledge of the truth; He has promised, and His word cannot fail. Let us put our trust and confidence in Him, and fear no evil, even though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death. He will be with us to the end, and will overcome in us, when we are too weak to overcome for ourselves."
The shades of evening were beginning to fall, and when the reaction set in after this period of spiritual exultation, Garret found himself somewhat weary and exhausted. He had not slept at all during the previous night, and he had been afoot from earliest dawn. He had accomplished a long day's journey, and had only eaten a little bread and drunk of the water of the brooks he had passed on his road. He began to desire the shelter of a roof and the cheering warmth of a fire, for the wind had risen, and blew upon him with keen and nipping cold, and his feet were sore from his long travel over rough ground.
He had breasted the rise of a long incline, and now stood at its crest, looking rather wistfully and eagerly over the darkening landscape in search of some human habitation. He knew to a certain extent where he was, and that within some few miles there was a monastic establishment of some repute. But five miles seemed a weary way to him now, and a sense of repulsion had come over him at the thought of presenting himself at any monastery in his priestly garb. Not that he in any sort repudiated the sacred calling, but he felt that if the truth were known the monks would regard him as a wolf in sheep's clothing; and he was experiencing a sense of distaste for any sort of subterfuge, whilst hesitating about giving himself up, lest he should be deserting the cause he had at heart by robbing it of one of its most active members. If the Lord had work for him still to do, how gladly would he do it!
As he remained resting awhile on the hilltop, and gazing about him in search of some indication of human habitation, he suddenly saw the beam of some small light glimmering through the increasing darkness; and uttering an exclamation of pleasure, he bent his steps in its direction, confident of finding some human habitation at last.
It was not easy to keep the light always in view, but he managed to bear in that direction, and came at last into a region of meadow land, where there were some sheepfolds and pens, in which the flocks had been folded for the night, and which were watched over by a dog, who sprang barking towards Garret, but was pacified when he spoke gently to him, and showed by his actions that he had no intentions upon the sheep.
From where he stood he was able to see that the light glimmered out of an unglazed window in a wattled cabin, evidently the sleeping place of the shepherd. After Garret had quieted the dog, he remained gazing for a few minutes at this steady light, and then (he scarcely knew why) he crept up very softly towards the little cabin, and looked in at the orifice.
The sight that he saw aroused his quickened interest. The place was very small--only large enough to contain a few sacks of straw for the bed, over which a couple of fleeces had been thrown by way of covering, a small rough table, on which a rush light stood, together with a few wooden platters, a loaf of bread, and a pitcher. A box was the only seat, and upon it sat a grizzled, bent old man, with his back towards the window, and his head bent low over the table.
By shifting his position very slightly, Garret was able to see that he was bending over a book which lay open beneath the rush light, and that with his forefinger he was pointing slowly along the line.
Garret held his breath in astonishment. In towns, at this time, would be found here and there a humble artisan or labouring man who could read, and amongst such the desire for the printed Scriptures was always keen and ardent. But out here in these lonely wilds, far away from the haunts of man, it was a strange sight to see an old shepherd with a book before him. The boys of the rising generation were beginning to be taught reading and writing in the grammar schools now springing up in the towns, but hinds of the age of this man were generally absolutely ignorant of letters in any form whatever.
The sound of a voice broke the stillness. The old man had begun to read the words aloud.
"I will--smite the--shepherd--and the--sheep--shall be scattered--"
Suddenly a great wave of emotion came upon Garret, and he uttered a strangled cry. The old man hastily thrust his book into the bosom of his coarse tunic, and gazed out of the opening with a strange expression of doubt and fear.
"What was that?" he asked, as he rose to his feet; and Garret, flinging back his priest's hood, looked fearlessly in at the aperture.
"It is a friend, who loves the holy Word of God, and loves all who are bold enough to love and cherish it, also a man to whom a message has been sent through you, my worthy friend. Open the door and let us clasp hands, for I know that the Lord hath sent me hither, and hath put a word in thy mouth which is meant for me. What shall become of the sheep if the shepherd be smitten? But shall the shepherd flee, unless he be an hireling and love not the sheep? The shepherd must watch yet over his flock, even though he hold himself away from the hand of the smiter. I see it all--I see it all! The Lord hath given me light!"
Not one syllable of this eager torrent of words did the old shepherd comprehend; but be recognized the voice of friendship and comradeship in the unseen speaker, and he unfastened his rude door and bade the stranger enter. As Garret stepped into the light in his priest's gown the man gave a little start of surprise.
"Nay, fear not," answered Garret; "I am God's priest--not the Pope's. If thou dost own the words of Holy Writ, perchance thou hast even heard the name of Thomas Garret. It is he who stands before thee now."
The shepherd gazed at him for a moment as one in a dream, and then he seized his hand and pressed it to his lips.
"It is he! it is he! I see it now! It is he whose words awoke my sleeping soul! O sir, I heard you preach once in London town, whither I had been sent on a charge of sheep stealing, but was released. And, indeed, of that offence I was innocent. But my life had been full of other evils, and I might well have sunk into the bottomless pit of iniquity, but that I heard you preach; and those words of fire entered into my soul, and gave me no rest day or night. Then I heard of the Christian Brethren, and they received and comforted me; and when I could earn the money for it, I bought this copy of the Holy Gospels. I have had it these two years now. I had learned to read by that time, and when I had bought it I wanted nothing so much as a quiet life, away from the haunts of men, where I could read and ponder and study the blessed Word without fear of man."
"So you took to the life of a shepherd--a calm and peaceful life, that reminds us of many holy things."
"I had tended sheep in my youth, and in these parts, sir, before I took to those wilder ways which well-nigh cost me my life. I came back; and some remembered me, and I got employment as shepherd. And here I hope and trust to end my days in peace. But there be whispers abroad that the cardinal and the abbots and priors will make search after the precious books, and rob us of them, and brand us as evildoers and heretics."
"Alas, and that is all too true," answered Garret, with a deep sigh. "In me you see a fugitive from the wrath of the cardinal. I left Oxford at dawn of day, and have fled apace through the wildest paths ever since. I am weary and worn with travel, and seeing this light gleaming forth, I thought I would seek here for rest and shelter; but little did I hope to find one of the brethren in this lonely cabin, and one who may himself suffer in the cause of truth and righteousness."
"We shall not suffer more than the Lord did," answered the old man, with a sudden illumination of feature, "nor more than He sees good for us. It may be that He wants His martyrs in all generations and in all lands. Does it not speak somewhere in the blessed Book of being made perfect through suffering?"
It was wonderful to Garret to find such depth of comprehension and power of expression in this apparently illiterate and humble old man. To be sure, his accent was rough and homely, but the thoughts to which he gave utterance were deep and pure.
Soon Garret found himself sitting over the turf fire, sipping gratefully at the warm milk, in which his bread lay soaked, and telling the old man the whole history of his wanderings, his peril, and his doubts about the plan laid down for him with regard to the curacy he had been offered.
The more he talked, the more did Garret revolt against the idea of presenting himself to Master Dalaber in Dorsetshire under a false name and in false colours. He could not believe that this could be pleasing to God, and he saw that the old shepherd, though diffident of speech, was of the same opinion.
"I will not do it," he said at last, "I will not do it. I cannot. I will retrace my steps to Oxford, but will use all care and discretion to avoid notice. They will by this time have discovered my flight, and Oxford is the last place in which they will now be seeking me. I will enter it by night, slip into one of my old hiding places there, get speech with Anthony Dalaber, and tell him how I have changed my plan, so that he may know I am not with his brother. Then I will put off my priest's garb, and sally forth in the night, and make my way over to Wales, and then to Germany, where I can work with the faithful there, and perchance be of greater use to the cause than in this land, where for the present I am so watched and hunted.
"This priest's garb has become hateful to me. I feel in it as though I were acting a lie, albeit I shall ever hold myself the minister and priest of God. It deceives men, who look to see in every garbed priest a servile slave of cardinal and Pope. I can never, never be such an one; wherefore let me cast away the outer trappings, and cease to deceive the eyes of men."
The shepherd, who only partially followed this monologue, which Garret uttered half to himself, half to his companion, understood this last argument, and slowly nodded his head. There was beginning to grow up in the minds of many a fear and horror of the priesthood, not by any means always undeserved, though greatly exaggerated in many quarters.
But to go back to the perils of Oxford to secure a secular dress seemed a far cry; yet, when the men proceeded to talk the matter over, they saw no other way by which such garb could be obtained. Neither had any money; and it might be dangerous for Garret to show himself at any town to purchase secular raiment there, even if he could beg money at a monastery for his journey. He thought he knew the place well enough to make the experiment, without too much risk either to himself or to others, and before he stretched himself upon the shepherd's bed of straw that night his mind was fully made up.
But upon the morrow he was forced to admit that one day's rest would be necessary before he could make the return journey. He was so stiff and exhausted by his long day's travel, and the tension of nerve which had preceded it, and his feet were so sore in places, that he decided to remain with the shepherd for another day and night; and then at dawn, upon the following morning, which would be Friday, he would start forth again, reach Oxford after dark, find some hiding place there for the night, and after making the needful change in his dress, and advising his friends of the change of his plan, he would start forth a free man once more by night, and instead of tying his hands by allying himself with any Papist parish priest, he would cross the water, find himself amongst friends there, and return later to his native shores, bringing with him stores of precious books, which should be distributed to eager purchasers as they had been before.
The hours of the day did not seem long to the tired traveller as he mused upon these things. The shepherd went about his daily toil, but often came indoors for a while to talk with his guest; and by the time the second night arrived, Garret was so far rested and refreshed that he had no doubt about making good his return journey upon the morrow, reckoning that by that time, at least, all hue and cry after him in Oxford would be over.
He slept soundly and dreamlessly through the night, and was awakened at dawn by the old man, who had made him the best breakfast his humble house could furnish, and waited lovingly upon him till he had satisfied his hunger and was ready to start upon his way. Then Garret embraced him as a brother, thanked him heartily for his hospitality, gave him the blessing the old man begged, receiving one in return.
He set his face joyfully towards the city from which he had fled, for it seemed to him as though he had fled thence somewhat unworthily--as though he had not shown a rightful trust in God. It was a rash step he was taking now, but somehow that thought excited in him no anxiety. He felt a great longing to see his friend Dalaber again, to explain matters afresh to him, and to start forth free from all trammels and disguises.
He was not, however, rash in exposing himself to recognition by the way, and kept to those secluded byways which had served him so well on his other journey. He scarcely saw a soul the whole of the long day of travel, and although he grew very weary and his feet again gave him pain, he plodded on with a light heart, and was rewarded just before the last of the daylight failed him by a glimpse of the distant towers and buildings of Oxford.
His heart yearned over the place when he saw it. It came upon him that here he would stay and abide the consequences. He felt strong to endure all that might be laid upon him. If it were God's pleasure that he should suffer in the cause, would He not give him strength to bear all? For a moment he forgot the peril which might come to others from his apprehension. He only felt that if the martyr's crown were indeed to be his (a thing of which he had a strong presentiment), it might well come soon as late. And therefore, when he reached the city at dark, he slipped into the town itself, instead of lurking outside, as first he had intended, and made his way through the dark, narrow streets to a certain humble lodging, which he had used before, when Dalaber had not been able to receive him.
He met not a creature on his way. He did not think his entrance had been marked as he passed through the gates. A thick, drizzling rain was falling, which had wet him to the skin, and which seemed to be keeping every one within doors. He found the door of his old lodging unlocked and the place empty, save for a little firing in a closet, which he soon kindled into a warming blaze.
He had bought food at midday in a hamlet through which he passed, and there was enough left in his wallet to provide him with a frugal supper. He dried his clothes at the friendly warmth of the fire, and though the room was destitute of bedding, there were a few sacks on the floor. Laying himself down upon these before the fire, he was soon plunged in a deep and dreamless slumber.
How long he slept he never could have guessed. He afterwards knew that it was midnight when he woke. What roused him was the sound of trampling feet on the stairs outside, and the voices of persons ascending. He lay for a few moments in the darkness, which the few smouldering embers of the dying fire scarcely served to illuminate; and then in a sudden access of alarm be sprang to his feet and made for the door.
If escape had been in his mind, he was too late. Already the door was burst open. A flood of light from a couple of lanterns dazzled his eyes for some moments, so that he could only see that several men were in the room, and a stern voice exclaimed, "That is the man! Seize him!" Then he knew that his hour had come, and that he was arrested.
Next minute he saw clearly, and found himself confronted by the proctors of the university, who regarded him with stern faces. Who had given them warning that Garret had returned to Oxford has never, I believe, been known--at least there is no mention of this made in the history of the known facts. But some person must have recognized the man, tracked him to his lair, and set the bulldogs of the cardinal upon him. He was taken at midnight upon the night of his secret return, and now stood a helpless prisoner in the hands of those set upon his track.
He looked at them with calm fearlessness. His spirit rose to the peril, and his mien was dauntless.
"Upon what charge am I arrested?" he asked quietly.
"You will hear that at the right time and in the right place," was the stern reply; "we are not here to bandy words with you. Put on your gown and hood, though you so little deserve such garb, and come whither you are led. Force will not be used unless you compel it."
Garret resumed the outer garments he had laid aside for the night, and pronounced himself ready to follow them whither they would.
"Take him to Lincoln College," spoke the senior proctor to his servants. "Dr. London will keep him in ward, and deal with him in the first place."
A slight smile passed over Garret's face. Dr. London of Lincoln was well known as one of the most bitter persecutors of the new opinions, and was reported to have stocks and other implements of punishment in a room in his house, which were used upon the recalcitrant and obstinate according to his pleasure. If he were to be Dr. London's prisoner, then farewell to any hopes of mercy.
Nevertheless he uttered no word as the men led him through the silent streets. The rain had ceased, and the moon was shining in the sky. The whole city seemed asleep as they hastened along.
But as they approached Lincoln College signs of life appeared. In the rector's house lights gleamed from several windows; and as Garret was pushed in at a side door, which was securely locked behind him, and led into a large, square hall, he saw the stern and frowning face of Dr. London gazing at him from the stairway, and a loud and masterful voice exclaimed:
"Take him into the strong room, and lock him up for the night. I will have speech with him upon the morrow."
Garret was led down a short, flagged passage, and thrust through an open door into a perfectly dark room. The door was closed, the bolt shot home, and he was left in silence and blackness to the company of his own thoughts.
The day which was spent by Thomas Garret in retracing his steps back to Oxford was passed not unhappily by Anthony Dalaber, who, after the lapse of two uneventful days, began to draw breath again, and make sure of the safety of his friend.
He had matters of his own which occupied much of his attention. The store of forbidden books brought to Oxford by Garret had been divided pretty equally between him and Radley; and Dalaber had contrived a very ingenious hiding place just outside his lodging room in St. Alban Hall, where, by removing some planking of the floor, a cavity in the wall had been carefully excavated, and the books secreted there, where it would be difficult for any to find them who had not the clue to the hiding place.
It was safer to hide them outside the chamber, as, if discovered, their presence would not incriminate any one--so Dalaber believed. Even Fitzjames, though sharing his lodging and some of his views, did not know where he kept his store of books. They formed such a dangerous possession that Dalaber spoke of them only to those who were heart and soul in the movement. And he decided not to remove them with his other belongings to Gloucester College, as he had no safe repository there to hold them, and it seemed to him that for the present the time had gone by for any work of distribution. It would he needful for the present to keep very quiet, until the suspicions which had evidently been aroused in the minds of the authorities should be laid to rest.
It was with a certain sense of relief that Dalaber definitely decided to quit the study of theology and divinity, and to throw himself into that of the law. Religious controversy had become suddenly distasteful to him. The Questions and other books of the theological faculty appeared to him futile and unsatisfactory. He had definitely resolved upon the secular life for himself; and although that did not mean that his convictions were shaken, or that his faith was in any way less precious to him, it gave to him a certain sense of elasticity and freedom of thought and spirit.
He could take Dr. Langton as his standard of what a man should be. He did not mix himself up with the burning and controverted questions of the day. He followed his studies in medicine and Greek. His house was a resort of learned men of all schools of thought. Free discussion was carried on there on all sorts of subjects. He favoured the liberality of mind which the church opposed; yet he did not embroil himself with the authorities, and led his own quiet scholarly life, respected and revered of all.
"That is the life for me," spoke Dalaber, as he looked round his new lodging, and admired the fashion in which his belongings had been set up there. "I will follow the secular calling, keeping my soul and spirit free to follow the promptings of the Spirit. Whenever I see the opportunity to strike a blow in the cause of freedom, may God give me strength to strike boldly and fearlessly; but I will not thrust myself forward into needless peril. Obedience has its place in the church as well as other virtues. I will not be untrue to my conscience or my convictions, but without good cause I will not embroil myself in these hot controversies and perilous matters. I have no quarrel with Holy Church, as Master Clarke expounds her, I would only see her cleansed and purged of her iniquity, shedding light--the light of God--upon the paths of her children. Perchance, as he says, if we prayed more for her--if we pleaded more with her in secret, interceding before God for her corruptions and unholiness--He Himself would cleanse and purge her, and fit her for her high and holy calling. Love is stronger than hate, for love is of God. I would seek more of that spirit of love which shines and abides so firm in Him. I have been in peril--I am sure of it--and the Lord has saved me from the mouth of the lion. Let me show my gratitude to Him not by falling away from the narrow path which leads to life everlasting, but by treading it in meekness and humility, in His strength rather than mine own."
Dalaber was not unconscious of the besetting faults and failings of his temperament--an impulsive self confidence, followed by moments of revolt and lassitude and discouragement. He knew that a quiet stability was the quality he lacked, and that the fire of enthusiasm and the revolt against abuses which blazed hot within him was not the holiest frame of mind in which to meet a crisis such as had lately threatened him. He knew that he might have been tempted to speak dangerous words, to rail against those in authority, and to bring deeper trouble upon himself in consequence.
The influence of the fiery Garret upon him was always of this character. Now that he had gone, Dalaber was able to review the situation much more calmly and quietly, and to see that the Lord and His apostles were not advocates of violence and disruption, that they inculcated reverence to governors, spiritual and temporal, as well as patience, long suffering, meekness, gentleness, and forbearance. The sword of the Spirit was not a carnal weapon. Its work was of a higher and holier nature. It might have to be drawn forth in battle; but it must be wielded in obedience, and not in irresponsible rebellion. Faithful steadfastness was asked of all God's children; but not all were called on to go forth as champions of even a righteous cause. Their duty might be to stand and wait for what the Lord would bid them do.
Dalaber had a strong conviction that alone, and acting upon his own impulses only, he would do harm rather than good. He was not the stuff of which leaders are made. He knelt down suddenly, and prayed for grace and guidance; and scarcely had he risen from his knees before a step upon the stairs and a knock at the door warned him of the approach of a visitor.
The next minute Arthur Cole stood before him. He was followed by a servant, who laid down a bulky parcel and departed.
"Ah, friend Dalaber," spoke Cole, with a kindly grip of the hand, "it was told me you were moving into fresh quarters here, and methought a few plenishings might not come amiss to your lodgings. You are something of an anchorite in your method of living, Anthony; but this chamber deserves a little adornment, if you are not averse to such."
So speaking, Arthur unfastened the package, and there was a soft skin rug to lay before the hearth, where a small fire of wood and fir cones was burning; a gaily striped quilt for the truckle bed covered it up and gave it an air of elegance; and a few books--in those days a costly and valued possession--completed the kindly bequest.
"They tell me you are to prosecute your studies in the law," he said, as he ranged the volumes beside Dalaber's own sparse collection on the shelf; "and since I have trodden the path before you, you are welcome to these volumes, which I seldom refer to now, and can always borrow from you if need should arise."
"You are a true friend, Arthur," answered Dalaber, much gratified and delighted. "I thank you heartily. You are a friend to all, and we owe you much. It is the more kindly and welcome because you are not one of us in other matters, and might very well have withdrawn from all companionship with those upon whom the wrath of the cardinal is like soon to fall."
"I would speak somewhat anent that same matter, Anthony," said Arthur, suddenly turning upon his friend, and signing him to take the seat opposite. "It is in some sort on that account I have come. But first tell me--is Thomas Garret safely away?"
Yes; on his way--"
"Nay, tell me not that. I have no wish to learn his whereabouts--only that he is safe outside the city, and not likely to be taken."
"He has been away these two days; and if not taken already, I trow he will escape altogether."
Arthur heaved a sigh of satisfaction and relief.
"I am right glad to hear that, Anthony--for your sake almost more than for his, since you are my friend."
"And why for my sake, Arthur?"
"Marry, thus that had Garret been found in the place, they would not have stopped short with laying hands upon him. They would have seized also those who had consorted with him. Not finding him, they begin to doubt whether the cardinal was right in tracing him hither, and whether he and his books have indeed been brought here. But let them once lay hands upon him, and not he alone, but also his comrades and associates, will stand in much peril. So have a care, friend Anthony."
Dalaber felt the thrill of what was half relief, half fear, run through him; but his glance did not quail.
"He is gone," he answered quietly, "and no man has sought to lay hands upon me."
"No, and right glad am I of it. I have spoken up for you as one of my friends, and a young man of promise and integrity. But I beg you to have a care for the future, Anthony, and especially during these Lenten weeks upon which we have just entered. For a strict watch will be kept over all suspected men; and if you are found with forbidden books in your possession--"
Arthur's eyes roved keenly round the pleasant chamber as he left his sentence unfinished.
"I have none here," answered Dalaber. "I have nothing but mine own little copy of the Gospels, which I carry ever on my own person. There are no books here to bring danger upon me or any."
"I am right glad to hear it, and I trust you will have no more to do with that perilous traffic. For sooner or later it will bring all men into trouble who mix themselves up with it. And for you who can read the Scriptures in the tongues in which they were written there is the less excuse. I warn you to have a care, friend Anthony, in your walk and conversation. I trust that the storm will pass by without breaking; but there is no telling. There is peril abroad, suspicion, anger, and distrust. A spark might fire a mighty blaze. The cardinal's warning and rebuke to the heads of colleges has wrought great consternation and anger. They are eager to purge themselves of the taint of heresy, and to clear themselves in his eyes."
"I misdoubt me they will ever succeed there," muttered Dalaber, with a slight smile. "Thought will not be chained."
"No; but men can think in silence and act with prudence," spoke Arthur, with a touch of sharpness in his tone. "I would that you thinkers, who stand in peril of being excommunicated as heretics, had a little more of the wisdom of the serpent which the Scriptures enjoin upon the devout."
"Excommunicated!" exclaimed Dalaber, and said no more.
To a devout young student, who had all his life through regularly attended the office of the Mass, and had communicated frequently, and prepared himself with confession and fasting and prayer, the idea of excommunication was terrible. That the Mass was overlaid and corrupted in some of its rites and ceremonies Dalaber and others were beginning openly to admit; but that it was based upon the one sacrifice of the atonement, and was showing forth the Lord's death according to His own command, none doubted for a moment; and to be debarred from sharing in that act of worship was not a thought easily to be contemplated.
Arthur saw his advantage and pressed it.
"Yes, my friend--excommunicated. That is the fate of those who mix themselves up in these matters, and draw down upon their heads the wrath of such men as the cardinal. Believe me, there is such a thing as straining at a gnat and swallowing a camel. And that is what you might chance to find you had done, were you cast out from the fold of the church for a few rash acts of ill-advised rebellion and disobedience, when all the while you might have lived in peace and safety, waiting till a better time shall come. If this movement is of God, will He not show it and fight for it Himself?"
"Yes; but He must use men in the strife, as He uses men in His Holy Church for their offices there. Yet, believe me, I do not desire strife. I would rather live at peace with all men. I have taken up a secular calling, that I may not be embroiled, and that I may be free to marry a wife when the time comes. Always shall I love and revere those who stand for truth and righteousness; always, I pray, shall I have strength to aid them when occasion serves: but I shall not embark on any crusade upon mine own account. You may make your mind easy on that score, my friend. I do not desire strife and controversy."
Arthur looked relieved, and smiled his approval.
"Then I trust that on your account, friend Anthony, my fears are needless. I would that I were not anxious also for our beloved friend and master, John Clarke."
"Is he in peril?" asked Dalaber, with a startled look. "He had no great dealings with Master Garret."
"No; and for that I am thankful. But there are other causes for fear. The cardinal wrote to the chancellor that he had been told how that Oxford was becoming deeply tainted with heresy, that Garret was selling his books by scores to the clerks and students and masters, and that teaching and lectures were being held contrary to the spirit of the church. This has stirred the hearts of the authorities deeply; they have been making close investigation, and have sent word back to the cardinal what they have found here."
"And what have they found?" asked Dalaber, breathlessly.
"I know not all; but mine uncle told me this much--that they have reported to the cardinal how that the very men chosen and sent by him to 'his most towardly college,' as they call it, are those amongst whom the 'unrighteous leaven' is working most freely, and they specially mention Clarke and Sumner and the singing man Radley as examples of danger to others. What will come of this letter God alone may tell. It has been dispatched, together with the intimation that Garret is not to be found in or near Oxford. We await in fear and trembling the cardinal's reply. Heaven grant that he do not order the arrest of our good friends and godly companions! I am no lover of heresy, as thou dost know, friend Anthony; but from Master Clarke's lips there have never fallen words save those of love and light and purity. To call him a heretic would bring disgrace upon the Church of Christ. Even mine uncle, to whom I spoke as much, said he had never heard aught but good spoken of these men."
Dalaber looked very anxious and troubled. The friends sat silent awhile, and then Arthur suddenly rose to his feet, saying:
"Let us go and see Master Clarke and have speech of him. I have not been able to get near to him alone since I knew of this matter--so many flock to his rooms for teaching or counsel. But let us to St. Frideswyde for evensong. He will certainly be in his place there, and afterwards he will accompany us, or let us accompany him, to his chamber, where we can talk of these things in peace. I have much that I would fain say to him."
"And for my part, I have promised to sing in the choir at the evensong service there as ofttimes as I can spare the time," said Dalaber, rising and throwing on his gown. "I have not seen Master Clarke these past two days. I would tell him of the safe escape of Master Garret; for the twain are sincere friends, and belong both to the brotherhood, though they agree not in all things, and have diverse views how the church is to be made more pure--"
"Peace, peace, good Anthony!" spoke Arthur, with a half laugh. "Thou must have a care how thou dost talk rank heresy, and to whom. Such words are safe enow with me; but they say that even walls have ears."
"It is my weakness that I speak too freely," answered Dalaber, who had already opened the door. "But in sooth I trow we are safe here, for yonder chamber belongs to the monk Robert Ferrar, who--But no matter. I will say no more. My tongue is something over fond of running away with me, when I am with friends."
Evensong at St. Frideswyde's was always a well-attended service. Although it was now the chapel of Cardinal College, the old name still clung to it. The cardinal had removed much of the former priory and chapel of St. Frideswyde to carry out the plans for his college; but though the collegiate buildings were called by his name, the chapel generally retained its older and more familiar title. The daily services were better performed there than in any other college chapel; and many men, like Dalaber himself, possessed of good voices, sang in the choir as often as their other duties permitted them.
Service over, the two friends passed out together, and waited for Clarke, who came quietly forth, his face alight with the shining of the Spirit, which was so noticeable in him after any religious exercise.
He greeted them both in brotherly fashion, and gladly welcomed them to his lodging.
There was something very characteristic of the man in the big, bare room he inhabited. It was spotlessly clean--more clean than any servant would keep it, though the canons of Cardinal College were permitted a certain amount of service from paid menials. The scanty furniture was of the plainest. There was nothing on the floor to cover the bare boards. Two shelves of books displayed his most precious possessions; the rest of his household goods were ranged in a small cupboard in a recess. His bed was a pallet, covered by one blanket. There was no fire burning on his hearth. Several benches ranged along the walls, and a rather large table, upon which a number of books and papers lay, stood in the middle of the room. One corner had been partitioned off, and was very plainly fitted up as an oratory. A beautiful crucifix in ivory was the only object of value in all the room.
Arthur and Anthony both knew the place well, but neither entered it without a renewed sensation impossible to define.
"It is the abode of peace and of prayer," Dalaber had once said to Freda, describing the lodging to her. "You seem to feel it and to breathe it in the very air. However worn and anxious, fretful or irate, you are when you enter, a hush of peace descends upon your spirit, like the soft fluttering of the wings of a dove. Your burden falls away; you know not how. You go forth refreshed and strengthened in the inner man. Your darkness of spirit is flooded by a great light."
They sat down in the failing gleams of the setting sun, and Dalaber told of Garret's night and the errand on which he was bound. Arthur smiled, and slightly shrugged his shoulders; but the confidence his friend unconsciously put in him by these revelations was sacred to him. He had not desired to know; but at least the secret was safe with him.
"He will not go there," said Clarke, as he heard the tale.
"Not go to my brother?" questioned Dalaber quickly.
"No, he will not go there. I know the man too well to believe it. The impulse for flight came upon him, and he was persuaded that it might be an open door. But he will not carry the plan through. His conscience will not permit him to hire himself under a false name to a man who believes him an orthodox priest holding his own views. Garret will never do that, and he will be right not to do it. It would be a false step. One may not tamper with the truth, nor act deceitfully in holy things."
Then Arthur Cole began to speak, and to tell Clarke what had happened with regard to the cardinal and the heads of various houses, and how his own name had been set down as one who was suspected of the taint of heresy.
"They know that men come to your rooms to read the Scriptures and discourse thereon," he concluded, "and in these times that is almost enough to brand a man a heretic. And yet I know that you are not one. I would that the cardinal himself were half so true a servant of God."
A slight smile passed over Clarke's beautiful face. The light seemed to deepen within his eyes.
"Take heed, my kindly young friend, or men will call thee heretic next," he said. "It is hard to know sometimes what they mean by the word. Let it be enough for us to know that we are all members of the mystical body of Christ, and that none can sever us from our union with Him, save He Himself; and His word, even to the erring and the feeble and the sinner, is, 'Come unto me. Him that cometh I will in no wise cast out.'"
"I know, I know--if that were only enough!" cried Arthur, in perplexity and distress.
"It is enough for me," answered Clarke, with his illuminating smile.
"But will you not have a greater care for yourself--for our sakes who love you, if not for your own?" urged the other.
"What would you have me to do, or not to do?" asked Clarke.
"I would have you abandon your reading and discussions--for a time. I would have you, perhaps, even quit Oxford till this storm sweeps by. Why should you not visit your friends in Cambridge? It would excite no great wonderment that you should do so. We cannot spare you to the malice of enemies; and Garret being escaped from the snare, there is no knowing upon whom they may next lay hands. It would break my heart if mischance happened to you, Master Clarke; wherefore I pray you have a care for yourself."
Clarke regarded both young men with a very tender smile.
"I think I will not go; and how can I refuse to speak with those who come to me? The reading of the Scriptures in any tongue has not been forbidden by the Holy Catholic Church. I will maintain that against all adversaries. What I say here in my room I will maintain before all men, and will show that the Lord Himself, by His holy apostles and prophets, has taught the same. If any are in peril through words which I have spoken, shall I flee away and leave them to do battle alone? Nay; but I will remain here and be found at my post. My conscience is clear before God and man. I have not disobeyed His voice nor yet that of the Catholic Church. Let Him judge betwixt us. I am in His hands. I am not afraid what man can do unto me."
Dalaber's face kindled at the sound of these words, and the flame of his enthusiasm for this man blazed up afresh. There had been times when he had fancied that Garret possessed the stronger spirit, because his words were more full of fire, and he was ever a man of action and strife. But when Garret had been brought face to face with peril his nerve had given way. He had struggled after courage, but all the while he had been ready to fly. He had spoken of coming martyrdom with loftiness of resolution; but he had wavered, and had been persuaded that the time had not yet come.
Something in Clarke's gentle steadfastness seemed loftier to Anthony Dalaber than what he had witnessed in Garret a few days back. Yet he would have said that Garret would have flown in the face of danger without a fear, whilst Clarke would have hung back and sought to find a middle course.
"But if these meetings be perilous," urged Arthur, "why will you not let them drop--for the sake of others, if not your own?"
He looked calmly in the questioner's eyes as he answered:
"I invite no man to come to me to read or discourse. If any so come, I warn them that there may be peril for them; and many I have thus sent away, for they have not desired to run into any peril. Those who gather round me here are my children in the Lord. I may not refuse to receive them. But I will speak earnestly to them of the danger which menaces them and us; and if any be faint hearted, let them draw back. I would not willingly bring or lead any into peril. But I may not shut my door nor my heart against my children who come to me. The chariots of God are thousands of angels. They are round and about us, though we see them not. Let us not fear in the hour of darkness and perplexity, but wait patiently on the Lord, and doubt not that in His time and in His way He will give us our heart's desire."
Clarke's face was uplifted; in the gathering gloom they could scarcely see it, and yet to both it appeared at that moment as the face of an angel.