The King's Daughters Part 38

The crowd was not much less on the waste place by the Lexden Road, when on the 17th of September, 1557, those two martyrs were brought forth to die: Agnes Bongeor, full of joy and triumph, praising G.o.d that at length she was counted worthy to suffer for His Name's sake; Margaret Thurston, the disciple who had denied Him, and for whom therefore there could be no triumph; yet, even now, a meek and fervent appeal from the heart's core, of "Lord, Thou knowest that I love Thee!"

As the chain was being fastened around them a voice came from the crowd--one of those mysterious voices never to be traced to a speaker, perpetually heard at martyrdoms.

"'He remembered that they were but flesh.' 'He hath remembered His covenant forever.' 'According to Thy mercy, remember Thou me!'"

Only Margaret Thurston knew who spoke three times that word never to be forgotten, once a terrible rebuke, now and evermore a benediction.

So went home the last of the Colchester martyrs.

As Mr Ewring turned back, he caught sight of Dorothy Denny, and made his way back to her.

"You come to behold, do you, Dorothy?" said he, when they had turned into a quiet side street, safe from hostile ears.

"Ay, Master, it strengthens me," she said.

"Thou'rt of the right stuff, then," he answered. "It weakens such as be not."

"Eh, I'm as weak as any one," replied Dorothy. "What comforts me is to see how the good Lord can put strength into the very feeblest lamb of all His flock. It seems like as if the Shepherd lifted the lamb into His arms, so that it had no labour to carry itself."

"Ay, 'tis easy to bear a burden, when you and it be borne together,"

said Mr Ewring. "Dorothy, have you strength for that burden?"

"Master Ewring, I've given up thinking that I've any strength for any thing, and then I just go and ask for it for everything, and methinks I get along best that way."

"Ay, so? You are coming on fast, Dorothy. Many Christian folks miss that lesson half their lives."

"Well, I don't know but they do the best that are weak," said Dorothy.

"Look you, they know it, and know they must fetch better strength than their own; so they don't get thinking they can manage the little things themselves, and only need ask the Lord to see to the greet ones."

"It's true, Dorothy. I can't keep from thinking of poor Jack Thurston; he must be either very hard or very miserable. Let us pray for him, Dorothy. I'm afeared it's a bad sign that he isn't with them this morrow."

"You think he's given in, Master Ewring?"

"I'm doubtful of it, Dorothy."

They walked on for a few minutes without speaking.

"I'll try to see Jack again, or pa.s.s in a word to him," said Mr Ewring reflectively.

"Eh, Master Ewring don't you go into peril! The Lord's cause can't afford to lose you. Don't 'ee, now!"

"Dorothy," said Mr Ewring with a smile, "if the Lord's cause can't afford to lose me, you may be very sure it won't lose me. 'The Lord reigneth, be the people never so impatient.' He is on the throne, not the priests. But in truth, Dorothy, the Lord can afford anything: He is able of these stones to raise up children unto Abraham. 'He Himself knew what He would do,' touching the miracle of the loaves: Andrew didn't know, and Philip hadn't a notion. Let us trust Him, Dorothy, and just go forward and do our duty. We shall not die one moment before the Master calleth us."

CHAPTER FORTY.

G.o.d SAVE THE QUEEN!

"Come and sit a bit with me, Will. I scarce ever see you now."

Will Johnson, a year older and bigger, scrambled up on the garden seat, and Cissy put her arm round him.

From having been very small of her age, Cissy was suddenly shooting up into a tall, slim, lily-like girl, nearly as white as a lily, and as delicate-looking. "How are you getting on with the ladies, Will?"

"Oh, middling."

"You know you must learn as much as you can, Will, of aught they teach you that is good. We're being better learned than Father could have learned us, in book-learning and such; and we must mind and pay heed, the rather because maybe we sha'n't have it long."

"I wish you wouldn't talk so about--Father. You're for ever talking about him," said Will uneasily, trying to wriggle himself out of his sister's clasp.

"Not talk about Father!" exclaimed Cissy indignantly. "Will, whatever do you mean? I couldn't bear not to talk about Father! It would seem like as we'd forgotten him. And you must never forget him--never!"

"I don't like talking about dead folks. And--well it's no use biding it. Look here. Cissy--I'm going to give up."

"Give up what?" Cissy's voice was very low. There might be pain and disappointment in it, but there was no weakness.

"Oh, all this standing out against the nuns. You can go on, if you like being starved and beaten and made to kneel on the chapel floor, and so forth; but I've stood it as long as I can. And--wait a bit, Cis; let me have my say out--I can't see what it signifies, not one bit. What can it matter whether I say my prayers looking at yon image or not? If I said them looking at the moon, or at you, you wouldn't say I was praying to you or the moon. I'm not praying to _it_; only, if they think I am, I sha'n't get thrashed and sent to bed hungred. Don't you see? That can't be idolatry."

Cissy was silent till she had felt her way through the mist raised by Will's subterfuge into the clear daylight of truth.

"Shall I tell you what it would be, Will?"

"Well? Some of your queer notions, I reckon."

"Idolatry, with lying and cheating on the top of it. Do you think they make it better?"

"Cis, don't say such ugly words!"

"Isn't it best to call ugly things by their right names?"

"Well, any way, it won't be my fault: it'll be theirs who made me do it."

"Theirs and yours too, Will, if you let them make you."

"I tell you, Cissy, I can't stand it!"

"Father stood more than that," said Cissy in that low, firm voice.

"Oh, don't be always talking about Father! He was a man and could bear things. I've had enough of it. G.o.d Almighty won't be hard on me, if I do give in."

"Hard, Will! Do you call it hard when people are grieved to the heart because you do something which they'd lay down their lives you shouldn't do? The Lord did lay down His life for you: and yet you say that you can't bear a little hunger and a few stripes for Him!"

"Cis, you don't know what it is. You're a maid, and I dare say they don't lay on so hard on you. It's more than a little, I can tell you."

Cissy knew what it was far better than Will, for he was a strong boy, on whom hardships fell lightly, while she had to bear the blows and the hunger with a delicate and enfeebled frame. But she only said,--

"Will, don't you care for me?"