CHAPTER THIRTY.
"THEY WON'T MAKE ME!"
"What! Agnes Bongeor taken to the Moot Hall? Humph! they'll bea-coming for me next. I must get on with my work. Let's do as much aswe can for the Lord, ere we're called to suffer for Him. Thou tookestmy message to Master Commissary, Doll?"
Dorothy Denny murmured something which did not reach the ear of MrsWade.
"Speak up, woman! I say, thou tookest my message?"
"Well, Mistress, I thought--"
"A fig for thy thought! Didst give my message touching Johnson'schildren?"
"N-o, Mistress, I,--"
"Beshrew thee for an unfaithful messenger. Dost know what the wise Kingsaith thereof? He says it is like a foot out of joint. Hadst ever thyfoot out o' joint? I have, and I tell thee, if thou hadst the one footout of joint, thou wouldst not want t'other. I knew well thou wert anass, but I did not think thee unfaithful. Why didst not give mymessage?"
There were tears in Dorothy's eyes.
"Mistress," said she, "forgive me, but I will not help you to run intotrouble, though you're sore set to do it. It shall serve no goodpurpose to keep your name for ever before the eyes of Master Commissaryand his fellows. Do, pray, let them forget you. You'll ne'er be safe,an' you thrust yourself forward thus."
"Safe! Bless the woman! I leave the Lord to see to my safety. I've nocare but to get His work done."
"Well, then He's the more like to have a care of you; but, Mistress,won't you let Dorothy Denny try to see to you a bit too?"
"Thou'rt a good maid, Doll, though I'm a bit sharp on thee at times; andthou knows thou art mortal slow. Howbeit, tell me, what is come ofthose children? If they be in good hands, I need not trouble."
"Ursula Felstede has them, Mistress, till the Black Nuns of Hedinghamshall fetch them away."
"Ursula Felstede! `Unstable as water.' That for Ursula Felstede.Black Nuns shall not have 'em while Philippa Wade's above ground. Itell thee, Dorothy, wherever those little ones go, the Lord's blessing'll go with them. Dost mind what David saith? `I have been young, andnow am old; and yet saw I never the righteous forsaken, nor his seedbegging their bread.' And I want them, maid,--part because I feel forthe little ones, and part because I want the blessing. Why, that poorlittle Cicely 'll be crying her bits of eyes out to part with `Father.'Doll, I'll go down this even, if I may find leisure, to Ursula Felstede,and see if I cannot win her to give me the children. I shall tell hermy mind first, as like as not: and much good may it do her! But I'llhave a try for 'em--I will."
"Folks saith, Mistress, the prisoners be in as good case as may be:always reading and strengthening one another, and praising God."
"I'm fain to hear it, Dorothy. Ah, they be not the worst off in thistown. If the Lord were to come to judge the earth this even, I'd a dealliefer be one of them in the Moot Hall than be of them that have them incharge. I marvel He comes not. If he had been a man and not God, He'dhave been down many a time afore now."
About six o'clock on a hot July evening, Ursula Felstede heard a tap ather door.
"Come in! O Mistress Wade, how do you do? Will you sit? I'm sureyou're very welcome," said Ursula, in some confusion.
"I'm not quite so sure of it, Ursula Felstede: but let be. You'veJohnson's children here, haven't you?"
"Ay, I have so: and I tell you that Will's a handful! Seems to me he'sworser to rule than he used. He's getting bigger, trow."
"And Cicely?"
"Oh, she's quiet enough, only a bit obstinate. Won't always do as she'stold. I have to look after her sharp, or she'd be off, I do believe."
"I'd like to see her, an't please you."
"Well, to be sure! I sent 'em out to play them a bit. I don't justknow where they are."
"Call that looking sharp after 'em?"
Ursula laughed a little uneasily.
"Well, one can't be just a slave to a pack of children, can one? I'lllook out and see if they are in sight."
"Thank you, I'll do that, without troubling you. Now, Ursula Felstede,I've one thing to say to you, so I'll say it and get it over. Thosechildren of Johnson's have the Lord's wings over them: they'll be takencare of, be sure: but if you treat them ill, or if you meddle with whattheir father learned them, you'll have to reckon with Him instead of theQueen's Commissioners. And I'd a deal sooner have the Commissionersagainst me than have the Lord. Be not afraid of them that kill thebody, and after that have no more that they can do but fear Him whichafter He hath killed, hath power to cast into Hell. Yea, I say untothee, Fear Him!"
And Mrs Wade walked out of the door without saying another word. Shewas going to look for the children. The baby she had already seenasleep on Ursula's bed. Little Will she found in the midst of a groupof boys down by the brook, one of whom, a lad twice his size, was justabout to fight him when Mrs Wade came up.
"Now, Jack Tyler, if thou dost not want to be carried to thy father bythe scuff of thy neck, like a cat, and well thrashed to end with, letthat lad alone.--Will, where's thy sister?"
Little Will, who looked rather sheepish, said,--
"Over there."
"Where's _there_?"
"On the stile. She's always there when we're out, except she's lookingafter me."
"Thou lackest looking after."
"Philip Tye said he'd see to me: and then he went off with Jem Morris,bird-nesting."
"Cruel lads! well, you're a proper lot! It'd do you good, and me too,to give you a caning all round. I shall have to let be to-night, for Iwant to find Cicely."
"Well, you'll see her o' top o' the stile."
Little Will turned back to his absorbing amusement of bulrush-plaiting,and Mrs Wade went up to the stile which led to the way over the fieldstowards Colchester. As she came near, sheltered by the hedge, she hearda little voice.
"Yea, though I walk in vale of death, Yet will I fear no ill: Thy rod, Thy staff, doth comfort me, And Thou art with me still."
Mrs Wade crept softly along till she could see through the hedge. Thestile was a stone one, with steps on each side, such as may still beseen in the north of England: and on the top step sat Cissy, resting herhead upon her hand, and looking earnestly in the direction ofColchester.
"What dost there, my dear heart?" Mrs Wade asked gently.
"I'm looking at Father," said Cissy, rather languidly. She spoke as ifshe were not well, and could not care much about anything.
"`Looking at Father'! What dost thou mean, my child?"
"Well, you see that belt of trees over yonder? When the sun shines, Ican see All Hallows' tower stand up against it. You can't see itto-day: it does not shine; but it's there for all that. And Father'sjust behind in the Castle: so I haven't any better way to look at him.Only God looks at him, you know; they can't bar Him out. So I comehere, and look as far as I can, and talk to God about Father. I can'tsee Father, but he's there: and I can't see God, but He's there too: andHe's got to see to Father now I can't."
The desolate tone of utter loneliness in the little voice touched MrsWade to the core of her great warm heart.
"My poor little Cicely!" she said. "Doth Ursula use thee well?"
"Yes, I suppose so," said Cissy, in a quiet matter-of-fact way; "onlywhen I won't pray to her big image, she slaps me. But she can't make medo it. Father said not. It would never do for God to see us doingthings Father forbade us, because he's shut up and can't come to us.I'm not going to pray to that ugly thing: never! And if it was pretty,it wouldn't make any difference, when Father said not."
"No, dear heart, that were idolatry," said Mrs Wade.
"Yes, I know," replied Cissy: "Father said so. But Ursula says theBlack Sisters will make me, or they'll put me in the well. I do hopeGod will keep away the Black Sisters. I ask Him every day, when I'vedone talking about Father. I shouldn't like them to put me in thewell!" and she shuddered. Evidently Ursula had frightened her very muchwith some story about this. "But God would be there, in the well,wouldn
't He? They won't make me do it when Father said not!"
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