The King's Daughters Part 11

"It shall do thee no hurt to be feared of thyself, only lose not thine hold on G.o.d. 'Hold _Thou_ me up, and I shall be safe.' But that should not be, buying life, Bessy, but selling it."

"I know it should be bartering the life eternal, for the sake of a few years, at most, of this lower life. Yet life is main sweet, Bessy, and we are young. 'All that a man hath will he give for his life.'"

"Think not on the life, Rose, nor on what thou givest, but alone on Him for whom thou givest it. Is He not worth the pain and the loss?

Couldst thou bear to lose _Him_?--Him, who endured the bitter rood [Cross] rather than lose thee. That must never be, dear heart."

"I do trust not, verily; yet--"

"What, not abed yet?" cried the cheery voice of Mrs Wade. "I came up but to see if you had all you lacked. Doll's on her way up. I reckon she shall be here by morning. A good maid, surely, but main slow.

What! the little ones be asleep? That's well. But, deary me, what long faces have you two! Are you taking thought for your funeral, or what discourse have you, that you both look like judges?"

"Something like it, Hostess," said Elizabeth, with her grave smile.

"Truly, we were considering that which may come, and marvelling if we should hold fast."

The landlady set her arms akimbo, and looked from one of the girls to the other.

"Why, what's a-coming?" said she.

"Nay, we know not what, but--"

"Dear heart, then I'd wait till I did! I'll tell you what it is--I hate to have things wasted, even an old shoe-latchet; why, I pity to cast it aside, lest it should come in for something some day. Now, my good maids, don't waste your courage and resolution. Just you keep them till they're wanted, and then they'll be bright and ready for use. You're not going to be burned to-night; you're going to bed. And s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up your courage to be burned is an ill preparation for going to bed, I can tell you. You don't know, and I don't, that any one of us will be called to glorify the Lord in the fires. If we are, depend upon it He'll show us how to do it. Now, then, say your prayers, and go to sleep."

"I thank you, Hostess, but I must be going home."

"Good-night, then, Bessy, and don't sing funeral dirges over your own coffin afore it comes from the undertaker. What, Doll, hast really got here? I scarce looked to see thee afore morning. Good-night, maids."

And Mrs Wade bustled away.

Note 1. At this time they used the word _meat_ in the sense of food of any kind--not butchers meat only.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

A DARK NIGHT'S ERRAND.

"Must you be gone, Bessy?" said Dorothy Denny, sitting down on the side of her bed with a weary air. "Eh, I'm proper tired! Thought this day 'd never come to an end, I did. Couldn't you tarry a bit longer?"

"I don't think I ought, Dorothy. Your mistress looked to see Rose abed by now, 'twas plain; and mine gave me leave but till eight o' the clock.

I'd better be on my way."

"Oh, you're one of that sort that's always thinking what they _ought_, are you? That's all very well in the main; but, dear heart! one wants a bit of what one would like by nows and thens."

"One gets that best by thinking what one ought," said Elizabeth.

"Ay, but it's all to come sometime a long way off; and how do I know it'll come to me? Great folks doesn't take so much note of poor ones, and them above 'll very like do so too."

"There's only One above that has any right to bid aught," answered Elizabeth, "and He takes more note of poor than rich, Doll, as you'll find by the Bible. Good-night, Rose; good-night, Dorothy."

And Elizabeth ran lightly down the stairs, and out so into the street.

She had a few minutes left before the hour at which Mrs Clere had enjoined her to be back, so she did not need to hurry, and she went quietly on towards Balcon Lane, carrying her lantern--for there were no street lamps, and n.o.body could have any light on a winter evening except what he carried with him. Just before she turned the corner of the lane she met two women, both rather heavily laden. Elizabeth was pa.s.sing on, when her steps were arrested by hearing one of them say,--

"I do believe that's Bess Foulkes; and if it be--"

Elizabeth came to a standstill.

"Yes, I'm Bess Foulkes," she said. "What of that?"

"Why, then, you'll give me a lift, be sure, as far as the North Hill.

I've got more than I can carry, and I was casting about for a face I knew."

"I've not much time to spare," said Elizabeth; "but I'll give you a lift as far as Saint Peter's--I can't go further. Margaret Thurston, isn't it? I must be in by eight; I'll go with you till then."

"I've only to go four doors past Saint Peter's, so that'll do well. You were at the preaching, weren't you, this even?"

"Ay, and I thought I saw you."

"Yes, I was there. He talked full bravely. I marvel if he'd stand if it came to it. I don't think many would."

"I mis...o...b.. if any would, without G.o.d held them up."

"Margaret says she's sure she would," said the other woman.

"Oh, ay, I don't doubt myself," said Margaret.

"Then I cry you mercy, but I doubt you," replied Elizabeth.

"I'm sure you needn't! I'd never flinch for pope nor priest."

"Maybe not; but you might for rack or stake."

"It'll ne'er come to that here. Queen Mary's not like to forget how Colchester folk all stood with her against Lady Jane."

"She mayn't; but think you the priests shall tarry at that? and she'll do as the priests bid her."

"Ay, they say my Lord of Winchester, when he lived, had but to hold up his finger, and she'd have followed him, if it were over London Bridge into the Thames," said the other woman. "And the like with my Lord Cardinal, that now is."

By "my Lord of Winchester" she meant Bishop Gardiner, who had been dead rather more than a year. The Cardinal was Reginald Pole, the Queen's third cousin, who had lately been appointed Archbishop of Canterbury, in the room of the martyred Cranmer, "Why, the Queen and my Lord Cardinal were ever friends, from the time they were little children," answered Margaret.

"Ay, there was talk once of her wedding with him, if he'd not become a priest. But I rather reckon you're right, my maid: a priest's a priest, without he's a Gospeller; and there's few of them will think more of goodness and charity than of their own order and of the Church."

"Goodness and charity? Marry, there's none in 'em!" cried Margaret.

"Howbeit, here's the Green Sleeves, where I'm bound, and I'm beholden to you, Bessy, for coming with me. Good even."

Elizabeth returned the greeting, and set off to walk back at a quick pace to Balcon Lane. She had not gone many steps when she was once more stopped, this time by a young man, named Robert Purcas, a fuller, who lived in the neighbouring village of Booking.

"Bessy," said he. "It is thou, I know well, for I heard thee bid Margaret Thurston good den, and I should know thy voice among a thousand."