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I spoke not, for verily my tongue
clove to the roof of my mouUi, and a
fainting sensation of a sudden came
over me. I felt his lips pressed on
my hand, and then he left me ; and
that night I felt very ill, and for nigh
unto a fortnight could by no means
leave my bed.

One morning, being somewhat
easier, I sat up in a high-backed chair,
in what had once been our school-
room; and when Muriel, who had
been a most diligent nurse to me in
that sickness, came to visit me, I
pressed her for to tell me truly if she
had heard aught of Basil or of Mis-
tress Ward; for eveiy day when I
had questioned her thereon she had
denied all knowledge of their haps,
which now began to work in me a
suspicion she did conceal from me
some misfortune, which doubt, I told
her, was more grievous to me than to
be informed wlmt had befallen them ;



and so constrained her to admit that,
albeit of Basil she had in truth no
tidings, which she judged to be favor-
able to our hopes, of Mistress Ward
she had heard, in the first instance, a
report, eight or ten days before, that
she had been hung up by the hands
and cruelly scourged; which torments
she was said by &e jailors, which Mr.
Lacy had spoken with, to have borne
with exceeding great courage, saying
they were the preludes of m a r tyrd om,
with which, by the grace of God, she
hoped she should be honored. Then
Mr. Roper and Mr. Wells, who was
now returned to London, had brought
tidings the evening before that on the
preceding day she had been brought
to the bar, where, being asked by the
judges if she was guilty of tiiat
treachery to the queen and to the laws
of the realm of furnishing the means
by which a traitor of a priest had es-
caped from justice, she answered with
a cheerful countenance in the affirma-
tive ; and that she never in her life
had done anything of which she less
repented than of the delivering that
innocent lamb from the wolves whidi
should have devoured him.

" Oh, Muriel," 1 cried, " cannot you
see her dear resolved fisuse and the
lighting up of her eyes, and the quick
fashion of her speech, when she said
this?"

" I do picture her to myself," Muriel
answered in a low voice, ^' at all hours
of the day, and marvel at mine own
quietness therein. But I doubt not
her prayers do win for me tiie grace
of resignation. They sought to ol>]ige
her to confess where Mr. Watson was,
but in vain ; and therefore they pro-
ceeded to pronounce sentence upon
her. But withal telling her that the
queen was merciful, and that if she
would ask pardon of her nugesty, and
would promise to go to church, she
should be set at Uberty; otherwise
that she must look for nothing but
certain death."

I drew a deep breath then, and said,
^ The issue is, then, not doubtfuL**

^ She answered," Muriel 8aid,<*tfi«t



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as to the queen^ she had never offended
her majesty; that as to what she had
done in fitvoring Mr. Watson's escape,
she believed the queen herself, if she
had the bowels <^* a woman, would
hi^re done as mach if she had known
the ill-treatment he underwent; and
as to going to church, she had for
many years been convinced that it
was not lawful for her so to do, and
that she found no reason now for to
diange her mind, and would not act
against her conscience ; and therefore
diey might proceed to the exeoo-
tioQ of the sentence pronounced
against her; for that death for such a
cause would be very welcome, and
tiiat she was willing to lay down not
one life only, but many, if she had
them, rather than act against her re-



^And she is then condemned to
death without any hope H^ I said.

Muriel remained silent.

« Oh, Muriel I" I cried ; " it is not
done ? it is not over P'
' She wiped one tear that trickled
down her cheek, and said, ^ Yesterday
she suffered at Tyburn with a wonder-
ful constancy and alacrity.''

I bid my face in my hands ; for the
sight of the familiar room, of the chair
in which she was sitting what time she
took leave of us, of a little picture
jnnned to the wall, which she had
gifted me with, moved me too much.
But when I closed mine eyes, there
arose remembrances of my journeying
with her; of my foolish speeches
touching robbers ; of her motherly re-
proofs of my so great confidence, and
oomlbrt in her guidance ; and I was
fain to seek comfort from her who
should have needed it rather than me,
but who indeed had it straight from
heaven, and thereby could impart some
share of it to others.

" Muriel," I said, resting my tired
head on her bosom, ^ the day you say
she suffered, I now mind me, I was
most ill, and you tended me as cheer-
fblly as if you had no grief."

^0\if 'tis no common grief," she
aaswei«dy ^no casting-down sorrow,



her end doth cause me ; rather some
kind of holy jealousy, some over-eager
pining to follow her."

A waidng-wbman then came in, and
I saw her give a letter to Muriel, who
I noticed did strive to hide it from me.
But I detected it in her hand, and
cried, ^ *Tis from Basil ; how hath it
come?" and took it from her; but
trembling so much, my fingers could
scarce untie the strings, for I was yet
veiy unwell from my sickness.

^ Mr. Hodgson hath sent it," quoth
Muriel ; ^ G<^ yield it be good news P*

Then my eyes fell on the loved
writing, and read what doth follow :

" Dear Heart and sweet Wipe
soon to be — Gkxi be praised^ we are
now safe in port at Calais, but have
not lacked dangers in our voyage.
But all is well, I ween, that doth end
well ; and I do begin my letter with
the tokens of that good ending that
mine own sweet love should have no
fears, only much thankfulness to God,
whilst she doth read of the perils we
have escaped. We carried Mr. Wat*
son — ^Tom and I and two others-^into
the boat, on the evening of the day
when I last saw you, and made for the
Dutch vessel out at sea near the river^s
mouth. The light was waning, but
not yet so far gone but that objects
were discernible; and we had not
rowed a very long time before we
heard a splashing of oars behind us,
and turning roun^ what should we see
but one of the Queen'i^ harges, and by
the floating pennon at the stem discern-
ed her majesty to be on board I We
hastily turned our boat, and I my back
toward the bank ; threw a dosJk over
Mr. Watson, who, by reason of his
broken limbs, was lying on a mattress
aXthe bottom of it ; and Tom and the
others feigned to be fishing. When
the royal baige passed by, some one
did shout, railing at us for that we did
fbh in the dark, and a stonn coming up
the river ; and verily it did of a sudden
begin to blow very strong. Sundiy
small craft were coming from the sea
into the river for shelter ; and as thej
did meet as, eipressed marvel wa



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shonld adventare forth, jeering ub for
our thinking to catch fish and a Btonn
menacing. None of us, albeit good
rowers, were much skilled in the mari-
ner's art; but we commended ourselves
to God and went onward all the
night; and when the morning was
breaking, to our unspeakable comfort,
we discovered die Dutch vessel but a
few strokes distant at anchor, when, as
we bethought ourselves nearlj in
safety, a huge rolling wave (for now
the weather had waxed exceedingly
rough) upset oar boaf

«0 Muriel," I exclaimed, «that
night I tossed about in a high fever,
and saw Basil come dripping wet at
the foot of my bed : I warrant you
'twas second sight"

<'Bead on, read on," Muriel said;
"nor delude yourself touching vis-
ions."

"Tom, the other boatman, and I,
bemg good swimmers, soon regained
the boat, the which floated keel up-
wards, whereon we climbed, but well-
nigh demented were we to find Mr.
Watson could nowhere be seen. In
desperation I plunged again into the
sea, swimming at hazard, with diffi-
culty buffeting the waves ; when nearly
spent I descried the good priest, and
seized him in a most unmannerly
fashion by the collar, and dragging him
along, made shift to regain the floating
keel; and Tom, climbing to the top,
waved high his kerchief, hoping to be
seen by the Dti^hman, who by good
hap did espy our signal Soon had
we the joy to see a boat lowered and
advance toward us. With much dif-
ficulty it neared us, by reason of the
fury of the waves ; but, God be thank-
ed, it did at last reach us ; and Mr.
Watson, infusible and motionless,
was hoisted therein, and soon in safety
conveyed on board the vesseL I much
feared for his life ; for, I pray you,
was such a cold, long bath, succeeding
to a painful exposed night, meet medi-
cine for broken limbs, and the fever
which doth accompany such hurts ? I
wot not ; but yet, God be praised, he
Is now in the hospital of a monastery



in this town, well tended and cared
for, and the leeches do assure me like
to do well. Thou mayest think, sweet-
heart, that after seeing him safely
stowed in that good lodgment, I waited
not for to change my clothes or break
my fast, before I went to the church ;
and on my knees blessed the Almighty
for his protection, and hung a thank-
offering on to our Lady's image ; for I
warrant you, when I was fishing for
Mr. Watson in that n^ng sea, I miss-
ed not to put up Hail Marys as
fast as I could think them, for be-
shrew me if I had breath to spare for
to utter. I do now pen this letter at
my good friend Mr. Wells's brother^,
and Tom will take it with him to Lon-
don, and Mr. Hodgson convey it to
ihee. Thy affectionate and humble
obedient (albeit intending to lord it
over thee some coming day) servant
and lover, Basil Rookwood.

" Oh, how the days do creep till I
be out of my wardship! Methinks I
do feel somewhat like Mrs. Helen Li-
goldsby, who doth hate patience, she
saith, by reason that it doth always
keep her waiting. I would not be
patient, sweet one, I fear, if impatience
would carry me quicker to tliy dear
side."

« Well," said Muriel, sweetly smil-
ing when I had finished reading this
comfortable letter, "the twain which
we have accompanied this past fort-
night with our thoughts and prayers
have both, God be praised, escaped
from a raging sea into a safe harbor,
albeit not of the same sort — ^the one
earthly, the other heavenly. Oh, but
I am very glad, dear Constance, Ihoa
art spared a greater trial than hath
yet touched thee !" and so pure a joy
beamed in her eyes, that methought no
one more truly fulfilled that bidding,
"to rejoice with such as rejoice, as
well as to weep with such as weep "

This letter of my dear Basil hasten-
'ed my recovery ; and three days later,
having received an invitation thereun-
to, I went to visit the Countess of Sor*
rey, now also of Arundel, at Arundel
House. The trouble she was in by



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471



reason of her grandfather's death, and
ci my Ladj Lumley's, who had preced-
ed her father to the grave, exceeded
anything she had jet endured. The
earl her hushand continued the same
hard usage toward her, and never so
much as came to visit her at that time
of her affliction, but remained in Nor-
folk, attending to his sports of hunting
and the like. Howsoever, as he had
satisfied her uncles, Mr. Francis and
Mr. Leonard Dacre,Mr. James La-
bourn, and also Lord Montague, and
his own sister Lady Margaret Sack-
ville, and likewise Lord Thomas and
Lord William Howard, his brothers,
that he put not in any doubt, albeit
words to that effect had once escaped
him, the validity of his marriage, she,
with great wisdom and patience, and
prudence very commendable in one of
her years, being destitute of any fitting
place to dwell in, 'resolved to return to
his house in London. At the which
at first he seemed not a little displeas-
ed, but yet took no measures for to
drive her from it. And in the order-
ing of the household and care of his
property manifested the same zeal,
and obtained the same good results, as
she had procured whilst she lived at
Kenninghall. Methought she^had
waxed older by some years, not weeks,
since I had seen her, so staid and com-
posed had become the fashion of her
speech and of her carriage. She con-
versed with me on mine own troubles
and comforts, and the various and op-
posite haps which had befallen me ;
which I told her served to strengthen
in me my early thinking, that sorrows
are oftentimes so intermixed with joys
that our lives do more resemble varia-
ble April days than the cloudless skies
of June, or the dark climate of win-
ter.

Whilst we did thus discourse, mine
eyes fell on a quaint piece of work in
silk and silver, which was lying on a
table, as if lately unfolded. Lady
Arundel smiled in a somewhat said
'&shion, and said :

'^I warrant thou art carious, Con-
fttancei to examine that piecaof em-



broidery ; , and verily as regards the
hands which hath worked it, and the
kind intent with which it was wrought,
a more notable one should not easily
be found. Look at it, and see if thou
canst read the ingenious meaning of
it"

This was the design therein ex-
ecuted with exceeding great neatness
and beauty : there was a tree framed,
whereon two turtle-doves sat, on either
side one, with this difference, that by
that on the right hand there were two
or three green leaves remaining, by
the other none at all — the tree on that
side being wholly bare. Over the top
of the tree were these words, wrought
in silver : '^ Amoris sorte pares." At
the bottom of the tree, on the side
where the first turtle-dove did sit by
the green leaves, these words were
also embroidered : ^ Hsbc ademptum,"
with an anchor under them. On the
other side, under the other dove, were
these words, in like manner wrought :
"lUa peremptum," with pieces of
broken board underneath.

" See you what this doth mean ?*
the countess asked. '

"Nay," I answered; "my wit is
herein at fault."

"You will," she said, "when you
know whence this gift comes to me*
Methought, save by a few near to me
in blood, or by marriage connected,
and one or two friends — thou, my
Constance, being the chiefest — I was
unknown to all the world ; but a sad
royal heart having had notice, in the
midst of its own sore grie&, how the
earl my husband doth, through evil
counsel, absent and estrange himself
from me, partly to comfort, and partly
to show her love to one she once
thought should be her daughter-in-
law, for a token thereof she sent me
this gift, contrived by her own think-
ing, and wrought with her own hands.
Those two doves do represent heraelf
and me. On my side an anchor and
a few green leaves (symbols of hope),
show I may yet flourish, because my
lord is alive ; though, by reason of his
absence and unkindnessi I mourn aa a



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Ckm$UmcB SkerwoocL



lone tiirtl6<loTe. Bat the bare bougha
and broken boards on her side signify
that her hopes are wholly wrecked hj
the death of the duke, for whom she
doth mourn without hope of comfort
or redress.^

The pathetic manner in which Lady
Arundel made this speech moved me
almost to tears.

« If Philip," she sud, <* doth visit me
again at any time, I will hang up this
ingenious conceit where he should see
it Methinks it will recall to him the
past, and move him to show me kind-
ness. Help me, Constance," she said
after a pause, ^^ for to compose such an
answer as mj needle can express,
which shall convey to this royal pris-
oner both thanks, and somewhat of
hope also, albeit not of the sort she
doth disclaim.'*

I mused for a while, and then with
a pencil drew a pattern of a like tree
to that of the Scottish queen's design ;
and the dove which did typify the
Countess of Arundel I did represent
fastened to the branch, whereon she
sat and mourned, by many strings
wound round her heart, and tied to the
anchor of an earthly hope, whereas
the one which was the symbol of the
forlorn royal captive did spread her
wings toward the sky, unfettered by
the shattered relics strewn at her feet
Lady Arundel put her arm round my
neck, and said she liked well this de-
sign ; and bade me for to pray for her,
that the invisible strings, which verily
did restrun in her heavenward mo-
tions, should not always keep her
from soaring thither where only true
joys are to be found.

During some succeeding weeks I
often visited her, and we wrought to-
gether at the same ft^me in the work-
ing of this design, which she had set
on hand by a cunning artificer £rom
the rough pattern I had drawn. Much
talk the while was ministered between
us touching religion, which did more
and more engage her thoughts ; Mr.
Bay ley, a CaSiolic gentleman who be-
longed to the earl her husband, and
whom she did at that time employ to



carry relief to sick and poor persons,
helping her greatly thereui, being weU
instructed himself, and haunting such
priests as did reside secretly in Lon-
don at that time.

About the period when Basil was
expected to return, my health was
again much affected, not so sharp-
ly as before, but a weakness and fad-
ing of strength did show the effects of
such sufferings as I had endured.
Hubert's behavior did tend at that
time for to keep me in great uneasi-
ness. When he came to the house,
albeit he spake but seldom to me, if
we ever were alone he gave sundry
hints of a persistent hope and a pos-
sible desperation, mingled with vague
threats, which disturbed me more than
can be thought c^. Methinks Eate,
Polly, and Muriel held council touch-
ing my health; and thence arose a
very welcome proposal, from my Lady
Tregony, that I should visit her at
her seat in Norfolk, close on the bor-
ders of Suffolk, whither she had re-
tired since Thomas Sherwood's death.
Polly, who had a good head and a
good heart albeit too light a mind,
ft>recasted the comfort it should be to
Basil and me, when he returned, to be
so ntar neighbors until we were mar-
ried (which could not be before some
months after he came of age), that we
could meet every day; Lady Tre-
gony's seat being only three miles dis-
tant from Euston. They wrote to
him thereon; and when his answer
came, the joy he expressed was such
that nothing could be greater. And
on a fair day in the spring, when tbe
blossoms of the pear and apple^reea
were showing on the bare branches,
even as my hopes of coming joys did
bud afresh after long pangs of separa-
tion, I rode from London, by slow
journeys, to Banham Hall, and amidst
the sweet silence of rural scenes, quiet
fields, and a small but convenient
house, where I was greeted with ma-
ternal kindness by one in whom age ,
retained the warmth of heart of yoath,
I did regain so much strength and
good looks, that when, one day, a



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478



honeman, whea I least thought of it,
rode to the door, and I tamed white
and red in turns, speechless with de*
light, perceiving it to be Basil, he took
me by both hands, looked into my face
and cried :

*'Hang the leeches! Suffolk air
was all thou didst need, for all they did
so fright me/'

** Norfolk ab:, I pray you/' quoth
my Lady Tregony, smiling.

«Nay, nay,** quoth Basil. «It
doth blow over the bqpder from Suf-
folk.*'

^ Happiness, leastways, bloweth
thence," I whispered.

"Yea," he answered; for he was
not one for to make long speeches.

But, ah me ! the sight of him was a
core to aU mine ailments.



CHAPTER XXI.

It is not to be credited with how
great an ^mixture of pleasure and
pain I do set myself to my daily
task of writing, for the thought
of those spring and summer months
spent in Lady Tregony's house doth
stir up old feelings, the sweetness
of which hath jet some bitterness in
it, which T would fain separate from
the memories of that happy time.

Basil had taken up his abode at
Euston, whither I so often went and
whence he so often came, that me-
thinks we could both have told (for
mine own part I can yet do it, even
after the lapse of so many years) the
shape of each tree, the rising of each
bank, the every winding of the ftur
river Ouse'betwixt one house and the
other. Yea, when I now sit down on the
shore, gazing on the far-off sea, be-
thinking myself it doth break on the
coast of England, I sometimes newly
draw on memoirs tablet that old
large house, the biggest in all Suffolk,
albeit homely in its exterior and inte-
rior plainness, which sitteth in a green
hollow between two graceftd swelling
hills* Its opposite meadows starred



in the spring-tide with so many dai-
sies and buttercups that the grass
scantily showeth amidst these gay in-
truders; the ascending walk, a mile
in lengdi, with four rows of ash-trees
on each side, the tender green of
which in those early April days mocked
the sober tints of the darksome tufts of
fir; and the noble deer underneath
the old oaks, carrying in a stately
manner their horned heads, and dart-
ing along the glades with so swift a
course that the eye could scarce fol-
low them. But mostly the littie wood-
en bridge where, when Basil did fish,
I was wont to sit and watch the sport,
I said, but verily him, of whose sight
I was somewhat covetous after his
long absence. And I mind me that
one day when we were thus seated, he
on the margin of the stream and I
leaning against the bridge, we held an
argument touching country diversions,
which began in this wise :

« Methinks," I said, « of aU dis-
ports fishing hath this advantage, that
if one faileth in the success he looketh
for, he hath at least a wholesome
walk, a sweet air, a fragrant savor of
the mead fiowers. He seeth the
young swans, herons, ducks, and many
other fowls with their broods, which is
surely better than the noise of hounds,
the blast of horns, and the cries the
hunters make. A^d if it be in part
used for the increasing of the body's
health and the solace o£ the mmd, it
can also be advantageously employed
for the health of the soul, for it is not
needftd in this diversion to have a
great many persons with you, and this
solitude doth favor thought and the
servmg of Grod by sometimes repeat^
ing devout prayers."

To this Basil replied: »That as
there be many men, there be also
many minds ; and, for his part, when
the woods and fields and skies seemed
in all one loud cry and conBision with
the earning of the hounds, the gallop*
ping of the horses, the hallowing of the
huntsmen, and the excellent echo re«
sounding ftom the hills and valleys,
he did not think there could be a



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474



Oonttanee J^encoad,



mote delectable pastime or a more
taneable sound by anj degree thaa
this, and speciallj in that place which
is formed so meet for the purpose.
And if he should wish anything, it
would be that it had been the time of
year for it, and for me to ride by his
side on a sweet misty mornings to hear
this goodly music and to be recreated
with this excellent diversion. And
for the matter of prayers," he added,
smiling, ^I warrant thee, sweet
preacher, that as wholesome cogita-
tions touching Almighty God and his
goodness, and brief inward thanking
of him for good limbs and an easy
heart, have come into my mind on a
horse's back with a brave westerly
wind blowing about my head, as in
the quiet sitting by a stream listing to
the fowls singing."

«' Oh, but Basil,* I rejoined, « there
are more virtues to be practised by
an angler than by a hunter."

" How prove you that, sweetheart?"
he asked.

Then I: << Well, he must be of a
well-settled and constant belief to en-
joy the benefit of his expectation. He
must be full of love to his neighbor,
that he neither give offence in any
particular, nor be guilty of any gener-
al destruction; then he must be ex-
ceeding patient, not chafing in losing
the prey when it is almost in hand, or
in breaking his tools, but with pleased
sufferance, as I have witnessed in thy-
self, amend errors and think mis-
chances instructions to better careful-
ness. He must be also full of humble
thoughts, not disdaining to kneel, lie
down, or wet his fingers when occa-
sion commands. Then must he be
prudent, apprehending the reasons
why the fish will not bite ; and of a
ihankful nature, showing a large
gratefulness for the least satisfaction."

« Tut, tut," Basil replied, laughing ;
^ thinkest thou no patience be needful
when the dogs do lose the scent, or
your horse refuseth to take a gate ;
no prudence to forecast which way to
turn when the issue be doubtful ; no
humility to brook a fall with twenty



fellows passing by a-jeering of you ;
no thankfiilness your head be not
broken ; no love of your neighbor for



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