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The Secret Chamber at Chad

by Evelyn Everett-Green · English · Gutenberg #15670 · 318,095 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Secret Chamber at Chad

Author: Evelyn Everett-Green


        
Release date: April 20, 2005 [eBook #15670]
                Most recently updated: December 14, 2020

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/15670

Credits: Produced by Martin Robb


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SECRET CHAMBER AT CHAD ***




Produced by Martin Robb




THE SECRET CHAMBER AT CHAD
by Everett Evelyn-Green.

Table of Contents

CHAPTER I:    A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR.
CHAPTER II:   THE HOUSEHOLD AT CHAD.
CHAPTER III:  BROTHER EMMANUEL.
CHAPTER IV:   THE TRAVELLING PREACHER.
CHAPTER V:    A WARNING.
CHAPTER VI:   WATCHED!
CHAPTER VII:  AN IMPOSING SPECTACLE.
CHAPTER VIII: HIDDEN AWAY.
CHAPTER IX:   THE SEARCH.
CHAPTER X:    FROM PERIL TO SAFETY.



Chapter I: A Mysterious Visitor.


The great house at Chad was wrapped in sleep. The brilliant beams
of a June moon illuminated the fine pile of gray masonry with a
strong white light. Every castellated turret and twisted chimney
stood out in bold relief from the heavy background of the pine wood
behind, and the great courtyard lay white and still, lined by a
dark rim of ebon shadow.

Chad, without being exactly a baronial hall of the first magnitude,
was nevertheless a very fine old house. It had been somewhat shorn
of its pristine glories during the Wars of the Roses. One out of
its original two quadrangles had then been laid in ruins, and had
never been rebuilt. But the old inner quadrangle still remained
standing, and made an ample and commodious dwelling house for the
family of the Chadgroves who inhabited it; whilst the ground which
had once been occupied by the larger outer quadrangle, with its
fortifications and battlements, was now laid out in terraces and
garden walks, which made a pleasant addition to the family
residence.

The seventh Henry was on the throne. The battle of Bosworth Field
had put an end to the long-drawn strife betwixt the houses of York
and Lancaster. The exhausted country was beginning to look forward
to a long period of prosperity and peace; and the household at Chad
was one of the many that were rejoicing in the change which had
come upon the public outlook, and was making the most of the
peaceful years which all trusted lay before the nation.

Several changes of some importance had passed over Chad during the
previous century. The wars had made gaps in the ranks of the family
to whom it had always belonged. There had been sundry edicts of
confiscation--as speedily repealed by the next change in the fate
of the day; and more than once the head had been struck down by
death, and the house and lands had passed either to a minor or to
some other branch of the family. There had been the confusion and
strife betwixt the various branches of the family which was a
characteristic of that age of upheaval and strife; but the present
owner of the estate, Sir Oliver Chadgrove, seemed firmly settled in
his place. He had fought on Henry's side at Bosworth, and had been
confirmed by that monarch in the possession of the estate of Chad;
and since that day none had tried to dispute his claim; nor,
indeed, would it have been very easy to do so, as he was
undoubtedly the rightful representative of the older branch of the
family.

A just and kindly man, he was beloved of those about him, and would
have been staunchly supported by his retainers had any adversary
arisen against him. His only enemy was the Lord of Mortimer, who
owned Mortimer's Keep, the adjoining property, and had cast
covetous eyes on Chad during the stormy days of the late wars, more
than once trying unsuccessfully to step in between the disputing
parties and claim it as his own, not by the power of right, but by
that of might alone. However, he had not been successful in this
attempt; and for the past few years there had been a semblance of
friendliness between Sir Oliver and his proud and powerful
neighbour.

The knight was well aware that the friendliness was more a seeming
than a reality. He was perfectly well acquainted with the rapacious
character of the owner of Mortimer's Keep, and with his covetous
designs upon Chad. He knew he was a secret foe, always on the watch
for any cause of complaint against him; and he could often feel
that it would take very little to stir up the old jealous strife
and hostility. Still, for the present an armed truce was the order
of the day, and Sir Oliver, knowing his own loyalty, the cleanness
of his hands, and the uprightness of his dealings, was not much
afraid that his enemy would ever succeed in ousting him from his
lands, or in gaining possession of the fair park and house of Chad
for himself.

Sir Oliver was personally liked by the king, which was another
point in his favour. Without being a brilliant ruler like his
successors, the seventh Henry had the faculty of choosing men of
parts to place about him, and he had recognized in Sir Oliver
Chadgrove certain qualities which he approved, and of which he
wished to avail himself from time to time. So the knight was
frequently summoned to attend the king, and occasionally his wife
went with him and appeared at court. On this particular bright June
night, both the master and the mistress were absent, being at
Windsor with the king's court; and the three boys--the children
with whom Providence had blessed them--were the only members of the
family sleeping beneath the roof of the great house.

The bedchamber of the three boys was a large, bare room looking out
across the wooded park and ridge of hills, through which the little
river of Chad meandered leisurely. The boys would have preferred
the courtyard for their lookout; but a lover of nature could not
but be struck by the exceeding beauty of the view from this row of
latticed casements. And indeed the green expanse of home-like
country had its charm even for high-spirited boys; and Edred, the
second child of the house, often sat for hours together on the wide
window ledge, gazing his fill at the shifting lights and shadows,
and dreaming dreams of his own about what he saw.

The long room contained three small narrow beds, and very little
furniture besides, In each of these beds a boy lay sleeping. The
moonlight streaming in through the uncurtained windows illuminated
the whole room, and showed the curly heads, two dark and one fair,
lying on the hard pillows, and shone so straight into the face of
the eldest boy, that he stirred a little in his sleep, and half
turned round.

He was a handsome lad of some eight or nine summers, with regular,
strongly-marked features, and dark hair and eyes. The brown hand
and arm which lay exposed to view showed a muscular development
that betokened great strength to come when the boy should be grown
to manhood, and the face exhibited a like promise of strength of
will and character.

Bertram Chadgrove, half aroused by the strong light of the moon in
his face, opened his dark eyes sleepily for a few minutes, and then
turned over towards the wall, and prepared to slumber again. But
before he had sunk to sleep he became further aroused by a very
peculiar sound in the wall (as it seemed), close to which his bed
was stationed; and instead of drowsing off again, he woke up with
all his faculties on the alert, much as a watchdog does, and
sitting up in bed he listened with all his ears.

Yes; there could be no mistaking it! There was certainly a sound--a
muffled, curious sound--within the very wall itself. He pressed his
ear against the panel, and his eyes shone brightly in the
moonlight.

"It is some living thing," he whispered to himself. "Methinks it is
surely some human thing. Rats can make strange sounds, I know, but
not such sounds as these. A human being, and within the thickness
of the wall! How can such a thing be? I never heard the like
before. It comes nearer--I hear the groping of hands close beside
mine ear. Heaven send it be not a spirit from the other world! I
fear no mortal arm, of flesh and blood, but I desire not to see a
visitor from the land of shadows."

For a moment the boy's flesh crept on his bones, and the hair of
his head seemed to rise up from his scalp. The groping of those
phantom hands against the wall just beside him was enough to fill
the stoutest heart with terror, in an age when superstition was
always rife. He strove to call to his brothers; but his voice was
no more than a whisper, and his throat felt dry and parched.
Failing in making himself heard by his companions, he cowered down
and drew the clothes right over his head, shivering with fear; and
it was several minutes before his native courage came to his aid,
and he felt ashamed of this paroxysm of terror.

"Fie upon me for a white-livered poltroon!" he cried, as the chill
sweat of fear ceased to break out upon him, and he rallied his
courage and his determination.

"I am no better than a maid! Shame upon me for a coward! I will not
call to Edred and Julian. It shall not be said of me, even by mine
own self, that I dared not face even a spirit from the lower world
alone. I will find out what this sound is, and that without the
help of any other living soul, else shall I despise myself
forever!"

And with that resolve hot within him, Bertram threw back his
coverings and prepared to rise from his bed, when his attention was
arrested by some strange stealthy sounds close against the great
carved chimney piece, on the same side of the room as his own bed.

His brothers slept on the opposite side of the big room. None of
the sounds which were so astonishing Bertram would penetrate to
their sleeping senses. Had the eldest boy not been awake at the
beginning, he would scarce have heard the sound, so cautious and
soft it was. But this noise was something new. It was like hands
fumbling and groping in search of something. Bertram held his
breath to listen, growing hot and cold by turns. But he drew some
of his clothes cautiously towards him, and silently slipped into
his nether garments. He felt that if there were some unseen enemy
striving in mysterious fashion to penetrate into this room, he
could better meet him if he were clothed, however scantily, than he
could do as he was; and he had ample time to put on even his
doublet and hose, and to cover himself up again in bed, with his
small poniard closely held in his hand, before there was any
further development of that strange night's drama which he was so
breathlessly watching.

That something or somebody was seeking to find entrance into the
room, he could not doubt for a moment; but, on the other hand, it
seemed an incredible surmise, because the wall along which the
unknown visitor had plainly felt his way was an outside wall, and
if there really were any person thus moving, he must be walking
along some secret passage in the thickness of the wall itself.

Such a thing was not impossible. Bertram knew of more than one such
passage contrived in the thickness of the wall in his ancient home,
and all the family were acquainted with a certain secret hiding
place that existed, cleverly contrived in the rambling old
building, which, with its various levels and its wilderness of
chimneys, might well defy detection, even with the most skilled
search. But the boy knew of no such passage or chamber in
connection with their sleeping room, and he was sure his parents
did not know of one either, or any member of the household.
Therefore it was immensely surprising to hear these uncanny sounds,
and it was small wonder if they did give rise to a wave of
supernatural terror, of which the boy was man enough to feel
ashamed the moment reason had time to assert her sway.

"I have done no wrong; I confessed but three days since, and
received blessing and absolution. If any spirit were to come to
visit this room, it could do me no hurt. Besides, methinks a spirit
would pass easily along the straightest place, and would not need
to fumble thus as if in search of hidden bolts.

"Ha! what is that! Methought some spring shot back. Hist! here IT
comes!"

The boy lay back upon his bed, drawing the clothes silently up to
his very eyes. The moonlight had shifted just a little, and no
longer illumined his face. That was now in shadow, and would scarce
reveal the fact that he was awake. He lay perfectly still, scarce
daring to draw his breath, and the next moment a strange thing
happened.

The whole of one of the great carved pillars that supported the
high mantle shelf swung noiselessly forward, and stood out at right
angles to the wall. From where he lay Bertram could not see, but he
could well understand that when this was done a narrow doorway had
been revealed, and the next moment a shadowy figure glided with
noiseless steps into the room.

The figure was poorly clad in a doublet of serge much the worse for
wear, and the moonlight showed a strangely haggard face and soiled
and torn raiment. Yet there was an air of dignity about the
mysterious visitor which showed to the astonished boy that he must
at some time have been in better circumstances, and lying quite
still Bertram watched his movements with breathless attention.

With a quick, scared glance round him, as though afraid that even
the silence might be the silence of treachery, the gaunt figure
advanced with covert eagerness across the floor, leaving the door
wide open behind him, as if to be ready for him should he desire to
fly; and precipitating himself upon a ewer of cold water standing
upon the floor, he drank and drank and drank as though he would
never cease.

Plainly he was consumed by the most raging thirst. Bertram had
never seen anything but an exhausted horse after a burning summer's
chase in the forest drink in such a fashion. And as he watched, all
fear left him in a moment, for certainly no phantom could drink dry
this great ewer of spring water; and if he had only a creature of
flesh and blood to deal with, why, then there was certainly no
cause for fear.

In place of dread and terror, a great pity welled up in the
generous heart of the boy. He had all the hatred for oppression and
the chivalrous desire to help the oppressed that seem born in the
hearts of the sons of British birth. Who and what manner of man
this was he did not know; but he was evidently some poor hunted
creature, going in very fear of his life, and as such the boy
pitied him from the very ground of his heart, and would gladly have
helped him had he known how.

He lay for a few moments wondering and pondering. Certainly his
father was no foe to any man. He could not be hiding from his
displeasure. The fugitive had rather taken refuge in his house; and
if so, who better could be found to help him than the son of the
owner?

"Our father and our mother alike have always taught us to befriend
the stranger and the oppressed," said the boy to himself. "I will
ask this stranger of himself, and see if I may befriend him. I
would gladly learn the trick of yon door. It would be a goodly
secret to have for our very own."

It was plain that the fugitive, though aware that the room was
tenanted, had satisfied himself that the occupants were all asleep.
He had ceased his frightened, furtive looks around him, and was
quaffing the last of the water with an air of relish and relief
that was good to see, pausing from time to time to stretch his
limbs and to draw in great gulps of fresh air through the open
window by which he stood, as a prisoner might do who had just been
released from harsh captivity.

The moonlight shining upon his face showed it haggard, unkempt, and
unshorn. Plainly he had been several days in hiding; and by the
gauntness of his figure, and the wolfish gleam in his eye as it
roved quickly round the apartment, as if in search of food, it was
plain that he was suffering keenly from hunger, too.

Bertram's decision was quickly taken. Whilst the man's face was
turned the other way, he quickly rose from his bed, and crossing
the room with noiseless steps, laid a hand upon his arm.

"Hist, friend!" he whispered whilst the start given by the other,
and the hoarse exclamation that broke from his lips, might have
wakened sleepers who were not healthy, tired boys. "Fear not; I am
no foe to betray thee. Tell me who and what thou art, and I will
help thee all I may."

The frightened eyes bent upon him bespoke a great terror. The man's
voice died away as he tried to speak. The only word Bertram could
catch seemed to be a prayer that he would not betray him.

"Betray thee! Never! Why, good fellow, dost not know that the
Chadgroves never betray those who trust in them? Hence sometimes
has trouble come upon them. But before we talk, let me get thee
food. Methinks thou art well-nigh starved."

"Food! food! Ah, if thou wouldst give me that, young master, I
would bless thee forever! I have well-nigh perished with hunger and
thirst. Heaven be thanked that I have tasted water once again!"

"Come hither," said Bertram cautiously. "First close this narrow
doorway, the secret of which thou must teach me in return for what
I will do for thee, and then I will take thee to another chamber,
where our voices will not disturb my brothers, and we can talk, and
thou canst eat at ease. I must know thy story, and I pledge myself
to help thee. Show me now the trick of this door. I swear I will
make no treacherous use of the secret."

"I will trust thee, young sir. I must needs do so, for without
human help I must surely die.

"Seest thou this bunch of grapes so cunningly carved here? This
middle grape of the cluster will turn round in the fingers that
know how to find and grasp it, and so turning and turning slowly,
unlooses a bolt within--here--and so the whole woodwork swings out
upon hinges and reveals the doorway. Where that doorway leads I
will show thee anon, if thou wouldst know the trick of the secret
chamber at Chad that all men have now forgotten. It may be that it
will some day shelter thee or thine, for thou hast enemies abroad,
even as I have."

Bertram was intensely interested as he examined and mastered the
simple yet clever contrivance of this masked door; but quickly
remembering the starved condition of his companion, he led him
cautiously into an adjoining room, where were a table and some
scant furniture, and gliding down the staircase and along dim
corridors just made visible by the reflected radiance of the moon,
he reached the buttery, and armed himself with a venison pasty, a
loaf of bread, and a bottle of wine. Hurrying back with these, he
soon had the satisfaction to see the stranger fall upon them with
the keen relish of a man who has fasted to the last limits of
endurance; and only after he had seen that the keen edge of his
hunger had been satisfied did he try to learn more of him and his
concerns.

"Now tell me, my good friend, who and what thou art," said the boy,
"and how comes it that thou seekest shelter here, and that thou
knowest more of Chad than we its owners do. That is the thing which
has been perplexing me this long while. I would fain hear from thy
story how it comes about."

"That is soon told, young sir. Thou dost not, probably, remember
the name of Warbel as that of some of the retainers of thy
grandsire, but--"

"I have heard the name," said the boy. "I have heard my father
speak of them. But I knew not that there were any of that name now
living."

"I am a Warbel--I trow the last of my race. I was born beyond the
seas; but I was early brought to England, and I heard munch of the
strife that encompassed Chad, because my father and grandfather
both knew the place well, and would fain have gone back and lived
in the old country had not fortune otherwise decreed it. To make a
long story short, they never returned to the place. But when I was
grown to man's estate, I was offered a post in the household of the
Lord of Mortimer, and as it was the best thing that had fallen in
my way, I accepted it very gladly; for I knew that name, too, and I
knew naught against the haughty lord, albeit my father and
grandsire had not loved the lords of that name who lived before
him.

"For many years I have been in his service, and for a while all
went well with me. I was made one of his gentlemen, and he seemed
to favour me. But of late there has been a change towards me--I
know not how or why. I have offended him without intending it, and
he has sometimes provoked me almost beyond endurance by his proud
insolence. But that I might have borne, for he was my master, had
it not been for the insolence and insults I had to bear from others
amongst his servants, and from one youth in particular, who seemed
to me to be trying to oust me from my place, and to get himself the
foremost place in his master's favour. That made my hot blood boil
again and again, until at last the thing I believe they had long
planned happened, and I had to fly for my life."

The man paused, and Bertram, who was drinking in this story, asked
eagerly: "And what was that?"

"It was four days ago now, in the hall where we had supped. We had
drunk much wine in honour of our master's birthday, and then we
began playing and dicing to pass the time till we retired to bed.
My adversary was this youth whom I so greatly distrust. As we
played I detected him in unfair practices. He vowed I lied, and
called upon me to prove my words at the sword's point; but in my
fury and rage I sprang upon him with my bare hands, and would have
wrung his neck--the insolent popinjay--had I been able. As it was,
we struggled and swayed together till my greater weight caused him
to fall over backwards against one of the tables, and I verily
believe his back is broken. I know not whether he is living yet.
But as he is not only a great favourite with the Lord of Mortimer,
but a distant kinsman to boot, no sooner was the deed done than all
in the hall called to me to save myself by flight, for that the
master would revenge such a death upon the perpetrator of it
without mercy, and that if I wished to spare my neck I must fly
without an instant's delay.

"I knew this but too well myself. The baron was a fearful man to
meet in his rage. Where to fly I knew not, but stay I could not. I
had bare time to rush to my room, don a dress that would not excite
inquiry if I had to lie hid in the forest a few days. I did not
think flight would be so difficult a matter, but I knew that every
moment spent in Mortimer's Keep was at peril of my life; and I had
but just made my escape through a small postern door before I heard
the alarm bell ring, the drawbridge go up, and knew that the edict
had gone forth for my instant apprehension."

He paused with a slight shudder, and seemed to be listening
intently.

"There is naught to fear here," said Bertram. "Tell me more of thy
flight."

"It was terrible," answered the man. "I had not looked to be hunted
like the wild beasts of the forest; and yet an hour had not gone by
before I heard, by the baying of the fierce hounds that are kept at
Mortimer, that a hunting party had sallied forth; and I knew that I
was the quarry. I doubled and ran like any hare. I knew the tricks
of the wild things that have skill in baffling the dogs, and at
last I reached the shelter of these walls, and ran there for
protection. I had thrown off the dogs at the last piece of water;
and in the marshy ground the scent did not lie, and could not be
picked up. For a brief moment I was safe; but I was exhausted
almost to death. I could go no further. I lay down beneath the
shadow of some arbour within the sheltering precincts of Chad, and
wondered what would become of me."

"Yes, yes! and then--?"

"Then I remembered a story told me by my grandsire, years and years
gone by, of a secret chamber at Chad, which had sheltered many a
fugitive in the hour of peril. Lying out in the soft night air, I
recalled bit by bit all that I had been told--the very drawings the
old man had made to amuse me in a childish sickness, how the door
opened, and how access was had to the chamber. I knew that the
country round would be hunted for days, and that I could never
escape the malice of the Lord of Mortimer if I pursued my way to
the sea. He would overtake and kill me before I could make shift to
gain that place of refuge. But I bethought me of the secret chamber
and its story, and methought I might slip in unseen did I but watch
my opportunity, find my way up the winding stair to this room, and
so to the secret chamber beyond."

"And thou didst?"

"Ay, I did, the very next morning. I saw thee and thy brothers
sally forth a-hunting. I saw the men follow in thy train. I had
heard that the knight and his lady with their retinue were absent
at Windsor. It needed no great skill to slip in unseen and gain the
longed-for hiding place. I had some food in my wallet. I fondly
hoped it would prove enough; but the sounds of hunting day by day
all around have told me too well that I must not venture forth; and
as this room was slept in by night, I feared to sally forth after
food, lest I should be found and betrayed. I had heard of the
merciful nature of the master of Chad; but in his absence I knew
not what his servants might say or do. Doubtless there is a reward
offered for my apprehension; and if that be so, how could I help
fearing that any hired servant would betray me to my lord?"

"And thou thoughtest that servants slept in this room, and dared
not show thyself either by day or night for fear thou mightest be
betrayed! And only hunger and thirst drove thee forth at length?"

"Ay. And from my heart do I thank thee for thy kindness, young sir;
and gladly will I show thee in return the trick of yon chamber. If
thou canst kindle a torch it will light us better, for the way
thither is wondrous tortuous and narrow."

Bertram had a little lantern--a very treasured possession of
his--and after the usual tedious process of lighting had been gone
through, he softly led the way back to the sleeping chamber. With
his own hands he undid the fastening of the door and saw it swing
open, and then the two passed through into a very narrow aperture,
which proved to be a long narrow gallery contrived in the thickness
of the wall, which would only just admit of the passage of one
figure at a time.

As they went in they drew to the door, and the fugitive showed his
young companion how the bolt upon the inner side might be unloosed.

"It is easy enow in the light, but hard to feel in the black
darkness," he remarked; and then they pursued their devious way on
and on through this strange passage, which wound up and down and in
and out, and landed them at last at the foot of a spiral staircase,
so narrow and squeezed in by masonry as to be barely serviceable
for the purpose for which it was contrived. It led them to a small
door, through which they passed, to find themselves in a room of
fair size but very low, and without any window, which seemed to
occupy (as indeed it did) a portion of the house between two of the
other floors, and was so contrived as to absolutely defy detection
be the examination of the structure of the house never so
exhaustive. If the secret door were not found, nothing else would
ever betray this cunning hiding-place. Doubtless that was why,
during the many changes that had prevailed at Chad during the past
fifty years, the knowledge of its very existence had been lost.

"Air comes in freely through many cracks and slits," explained the
prisoner. "It is not an unpleasant place save in the heat of the
middle day, when it becomes like a veritable oven. That is why my
thirst was so unbearable. There is a bed, as thou seest, and a
chair and a few other things. One could be comfortable here were it
not for starvation and thirst."

"I will feed thee so long as thou remainest hid," cried the boy,
with generous ardour. "Thou shalt hide there by day, and by night
shalt wander abroad an thou wilt, to breathe the air and stretch
thy limbs. My brothers and I will be thy friends. Thou needst fear
nothing now. We will find out when it is safe for thee to leave thy
retreat, and then thou shalt go forth without fear; or, if thou
likest it better, thou shalt abide here till our father returns and
take service with him. I doubt not he would be glad enow to number
a Warbel again amongst his trusty servants."

The man's face lighted up wonderfully.

"If he would do that," he cried eagerly, "I should have no wish for
anything better. But my master, the baron--"

"My father fears not the baron!" answered the boy proudly; "and,
besides, his young kinsman is not dead. We heard something of his
side of the tale, and the youth is not even like to die now. My
father could protect thee from his wrath. Stay here, and thou wilt
have naught to fear."

The fugitive took the lad's hand and pressed it to his lips.

"I will serve thee for ever and ever for this boon," he answered;
and Bertram went back to his room, to lie awake and muse over what
had befallen till the dawn broke and his brothers awoke to the new
day.

To keep any secret from his two brothers was a thing impossible to
Bertram, and before they had finished dressing that morning, Edred
and Julian were both made aware of the strange adventure of the
night previous. Looking up to Bertram, as they both did, as the
embodiment of prowess and courage, they did not grudge him his
wonderful discovery, but they were eager to visit the fugitive
themselves, and to carry him food and drink.

The days that followed were days of absolute enchantment to the
boys, who delighted in waiting on Warbel and passing hours in his
company. He told them entrancing stories of adventure and peril. He
was devoted to his three youthful keepers, and wished for nothing
better than to enter service with their father.

Later on, when all hue and cry after the missing man was over, and
when Lord Mortimer's young kinsman was so far recovered that it
would be impossible to summon Warbel for any injury inflicted on
him, Bertram conducted him to the hut of one of his father's
woodmen, who promised to keep him safe till the return of the
knight.

When Sir Oliver came back, Warbel was brought to him, told a part
of his tale, and was admitted readily as a member of the household;
but the story of his incarceration in the secret chamber remained a
secret known only to himself and the three boys. So delightful a
mystery as the existence of this unknown chamber was too precious
to be parted with; and it was a compact between the boys and the
man, who now became their chief attendant and body servant, that
the trick of that door and the existence of that chamber were to be
told to none, but kept as absolutely their own property.



Chapter II: The Household At Chad.


The office of mistress of a large household in the sixteenth
century was no sinecure. It was not the fashion then to depute to
the hands of underlings the supervision of the details of domestic
management; and though the lady of the Hall might later in the day
entertain royalty itself, the early hours of the morning were spent
in careful and busy scrutiny of kitchen, pantry, and store or still
room, and her own fair hands knew much of the actual skill which
was required in the preparation of the many compounds which graced
the board at dinner or supper.

Lady Chadgrove was no exception to the general rule of careful
household managers; and whilst her lord and master went hunting or
hawking in the fresh morning air, or shut himself up in his library
to examine into the accounts his steward laid before him or concern
himself with some state business that might have been placed in his
hands, she was almost always to be found in the offices of the
house, looking well after the domestic details of household
management, and seeing that each servant and scullion was doing the
work appointed with steadiness and industry.

There was need for some such careful supervision of the daily
routine, for the large houses in the kingdom were mainly dependent
upon their own efforts for the necessaries of life throughout the
year. In towns there were shops where provisions could be readily
bought, but no such institution as that of country shops had been
dreamed of as yet. The lord of the manor killed his own meat, baked
his own bread, grew his own wheat, and ground his own flour. He had
his own brewery within the precinct of the great courtyard, where
vast quantities of mead and ale were brewed, cider and other
lighter drinks made, and even some sorts of simple home-grown
wines. Chad boasted its own "vineyard," where grapes flourished in
abundance, and ripened in the autumn as they will not do now.

Nothing, perhaps, shows more clearly the change that has passed
upon our climate by slow degrees than a study of the parish records
of ancient days. Vineyards were common enough in England some
hundreds of years ago, and wine was made from the produce as
regularly as the season came round. Then there were the simpler
fruit wines from gooseberries, currants, and elderberries, to say
nothing of cowslip wine and other light beverages which it was the
pride of the mistress to contrive and to excel in the making. Our
forefathers, though they knew nothing of the luxuries of tea and
coffee, were by no means addicted to the drinking of water.
Considering the sanitary conditions in which they lived in those
days, and the fearful contamination of water which frequently
prevailed, and which doubtless had much to do with the spread of
the Black Death and other like visitations, this was no doubt an
advantage. Still there were drawbacks to the habit of constant
quaffing of fermented drinks at all hours of the day, and it was
often a difficult matter to keep in check the sin of drunkenness
that prevailed amongst all classes of the people.

At Chad the gentle influence of the lady of the manor had done much
to make this household an improvement on many of its neighbours.
Although there was always abundance of good things and a liberal
hospitality to strangers of all sorts, it was not often that any
unseemly roistering disturbed the inmates of Chad. The servants and
retainers looked up to their master and mistress with loyalty and
devotion, curbed their animal passions and wilder moods out of love
and reverence for them, and grew more civilized and cultivated
almost without knowing it, until the wild orgies which often
disgraced the followings of the country nobility were almost
unknown here.

Possibly another humanizing and restraining influence that acted
silently upon the household was the presence of a young monk, who
had been brought not long since from a neighbouring monastery, to
act in the capacity of chaplain to the household and tutor to the
boys, now fast growing towards man's estate. There was a beautiful
little chapel connected with Chad. It had fallen something into
neglect and ruin during the days of the civil wars, and had been
battered about in some of the struggles that had raged round Chad.
But Sir Oliver had spent both money and loving care in restoring
and beautifying the little place, and now the daily mass was said
there by Brother Emmanuel, and the members of the household were
encouraged to attend as often as their duties would permit. The
brother, too, would go about amongst the people and talk with them
as they pursued their tasks, and not one even of the rudest and
roughest but would feel the better for the kindly and beneficent
influence of the youthful ecclesiastic.

Brother Emmanuel had one of those keenly intelligent and versatile
minds that are always craving a wider knowledge, and think no
knowledge, even of the humblest, beneath notice. He would ask the
poorest wood cutter to instruct him in the handling of his tool or
in the simple mysteries of his craft as humbly as though he were
asking instruction from one of the learned of the land. No
information, no occupation came amiss to him. He saw in all toil a
dignity and a power, and he strove to impress upon every worker, of
whatever craft he might be, that to do his day's work with all his
might and with the best powers at his command was in truth one
excellent way of serving God, and more effectual than any number of
Paters and Aves said whilst idling away the time that should be
given to his master's service.

Such teaching might not be strictly orthodox from a monkish
standpoint, but it commended itself to the understanding and the
approval of simple folks; and the brother was none the less beloved
and respected that his talk and his teaching did not follow the
cut-and-dried rules of his order. Sir Oliver and his wife thought
excellently of the young man, and to the boys he was friend as well
as tutor.

On this hot midsummer day the mistress of Chad was making her usual
morning round of the kitchens and adjoining offices--her simple
though graceful morning robe, and the plain coif covering her hair,
showing that she was not yet dressed for the duties which would
engross her later in the day. She had a great bunch of keys
dangling at her girdle, and her tablets were in her hands, where
from time to time she jotted down some brief note to be entered
later in those household books which she kept herself with
scrupulous care, so that every season she knew exactly how many
gallons or hogsheads of mead or wine had been brewed, what had been
the yield of every crop in the garden or meadow, what stores of
conserves had been made from each fruit as its season came in, and
whether that quantity had proved sufficient for the year's
consumption.

The cherry crop was being gathered in today. Huge baskets of the
delicious fruit were ranged along one wall of the still room, and
busy hands were already preparing the bright berries for the
preserving pan or the rows of jars that were likewise placed in
readiness to receive them. The cherry trees of Chad were famous for
their splendid crop, and the mistress had many wonderful recipes
and preparations by which the fruit was preserved and made into all
manner of dainty conserves that delighted all who partook of them.

"I will come anon, and help you with your task," said the lady to
the busy wenches in the still room, who were hard at work preparing
the fruit. "I will return as soon as I have made my round, and see
that all is going well."

The girls smiled, and dropped their rustic courtesies. Some amongst
them were not the regular serving maids of the place, but were the
daughters of the humbler retainers living round and about, who were
glad to come to assist at the great house when there was any press
of work--a thing that frequently happened from April to November.

None who assisted at Chad at such times ever went away empty
handed. Besides the small wage given for the work done, there was
always a basket of fruit, or a piece of meat, or a flagon of wine,
according to the nature of the task, set aside for each assistant
who did not dwell beneath the roof of Chad. And if there was
sickness in any cottage from which a worker came, there was certain
to be some little delicacy put into a basket by the hands of the
mistress, and sent with a kindly word of goodwill and sympathy to
the sufferer.

It was small wonder, then, that the household and community of Chad
was a happy and peaceable one, or that the knight and his lady were
beloved of all around.

The morning's round was no sinecure, even though the mistress was
today as quick as possible in her visit of inspection. Three fat
bucks had been brought in from the forest yester-eve, when the
knight and his sons had returned from hunting. The venison had to
be prepared, and a part of it dried and salted down for winter use;
whilst of course a great batch of pies and pasties must be put in
hand, so that the most should be made of the meat whilst it was
still fresh.

When that matter had been settled, there were the live creatures to
visit--the calves in their stalls, the rows of milch kine, and the
great piggery, where porkers of every kind and colour were tumbling
about in great excitement awaiting their morning meal. The mistress
of the house generally saw the pigs fed each day, to insure their
having food proper to them, and not the offal and foul remnants
that idle servants loved to give and they to eat were not some
supervision exercised. The care of dogs and horses the lady left to
her husband and sons, but the cows, the pigs, and the poultry she
always looked after herself.

Her daily task accomplished, she returned to the still room,
prepared for a long morning over her conserves. It was but
half-past nine now; for the breakfast hour in baronial houses was
seven all the year round, and today had been half-an-hour earlier
on account of the press of work incident to the harvesting of the
cherry crop. Several of the servants who were generally occupied
about the house had risen today with the lark, to be able to help
their lady, and soon a busy, silent party was working in pantry and
still room under the careful eye of the mistress.

One old woman who had been accommodated with a chair, though her
fingers were as brisk as any of the younger girls', from time to
time addressed a question or a remark to her lady, which was always
kindly answered. She was the old nurse of Chad, having been nurse
to Sir Oliver in his infancy, and having since had charge of his
three boys during their earliest years. She was growing infirm now,
and seldom left her own little room in a sunny corner of the big
house, where her meals were taken her by one of the younger maids.
But in the warm weather, when her stiff limbs gained a little more
power, she loved on occasion to come forth and take a share in the
life of the house, and work with the busy wenches under the
mistress's eye at the piles of fruit from the successive summer and
autumn crops as they came in rotation.

"And where be the dear children?" she asked once; "I have not set
eyes on them the livelong day. Methought the very smell of the
cherries would have brought them hither, as bees and wasps to a
honey pot."

The lady smiled slightly.

"I doubt not they will be here anon; but doubtless they have paid
many visits to the trees ere the store was garnered. I think they
are in the tilt yard with Warbel. It is there they are generally to
be found in the early hours of the day."

"They be fine, gamesome lads," said the old woman fondly--"chips of
the old block, true Chads every one of them;" for the custom with
the common people was to call the lord of the manor by the name of
his house rather than by his own patronymic, and Sir Oliver was
commonly spoken of as "Chad" by his retainers; a custom which
lingered long in the south and west of the country.

"They are well-grown, hearty boys," answered the mother quietly,
though there was a light of tender pride in her eyes. "Bertram is
almost a man in looks, though he is scarce seventeen yet.
Seventeen! How time flies! It seems but yesterday since he was a
little boy standing at my knee to say his light tasks, and walking
to and fro holding his father's hand. Well, Heaven be praised, the
years have been peaceful and prosperous, else would not they have
fled by so swiftly."

"Heaven be praised indeed!" echoed the old woman. "For now the
master is so safely seated at Chad that he would be a bold man who
tried to oust him. But in days gone by I have sorely feared yon
proud Lord of Mortimer. Methought he would try to do him a
mischief. His spleen and spite, as all men say, are very great."

The lady's face clouded slightly, but her reply was quiet and calm.

"I fear me they are that still; but he lacks all cause of offence.
My good lord is careful in all things to avoid making ill blood
with a jealous neighbour. That he has always cast covetous eyes
upon Chad is known throughout the countryside; but I trow he would
find it something difficult to make good any claim."

"Why, verily!" cried the nurse, with energy. "He could but come as
a foul usurper, against whom would every honest hand be raised.
But, good my mistress, what is the truth of the whisper I have
heard that the Lord of Mortimer has wed his daughter to one who
calls himself of the house of Chad? I cannot believe that any of
the old race would mate with a Mortimer. Is it but the idle gossip
of the ignorant? or what truth is there in it?"

"I scarce know myself the rights of the matter," answered Lady
Chadgrove, still with a slight cloud upon her brow. "It is
certainly true that Lord Mortimer has lately wed his only child, a
daughter, to a knight who calls himself Sir Edward Chadwell, and
makes claim to be descended from my lord's house. Men say that he
makes great boasting that the Chadwells are an older branch than
the Chadgroves, and that by right of inheritance Chad is his.

"Methinks he would find it very hard to make good any such claim.
Belike it is but idle boasting. Yet it may be that there will be
some trouble in store. He has taken up his abode at Mortimer's
Keep, and maybe we shall hear ill news before long."

All eyes were fixed for a moment on the lady's face, and then the
hands moved faster than before, whilst a subdued murmur went round
the group. Not one heart was there that did not beat with
indignation at the thought that any should dare to try to disturb
the peace of the rightful lord of Chad. If the loyalty and
affection of all around would prove a safeguard, the knight need
have no fear from the claims advanced by any adversary.

"There has been a muttering of coming tempest anent those vexed
forest rights," continued the lady, in reply to some indignant
words from the nurse. "I would that difficult question could be
settled and laid at rest; but my good lord has yielded something
too much already for the sake of peace and quietness, and at each
concession Mortimer's word was passed that he would claim no
further rights over the portion that remained to us. But his word
is broken without scruple, and we cannot ever be giving way. Were
no stand to be made, the whole forest track would soon be claimed
by Mortimer, and we should have nothing but the bare park that is
fenced about and cannot be filched bit by bit away. But all the
world knows that Chad has forest rights equal to those of Mortimer.
It is but to seek a quarrel that the baron continues to push his
claims ever nearer and nearer our walls."

Another murmur of indignation went round; but there was no time for
further talk, as at that moment the three boys entered from the
tilt yard; hot, thirsty, and breathless, and the fair-haired lad
with the dreamy blue eyes held a kerchief to his head that was
stained with blood.

"Art hurt, Edred?" asked the mother, looking up.

"'Tis but a scratch," answered the boy. "I am not quite a match for
Bertram yet; but I will be anon. I must learn to be quicker in my
defence. Thanks, gentle mother; belike it will be better for it to
be bound up. It bleeds rather too fast for comfort, but thy hands
will soon stop that."

The other boys fell upon the fruit with right good will, whilst the
mother led her second son to the small pump nigh at hand, and
bathed and dressed the rather ugly wound in his head.

Neither mother nor son thought anything of the hurt. It was easy
enough to give and receive hard blows in the tilt yard, and bruises
and cuts were looked upon as part of the discipline of life.

As soon as the dressing was over, Edred joined his brothers, and
did his share in diminishing the pile of luscious fruit. And as
they ate they chattered away to the old woman of their prowess in
tilt yard and forest, relating how Bertram had slain a fat buck
with his own hands the previous day, and how they had between them
given the coup-de-grace to another, which had been brought to bay
at the water, father and huntsmen standing aloof to let the boys
show their strength and skill.

Nine years had passed since that strange night when Bertram had
been awakened by the advent of the mysterious stranger at his
bedside. He had developed since then from a sturdy little boy into
a fine-grown youth of seventeen, who had in his own eyes, and in
the eyes of many others, well-nigh reached man's estate; and who
would, if need should arise, go forth equipped for war to fight the
king's battles. He was a handsome, dark-haired, dark-eyed youth,
with plenty of determination and force of character, and with a
love of Chad so deeply rooted in his nature, that to be the heir of
that property seemed to him the finest position in all the world,
and he would not have exchanged it for that of Prince of Wales.

The second son, Edred (Ethelred was his true name; he was called
after his mother, Etheldred), was some half-head shorter than his
brother, but a fine boy for all that. He was fifteen, and whilst
sharing to a great extent in the love of sport and of warlike games
so common in that day, he was also a greater lover of books than
his brothers, and would sometimes absent himself from their
pastimes to study with Brother Emmanuel and learn from him many
things that were not written in books. The other lads gave more
time to study than was usual at that period; for both Sir Oliver
and his lady believed in the value of book lore and the use of the
pen, deploring the lack of learning that had prevailed during the
confusion of the late wars, and greatly desiring its revival. But
it was Edred who really inherited the scholarly tastes of his
parents, and already the question of making a monk of him was under
serious discussion. The boy thought that if he might have a few
more years of liberty and enjoyment he should like the life of the
cloister well.

Julian bore a strong resemblance to Bertram both in person and
disposition. He was a very fine boy, nearly fourteen years old, and
had been the companion of his brothers from infancy, so that he
often appeared older than his age. All three brothers were bound
together in bonds of more than wonted affection. They not only
shared their sports and studies, but held almost all their
belongings in common. Each lad had his own horse and his own
weapons, whilst Edred had one or two books over which he claimed
absolute possession; but for the rest, they enjoyed all properties
in common, and it had hardly entered into their calculations that
they could ever be separated, save when the idea of making Edred
into a monk came under discussion; and as that would not be done
for some years, it scarcely seemed worth troubling over now.
Perhaps things would turn out differently in the end, and they
would remain together at Chad for the whole of their natural lives.

Nurse never wearied of the tales told by her young masters, and
listened with fond pride to the recital. So eagerly were Bertram
and Julian talking, that they did not heed the sound of the horn at
the gate way which bespoke the arrival of some messenger; but Edred
slipped out to see who could be coming, and presently he returned
with a frown upon his brow.

"There is a messenger at the gate who wears the livery of
Mortimer," he said. "An insolent knave to boot, who flung his
missive in the face of old Ralph, and spurred off with a mocking
laugh. I would I had had my good steed between my knees, and I
would have given the rascal a lesson in manners. I like not these
messengers from Mortimer; they always betide ill will to my
father."

Lady Chadgrove looked anxious for a moment, but her brow soon
cleared as she made answer: "I shall be sorry if aught comes to
grieve or vex your father; but so long as we are careful to give no
just cause for offence, we need not trouble our heads overmuch as
to the jealous anger of the Lord of Mortimer. I misdoubt me if he
can really hurt us, be he never so vindictive. The king is just,
and he values the services of your father. He will not permit him
to be molested without cause. And methinks my Lord of Mortimer
knows as much, else he would have wrought us more ill all these
past years."

"He is a tyrant and an evil liver!" cried Bertram hotly; "and his
servants be drunken, brawling knaves, every one--as insolent as
their master. If I had been old Ralph, I would have hurled back his
missive in his face, and bidden him deliver it rightly."

"Nay, nay, my son; that would but be to stir up strife. If others
comport themselves ill, that is no reason why our servants should
do the like. I would never give a foe a handle against me by the
ill behaviour of even a serving man. Let them act never so surlily,
I would that they were treated with all due courtesy."

Bertram and Julian hardly entered into their mother's feelings on
this point; but Edred looked up eagerly, and it was plain that he
understood the feelings which prompted the words, for he said in a
low voice:

"Methinks thou art right, gentle mother; albeit I did sorely long
to give the varlet a lesson to teach him better. But perchance it
was well I was not nigh enough. Surely it must be nigh upon the
hour for dinner. Our sport has whet the edge of appetite, and I
would fain hear what the missive was which yon knave brought with
him. Our father will doubtless tell us at the table."

It was indeed nearly noon, and mistress and maids alike
relinquished their tasks to prepare for the meal which was the
chiefest of the day, though the supper was nothing to be despised.

The long table in the great banqueting hall was a goodly sight to
see when the dinner was spread, and the retainers of the better
sort and some amongst the upper servants sat down with the master
and his family to partake of the good cheer. At one end of the long
board sat the knight and his lady side by side; to their right were
the three boys, the young monk, and Warbel the armourer, who now
held a post of some importance in the house. Opposite to these were
other gentlemen-at-arms and their sons, who were resident at Chad;
and at the lower end of the table, below the great silver salt
cellars, sat the seneschal, the lowlier retainers, and certain
trusted servants who held responsible positions at Chad. The cooks
and scullions and underlings dined in the great kitchen immediately
after their masters' meal had been served.

The table at Chad always groaned with good things, except at such
seasons as the Church decreed a fast, and then the diet was
scrupulously kept within the prescribed bounds. Sir Oliver and his
wife were both devout and earnest people, and had every reverence
for their spiritual superiors. The Benedictine Priory of Chadwater
stood only a mile and a half distant, and the prior was on
excellent terms with the owner of Chad. Brother Emmanuel had been
an inmate of the priory before he was selected by Sir Oliver for
the education of his sons. He was considered a youth of no small
promise, and the knight was well pleased at the progress made by
his boys since they had been studying with him.

Today there was a look of annoyance upon the handsome face of Sir
Oliver Chadgrove. It was a striking countenance at all times, in
which sternness of purpose and kindness of heart were blended in a
fashion that was both attractive and unusual. He had the same
regular features, rather square in the outline, which he had
transmitted to his children; and his hair, which was now silvered
with many streaks, had been raven black in its day. His carriage
was upright and fearless, and he was very tall and powerfully
proportioned. It was Bertram's keenest ambition to grow up in all
points like his father, and he copied him, consciously and
unconsciously, in a fashion that often raised a smile on his
mother's face.

"I have been favoured with another insolent letter from my Lord of
Mortimer," he said. "He had better take heed that he try not my
patience too far, and that I go not to the king and lay a complaint
before him. I will do so if I be much more troubled."

"What says he now, father?" asked Bertram eagerly, forgetting in
his eagerness the generally observed maxim that the sons spoke not
at table till they were directly addressed. But the knight did not
himself heed this breach of decorum.

"It is the same old story; but every year he grows more grasping
and more insolent. Today he complains, forsooth, that the last buck
we killed was killed on his ground, and by rights belonged to him.
He threatens that his foresters and huntsmen will wage war with us
in future if we 'trespass' upon his rights, and wrest our spoil
from us! Beshrew me if I submit to much more! Patience and
forbearance are useless with such a man. I would I had not conceded
all I have done in the interests of peace."

Bertram's face was crimson with anger, Edred's eyes had widened in
astonishment, whilst Julian burst out in indignant remonstrance and
argument.

"His ground! his rights! How can he dare say that? Why, the buck
was killed at Juno's Pool; and all the world knows that that is
within the confines of Chad, and that all forest rights there
belong to the Lord of Chad! I would I could force his false words
down his false throat! I would I could--" but the boy suddenly
ceased, because he caught his mother's warning eye upon him, and
saw that his father had opened his lips to speak.

"Ay, and he knows it himself as well as we do; but he is growing
bolder and bolder through that monstrous claim he is ever
threatening to push--the claim of his son-in-law to be rightful
Lord of Chad! Phew! he will find it hard to prove that claim, or to
oust the present lord. But Mortimer has money and to spare, and
Chad has long been to him what Naboth's vineyard was to King Ahab--

"Brother Emmanuel, that simile is thine, and a right good one, too.

"He will seize on any pretext to pick a quarrel; and if he dares,
he will push that quarrel at the point of the sword. I do not fear
him; I have the right on my side. But we may not blind ourselves to
this: that he is a right bitter and treacherous foe, and that
should we give any, even the smallest cause of suspicion or
offence, he would seize upon that to ruin us."

Sir Oliver looked keenly round the table at all assembled there,
and many knew better than his sons what was in his mind at the time
and what had caused him to speak thus.

For a long while now the leaven of Lollardism had been working
silently in the country, and there were very many even amongst
orthodox sons of the Church who were more or less "bitten" by some
of the new notions. It need hardly be said that wherever light is,
it will penetrate in a mysterious and often inexplicable fashion;
and although there was much extravagance and perversion in the
teachings of the advanced Lollards, there was undoubtedly amongst
them a far clearer and purer light than existed in the hearts of
those of the common people who had been brought up beneath the sway
of the priests, themselves so often ignorant and ill-living men.

And so the light gradually spread; and many who would have
repudiated the name of Lollard with scorn and loathing were
beginning to hold some of their tenets, and to wish for a simpler
and purer form of faith, and for liberty to study the Scriptures
for themselves; and no one knew better the leavening spirit of the
age than did Sir Oliver Chadgrove, himself a man of liberal views
and devout habit of mind, and his wife, who shared his every
thought and opinion.

They had both heard the stirring and enlightened preaching of Dean
Colet, and were great admirers of his; but they took the view that
that divine himself held--namely, that the Church would gradually
reform herself from within; that she was awakening to the need of
some reformation and advance; and that her sons were safe within
her fold, and must patiently await her own work there.

This was exactly the feeling of the knight and his lady. They
rejoiced in the words they had heard, and in the wider knowledge of
the Scriptures which had been thus unfolded; but that any such
doctrine, when preached and taught by the Lollard heretics, could
be right or true they would have utterly denied and repudiated. The
Lollards had won for themselves a bad name, and were thought of
with scorn and contempt. Nevertheless, in country places the leaven
of their teaching permeated far and wide, and Sir Oliver had more
than once occasion to fear that amongst his own retainers some were
slightly tainted by heresy.

Of course if it could be proved against him that his followers were
Lollards, his enemy might take terrible advantage and deal him a
heavy blow. It was the one charge which if proved would strike him
to the earth; even the king's favour would scarce serve him then.
The king would not stand up in opposition to the Church; and if the
Church condemned his house as being a harbouring place for
heretics, then indeed he would be undone.

It was this thing which was in his mind as he glanced with keen
eyes round his table on this bright midsummer day; and his wife,
and the monk, and the bulk of those sitting there read the true
meaning of his words and of his look, and recognized the truth of
the grave word of warning.



Chapter III: Brother Emmanuel.


The hush of a Sabbath was upon the land. The sounds of life and
industry were no longer heard around Chad. Within and without the
house a calm stillness prevailed, and the hot summer sunshine lay
broad upon the quiet fields and the garden upon which so much
loving care had of late years been spent.

The white and red roses, no longer the symbols of party strife,
were blooming in their midsummer glory. The air was sweet with
their fragrance, and bees hummed drowsily from flower to flower. In
the deep shadow cast by a huge cedar tree, that reared its stately
head as high as the battlements of the turret, a small group had
gathered this hot afternoon. The young monk was there in the black
cassock, hood, and girdle that formed the usual dress of the
Benedictine in this country, and around him were grouped his three
pupils, to whom he was reading out of the great Latin Bible that
was one of the treasures of Sir Oliver's library.

All the boys were Latin scholars, and had made much progress in
their knowledge of that language since the advent of the young monk
into the household. They had likewise greatly increased in their
knowledge of the Scriptures; for Brother Emmanuel was a sound
believer in the doctrine preached by the Dean of St. Paul's, and of
the maxims laid down by him--that the Scriptures were not to be
pulled to fragments, and each fragment explained without reference
to the context, but to be studied and examined as a whole, and so
explained, one portion illuminating and illustrating another. After
such a fashion had Brother Emmanuel long been studying the Word of
God, and after such a method did he explain it to his pupils.

All three boys were possessed of clear heads and quick
intelligence, and their minds had expanded beneath the influence of
the young monk's teaching. They all loved a quiet hour spent with
him in reading and expounding the Bible narrative, and today a
larger portion than usual had been read; for the heat made exertion
unwelcome even to the active lads, and it was pleasanter here
beneath the cedar tree than anywhere else besides.

"Now, I would fain know," began Julian, after a pause in the
reading, "why it is that it is thought such a vile thing for men to
possess copies of God's Word in their own tongue that they may read
it to themselves. It seems to me that men would be better and not
worse for knowing the will of God in all things; and here it is set
down clearly for every man to understand. Yet, if I understand not
amiss, it is made a cause of death for any to possess the
Scriptures in his own tongue."

"Yea, that is what the heretic Lollards do--read and expound the
Scriptures in the vulgar tongue and after their own fashion," said
Bertram. "Have a care, Julian, how thou seemest to approve their
methods; for there is a great determination in high places to put
down at once and for all the vile doctrines which are corrupting
all the land."

"I approve no heresy," cried Julian eagerly. "I do but ask why it
be heresy to read the Word of God, and to have in possession a
portion of it in the language of one's country."

"Marry, dost thou not know that one reason is the many errors the
translators have fallen into, which deceive the unwary and lead the
flock astray?" cried Edred eagerly. "Brother Emmanuel has told me
some amongst these, and there are doubtless many others of which he
may not have heard. A man may not drink with impunity of poisoned
waters; neither is it safe to take as the Word of God a book which
may have many perversions of His truth."

Edred looked up at Brother Emmanuel for confirmation of this
explanation. It was the monk's habit to encourage the boys to
discuss any question of interest freely amongst themselves, he
listening in silence the while, and later on giving them the
benefit of his opinion. All the three turned to him now to see what
he would say upon a point that was already agitating the country,
and was preparing the way for a shaking that should lead to an
altogether new state of existence both in Church and State. Even
out here in the garden, in the sanctuary of their own home, with
only their friend and spiritual pastor to hear them, the boys spoke
with bated breath, as though fearful of uttering words which might
have within them some germ of that dreaded sin of heresy.

As for Brother Emmanuel, he sat with his hands folded in his
sleeves, the great book upon his knees, a slight and thoughtful
smile playing around the corners of his finely-cut mouth. His whole
face was intensely spiritual in expression. The features were
delicately cut, and bore the impress of an ascetic life, as well as
of gentle birth and noble blood. He was, in fact, a scion of an
ancient and powerful house; but it was one of those houses that had
suffered sorely in the recent strife, and whose members had been
scattered and cut off. He had no powerful relatives and friends to
turn to now for promotion to rich benefice or high ecclesiastical
preferment, and he had certainly never lamented this fact. In heart
and soul he was a follower of the rules of poverty laid down by the
founder of his order, and would have thought himself untrue to his
calling had he suffered himself to be endowed with worldly wealth.
Even such moneys as he received from Sir Oliver for the instruction
given to his sons were never kept by himself. All were given either
to the poor by his hands direct, or placed at the disposal of the
Prior of Chadwater, where he had been an inmate for a short time
previous to his installation as chaplain at Chad. He had not sought
this office; he would rather have remained beneath the priory
walls. He thought that it was something contrary to the will of the
founders for monks to become parochial priests, or to hold offices
and benefices which took them from the shelter of their monastery
walls. But such things were of daily occurrence now, and were
causing bitter jealousy to arise betwixt the parochial clergy and
the monks, sowing seeds of strife which played a considerable part
in the struggle this same century was to see. But it was useless to
try to stem the current single-handed, and the rule of obedience
was as strong within him as that of poverty and chastity.

When sent forth by his prior (who secretly thought that this young
monk was too strict and ascetic and too keen-witted to be a safe
inmate of a house which had long fallen from its high estate, and
was becoming luxurious and wealthy and lax), he had gone
unmurmuringly to Chad, and since then had become so much interested
in his pupils and in his round of daily duties there that he had
not greatly missed the life of the cloister.

He had leisure for thought and for study. He had access to a
library which, although not large, held many treasures of book
making, and was sufficient for the requirements of the young monk.
He could keep the hours of the Church in the little chantry
attached to the house, and he was taken out of the atmosphere of
jealousy and bickering which, to his own great astonishment and
dismay, he had found to be the prevailing one at Chadwater.

On the whole, he had benefited by the change, and was very happy in
his daily duties. He rejoiced to watch the unfolding minds of his
three pupils, and especially to train Edred for the life of the
cloister, to which already he had been partially dedicated, and
towards which he seemed to incline.

And now, eagerly questioned by the boys upon that vexed point of
the translated Scriptures and their possession by the common
people, he looked thoughtfully out before him, and gave his answer
in his own poetic fashion.

"The Word of God, my children, is as a fountain of life. Those who
drink of it drink immortality and joy and peace passing all
understanding. The Saviour of mankind--Himself the Word of God--has
given Himself freely, that all men may come to Him, and, drinking
of the living water, may find within their hearts a living fountain
which shall cause that they never thirst again. But the question
before us is not whether men shall drink of this fountain--we know
that they must do so to live--but how they shall drink of it; how
and in what manner the waters of life shall be dispensed to them."

The boys fixed their eyes eagerly upon him. Julian nodded his head,
and Edred's eyes grew deep with the intensity of his wish to follow
the workings of the mind of his instructor.

"For that we must look back to the days of our Lord, when He was
here upon earth. HOW did He give forth the Word of Life? How did He
rule that it was from that time forward to be given to men?"

"He preached to the people who came to Him," answered Edred, "and
He directed His apostles and disciples to do likewise--to go forth
into all lands and preach the gospel to every creature."

"Just so," answered Brother Emmanuel, with an other of his slight
peculiar smiles. "In other words, he intrusted the Word--Himself,
the news of Himself--to a living ministry, to men, that through the
mouths of His apostles and those disciples who had received regular
instruction from Him and from them the world might be enlightened
with the truth."

The boys listened eagerly, with mute attention.

"Go on," said Edred breathlessly. "Prithee tell us more."

"Our blessed Lord and Master laid no charge upon His apostles to
write of Him--to send forth into the world a written testimony. We
know that the inspired Word is written from end to end by the will
of God. It was necessary for the preservation of the truth in its
purity that its doctrines should be thus set down--that there
should be in existence some standard by which in generations to
come the learned ones of the earth might be able to judge of the
purity of the doctrines preached, and refute heresies and errors
that might and would creep in; but it was to men, to a living
ministry, that our Saviour intrusted the precious truths of His
gospel, and to a living ministry men should look to have those
truths unfolded."

"I see that point," cried Edred eagerly. "I had never thought of it
quite in that way before. Does it so state the matter anywhere in
the Holy Book? I love to gather the truth from its pages. Thou hast
not told us that we are wrong in that."

"Nay, under guidance all men should seek to those holy truths; but
will they find the priceless jewel if they seek it without those
aids our blessed Lord Himself has appointed? Wouldst thou know more
of His will in this matter? Then thou shalt."

The monk turned the leaves of the book awhile, and then paused at
an open page.

"On earth, as we have seen, the blessed Saviour intrusted His truth
to the care of chosen men. Now let us see how He acted when,
ascended into the heavens, He looked down upon earth, and directed
from thence the affairs of this world. Did He then ordain that a
written testimony was to be prepared and sent forth into all lands?
No. What we learn then is that when He ascended into the heavens
and received and gave gifts to men, He gave to them apostles,
prophets, evangelists, pastors, and teachers--a living ministry
again, a fourfold living ministry--that by this living ministry,
surely typified in the vision of St. John by the four living
creatures with the fourfold head, the saints were to be perfected,
the unity of the faith preserved, and the body of Christ edified
and kept in its full growth and perfection till He come Himself to
claim the Bride."

Edred's eyes were full of vivid intelligence. He followed in the
Latin tongue the words as Brother Emmanuel spoke them, and looking
up he asked wistfully:

"But where are they now, the apostles and prophets, the evangelists
and pastors? Have we got them with us yet?"

"We have at least the semblance of them; doubtless but for our own
sins and shortcomings we should have a fuller ministry--a fuller
outpouring of the water of life through those four God-given
channels by which the Church is to be fed. We have the apostolic
office ever in exercise in our spiritual head at Rome. St. Peter
has left us a successor, and his throne shall never be empty so
long as the world lasts. Now and again the prophetic fire bursts
forth in some holy man who has fasted and prayed until the veil
betwixt the seen and the unseen has grown thin. Would to God there
was more light of prophecy in the earth! Perchance in His grace and
mercy He will outpour His Spirit once again upon the earth, and
gather about his Holiness a band of men lighted by fire from above.
In our wandering friars, ever going forth to the people with the
word of the gospel, we have the office of evangelist in exercise;
and the priest who guides the flock and dwells in the midst of the
people of the land, surely he is the pastor, the keeper of the
sheep. And thus we see that our blessed Saviour's gifts to men have
been preserved all through these long centuries, and are still
amongst us in greater or less degree; and we can well understand
that having given us these channels, by which His vineyard is to be
watered, by which the living waters are to flow forth, it is not
His will that every man should be his own evangelist or pastor,
feeding himself at will, drinking, perhaps to surfeit, of the
precious waters which should be conveyed to him through the
appointed channel, but that he should be under dutiful obedience
and submission, and that thus and thus only may unity and peace be
preserved, and the body grow together into its perfect stature and
fullness."

"I see all that exactly," cried Bertram, "and I will strive to keep
it in mind. I mislike the very name of Lollard, and I well know
that they be a mischievous and pernicious brood, whom it were well
to see exterminated root and branch. Yet no man can fail to see
that they love the Scriptures, and I felt they were in the right
there. Now I well see that they may love the Word as much as they
will, but that they must still seek to be taught and fed by those
who are over them in the Church, and not seek to eat and drink (in
the spiritual sense of the word) at their own will and pleasure.
That is truly what the Church has ever taught, but I never heard it
so clearly explained before.

"Come, Julian; the sun is losing much of its power now. Let us
stroll along the margin of the stream, and see where best we may
fish upon the morrow.

"Edred, wilt thou come? No; I thought not. Thou art half a monk
already. We will leave thee with Brother Emmanuel to talk more on
these hard matters. I have heard enough to satisfy me, I shall
never want to turn Lollard now. The name was always enough, but now
I see more and more clearly how wrong-headed and wilful they be."

Julian, too, had got an answer that completely satisfied him, and
he readily rose to go with his brother. Those two found an hour or
two of thought and study as much at a time as they cared for. They
called their dogs and sallied forth over the fields towards the
shady, well-fringed river banks, and Brother Emmanuel was left
alone with his second pupil, Edred, whose eyes were still fixed
upon the black lettering of the great Bible open at the last
passage under discussion.

The monk bent an earnest glance upon the boy's face. He saw that an
argument which had completely satisfied the other two had not
satisfied this other keener mind. But he asked no questions,
leaving the boy to speak or not as he chose. These were days in
which too much questioning was a dangerous thing. Many men felt as
though they were treading the crust of a volcano, and that a single
unwary step might plunge them headlong into the burning gulf.

When even such a man as Bishop Peacock had been threatened with the
stake, and sent into perpetual imprisonment, even after having
"recanted" his errors, no wonder that all men holding broad or
enlightened opinions trembled for themselves. And yet, as thought
will not be bound, and the young are ever the most ardent in the
pursuit of truth, and the most impatient under the yoke of fetters
unwillingly worn, so neither this young monk nor his still more
youthful companion could be content to drift on without looking
into the stirring questions of the day for themselves.

Edred's mind at this moment was working rapidly and following up a
train of thought as fascinating as it was new. He suddenly turned
back to the very beginning of the book, and began reading to
himself some words he found there. Presently he looked up quickly
into his instructor's face.

"Thy words about four channels put me in mind of the four streams
we read of in the beginning, that watered the garden of the Lord.
It seemed to me as if perchance there was some connection betwixt
them--that the Lord's plan has ever been the same. Surely He led
forth the children of Israel through the wilderness beneath four
standards. And here the four streams are all given. But we hear no
more of any of them later, do we, save the river Euphrates. Out of
the four three seem to have been lost," and the boy raised his eyes
with a perplexed expression and looked earnestly at his teacher.

Between those two existed one of those keen bonds of sympathy that
often enable persons to communicate their thoughts without the
medium of words. In a moment the monk had read what was in the
boy's mind, and in a fashion he answered as though Edred had
spoken.

"Thou thinkest that even as some of God's watering rivers ran dry,
so some of His channels of grace, whereby He meant all men to be
replenished with heavenly light and grace, may perchance have
become choked and useless. Is not that thy thought, my son?"

"My father, is it sin thus to think?" asked Edred, almost beneath
his breath. "I cannot shut mine eyes and mine ears. I have heard
whispers of terrible corruption in high places even at Rome itself.
I try not to hear or to think too much, but I cannot help my
burning desire to know more of what passes in the world. It was but
a short year ago that a godly man coming from foreign lands told us
fearful tales of the corruption even of the papal court. O my
father, I fear to whisper it even to thee; but I cannot but ask in
my heart, can the popes be truly apostles? And if not, can we say
that the channel of grace once given to men is open yet for us to
drink from? Ah, pardon me if I err! I will do penance for my evil
thoughts. But where may we find now those four life-giving streams
by which Christ purposed to keep His body, the Church, nourished
and sustained? Prophets there be none, save here and there a spark
of the old fire. Those travelling friars are sometimes holy men;
but, alas! they are bitter foes of the very Church from which they
profess to be sent out, and are oft laid under the papal ban. We
have our pastor priests; but do they feed the flock? O my father,
how can I walk with closed eyes through this world of sin and
strife? If the channels run dry, if the pastors refuse food to the
hungry people, can it be sin if they strive to feed themselves,
even though they be something too ignorant to do it wisely and
well?"

A very grave, thoughtful, and austere look was stamped upon the
face towards which Edred directed his gaze. It was long before he
received any answer, and then it was but a sorrowful one.

"My son, I will not blame thee for these thoughts, albeit they be
charged with peril in these days. It is human nature thus to
question and thus to doubt. We may not blind our eyes, though we
must ever strive to chasten our hearts, that we fall not into the
condemnation of those who speak evil of dignities, and bring a
railing accusation against those set over them. I, too, have had my
period of storm-tossed doubts and fears; but I have learned to fix
mine eyes upon the Holy One of Israel, who never slumbers nor
sleeps--upon the crucified Saviour, who has suffered that death of
agony and shame that He may draw all men unto Himself. How He will
do it I know not. How He will open up again the closed channels,
and make ready His Church to meet Him and receive Him, I can not
even conjecture. But His word cannot fail; and in His own appointed
time, and in His own appointed way, I verily believe that He will
draw unto Himself all men who have ever called upon His name, and
all those unto whom His name has never been proclaimed, and who,
therefore, have never rejected Him. In that hope and that belief I
try to rest; and fixing my eyes and thoughts upon Him and Him
alone, I strive to forget the chaos and the strife of earth, and to
look upon all men as brothers in Christ, if they will but bow the
knee at that thrice holy name."

Edred looked at him with wide-open eyes.

"Heretics call upon the name of Jesus. Thinkest thou that heretics
will be saved? I thought they were doomed to hellfire forever!"

The boy spoke in a voice that was little more than a whisper. He
was almost afraid to hear the answer, lest it should convey a germ
of the dreaded heresy, and yet how eager he was to know what
Brother Emmanuel really thought.

"It is not for me to say who will and who will not be saved," he
said, slowly and thoughtfully; "and we are expressly told that
there will be punishment for those who fall away from the faith.
Yet we are not told that error will be punished with everlasting
death. And there be places in Holy Scripture which tell us that
'whoso believeth and is baptized shall be saved;' and heretics
believe that Christ died for the world. It says, again, that those
who love the Lord are born of God; and shall they perish
everlastingly? My son, the mercies of God are very great; from end
to end of this book we are told that. Knowing so much, need we ask
more? With Him rests the judgment of all mankind. He alone can read
the heart. Let that thought be enough for us. Whether the sin of
heresy is as vile in His eyes as in those of man, He alone knows;
we do not. Let us strive for our own part to keep the unity of the
faith in the bond of peace, and leave all else to Him."

As he spoke, Brother Emmanuel gently closed the book, as though to
close the discussion likewise; and Edred, looking up and round
about him, drawing a long breath meantime, suddenly gave a start,
which attracted the attention of his preceptor.

A short distance away--how he had got there neither of the pair
knew; they had been too much engrossed in their talk to take much
heed of external impressions--was an elderly monk, clad in the same
gown and hood as Brother Emmanuel, betokening that he too was of
the Benedictine order; and his face, shrouded in its cowl, was
turned towards the pair with a very peculiar expression upon it. A
sinister smile was in the narrow beady eyes; the features, which
were coarse and somewhat bloated from luxurious living, were set in
a look of ill-concealed malice; and the salutation addressed to the
pair when he saw himself perceived had in it something of an
incongruous sound.

"Pax vobiscum!" said the newcomer, lifting his hand as if to impart
a blessing.

Edred instinctively bent the knee, but Brother Emmanuel's face did
not move a muscle.

"Hast thou come with a message for me from the reverend father?" he
asked quietly.

"Nay, not for thee. My message was to Sir Oliver; but I will report
to the father how excellently I found thee employed--training thy
pupils in all godliness and honesty, and in that hatred of heresy
which it behoves all true sons of the Church to cherish."

There was a spiteful gleam in the man's eyes as he spoke these
words that made Edred shiver; but the calm regard of the younger
monk did not waver.

"I have taught him nothing but what I have heard our good Dean of
St. Paul's speak before princes and prelates in the pulpit,"
answered Brother Emmanuel, not pretending to misunderstand the
innuendo conveyed. "Methinks it would profit many of our brothers
in country places to hear what is being thought and taught in
Oxford and London, in all the great centres of the country. The
reverend father knows well what I hold and what I teach."

So clear and steadfast was the light in the young monk's eyes, that
the regard of the other fell before it. He made a gesture, as if to
repudiate the defence as a thing quite superfluous.

"The piety and orthodoxy of Brother Emmanuel are known far and
wide," he answered, in a tone that was half cringing, half
spiteful; "no truer son of the Church than he lives in all the
land."

And then with another salutation he turned and glided away in the
lengthening shadows, whilst Edred turned to Brother Emmanuel with
rather a scared face, and asked:

"Dost think he heard what we were saying?"

"Belike he caught a phrase or two," was the answer, spoken gravely
but quite calmly. "I would not speak words of which I am ashamed;
at the same time, it is well in these perilous days to use all
caution, for an enemy can well distort and magnify the words he
hears, till they sound like rank heresy. For myself I have no fear.
I prize not my life greatly, though to die as a heretic, cut off
from the Church of Christ, is a fearful thing to think of. Yet even
that might be better than denying the truth--if indeed one believes
the truth to lie without, which assuredly I do not. But thou, my
son, would do well to think something less of these matters. Thou
art but a child in years, and--"

"I am quickly rising to man's estate," answered the boy, rather
impetuously, "and my thoughts will not be chained. I must give them
liberty to rove where they will. All men are talking and thinking
of these things, and wherefore not I? But, Brother Emmanuel, tell
me, who was yon black-browed brother? Methinks I have seen his face
before; but beneath the cowl many faces look alike. Who was he? and
wherefore looked he so askance at thee?"

"Brother Fabian loves me not," answered the monk with a slight
smile. "I scarce know how it began; it seemed to commence from the
day I entered the priory. I had looked to find things there
somewhat different. Perchance I spoke more than I should, being
young and ardent, and fresh from places where a different order
reigned. Brother Fabian holds various offices in the priory. He
liked not my words. Methinks he has never forgotten or forgiven. He
has always sour looks for me, and ofttimes sneering words. But I
heed them not greatly; they do not touch me near."

Edred was looking straight out before him, with a gaze in which
there was much of shrinking and surprise.

"Brothers in the same monastery at enmity one with the other!" he
said slowly, grasping more than had been spoken, with that quick
intuition which existed between tutor and pupil. "Some, leading
lives of luxury, indignant with those who would protest against
them. Brother Emmanuel, my father, my friend, when these things
come before me, I turn with loathing from the thought of entering
the life of the cloister; and yet how I long to give myself wholly
to the cause of God! How can I judge? how can I choose aright?"

"Thou must not try to choose," answered the young monk, with a
touch of austerity in his tone; "thou must await that leading and
that guiding which never fail those who truly wait upon the blessed
Son of God, and strive to do not their will but the will of Him who
pleased not Himself. At the foot of His Cross--before the altar,
where His precious body and blood are ever abiding in memorial of
His one sacrifice for sin--there is the place to seek grace and
guidance; there is the place where peace may be found. Because man
is frail, shall we despise the ordinances of God? Because men are
able to make (if such be their will) a hell upon earth even of holy
places, is that any reason why we shall think scorn of those
sanctuaries, provided by the merciful goodness of God, where men
may flee for shelter from the world, and lead a life of devotion
and fasting and prayer? My son, beware of the manifold snares of
the devil. The young are ever ready to condemn and to revolt. It is
the nature of the unchastened will of man. Be patient, and watch
unto prayer. The day will surely come when (if thou wilt but listen
for it) the voice will speak in thine heart, and tell thee what
thou art called upon to do, even as it spoke in mine, and called me
from the snares and enticements of the world to the haven of the
cloister. I know not yet what my work in this world will be; but it
is enough that my Lord and Master knows. I am here, abiding in my
place and awaiting my call. May He grant that whensoever and
howsoever that call may come, I may hear it and be ready for it,
and may follow the guiding voice even to the end."

A rapt look was in the dark eyes. Edred caught the enthusiasm of
that look, and half unconsciously sank down upon his knee.

"Bless me, even me also, O my father!" he cried, scarce knowing
what words he chose; and the thin, strong hand was laid upon his
head.

"God be with thee and bless thee, my son," said the monk, in grave,
steadfast tones; "and may He be thy guide and thy portion
henceforth and forever. May He show thee the way in which He would
have thee to go, and give thee grace and strength to follow it unto
the end."

For a moment deep silence prevailed. Both were rapidly reviewing
the words that day spoken, and the thoughts suggested by the bare
discussion of such subjects; and Edred, rising and looking with a
strange smile into the monk's face, said softly:

"Methinks it would not be hard to die in a righteous cause; but to
be hunted to death through the spite and malice of a treacherous
foe, that would be an evil fate. I would fight with the best member
I possess against such an one, were he to be mine own enemy or
thine."

A smile crossed Brother Emmanuel's face.

"Go to, boy! thou art more soldier than monk yet. Methinks thou
wouldst fight bravely and well in a good cause. Perchance that
would be the best and happiest lot for thee--

"There be thy brothers coming up from the water. Go join them, and
think not too much for thy years. Be a youth as long as thou
mayest. Manhood's cares will come all too fast."

With that he turned and went quietly towards the house, whilst
Edred went forth to meet his brothers.



Chapter IV: The Travelling Preacher.


Perhaps it was the memory of those spiteful and malicious glances
bent upon his preceptor by Brother Fabian that suggested to Edred
upon the day following to pay a visit to the secret chamber that
had once before so well sheltered a helpless fugitive.

The secret of that chamber still remained with the three boys and
their faithful esquire, Warbel. To no other living soul in the
house had any of these four ever named the matter. The boys might
not have been able to give any reason for this reticence towards
their parents, but the fact remained that they had never revealed
the secret to them, and that although tradition still spoke of a
cleverly-masked chamber somewhere at Chad, it was now popularly
supposed to have been in that part of the house which had boon
demolished during the Wars of the Roses. Children did not chatter
to their parents in days of old as they do now. They might love
them never so well, but they held them in reverence and even in
awe. They were silent in their presence, as a rule, unless spoken
to first, and the habit of conversational intimacy did not grow up
until a much later period in their lives. Thus the adventures of
Warbel, and his strange midnight visit to their bedchamber, had
never been told to Sir Oliver or his wife. All they knew was that
the man had taken refuge from the anger of the Lord of Mortimer in
one of their woodmen's huts. They were glad to give him shelter and
employment at Chad, and had never regretted the hospitality
extended to him; for he had proved the most faithful of servants,
and his devotion to the boys was so great that they could be
trusted anywhere in his keeping.

As for the anger of his proud neighbour, Sir Oliver had made light
of that. The Lord of Mortimer could not make any thing out of so
small a matter, and at that time had other more weighty affairs on
hand. Warbel's stories to his fellows of the harshness and
tyrannical rule at Mortimer made his own servants more loyal and
stanch than ever. Chad was a peaceable and happy abode for all its
inmates, and the need for secret hiding places had so far never
arisen.

The boys in years gone by had almost regretted this fact. They had
pictured so vividly how they would hide their father or some friend
of his in this secret chamber, should peril menace them from any
quarter, that it had seemed sometimes almost a pity that so secure
a hiding place should be of so little use, when it might have done
such excellent service had the need arisen.

However, as years sped by and the lads began to know more of life,
they ceased to regret that the secret chamber remained without an
occupant. From time to time they visited it, swept out the dust and
cobwebs that had accumulated there, and bit by bit collected a few
more odds and ends of furniture, so that the place now wore a look
of greater comfort and habitation than it had done when they saw it
first.

Once when Edred had been laid up by an accident to his foot, he had
amused himself by making a number of feather pillows from the
feathers of the birds his brothers shot and brought home to him.
These feathers were dressed in the proper way by the boys
themselves, and then made up into large pillows or cushions, which
were then taken up to the secret chamber (at that time the
favourite hobby of the boys), in order to make restful and
comfortable the hard pallet bed, in case any fugitive were forced
to take shelter there. In the same way had several rudely-made
rugs, formed of the skins of wild bears taken in the woods, and
tanned by the boys in a fashion of their own, found their way
thither; and altogether the place had assumed an aspect of some
comfort and even luxury, although it was now several years since
any further additions had been made to its plenishings.

Edred looked round the strange apartment with a thoughtful air as
he emerged into it from the long, dark, twisting passage he had
threaded with the security of one to whom every winding and turn
was known. It was dim and dark there, but sufficient light filtered
in through cracks and cleverly-contrived apertures to render it
easy to move about; and when the eye grew used to the dimness,
everything could be seen with pretty fair distinctness.

"It would not be a bad hiding place," mused the boy, speaking half
aloud. "Methinks over there one could even read without much
trouble. Yes, without doubt one could; and that crack might be
judiciously enlarged without any peril. It does but give upon the
leads behind the main chimney stack, and the tiles would cover any
aperture I made."

He took out his large hunting knife from his girdle as he spoke,
and worked away awhile in silence. Very soon he had considerably
added to the amount of light in the strange room. He eyed his
handiwork with considerable satisfaction.

"That is better. It would be something gloomy to be shut up here
without light enough to study by; but with books and food one might
spend many a week here and not be overwhelmed with dullness. The
place is something straight, to be sure, and there is bare room for
a tall man to stand upright."

Edred drew himself to his full height, and found that his head did
not quite reach the beams which formed the ceiling.

"I trow Brother Emmanuel could just stand; he is not greatly taller
than I. And he is marvellous contented with a very little, and has
been used to passing days and weeks in the solitude of his cell.
Sure this would not be to him an evil place. If he had but a book
or two and the needful food, he would be vastly content.

"I wonder if he can be in any sort of peril. I liked not the looks
or the words of you malicious monk. Our father and mother often say
that these be times when men must walk warily, and ofttimes they
tell of godly men even in high places who have fallen into disgrace
and been accused of fearful sins. It is not safe in these days to
have for enemies those who are within the pale of the Church--monks
and priors, men who are held up as examples and models of true
faith and piety.

"I know not whether they merit the praise men give to them.
Methinks Brother Emmanuel could teach them many things both in
precept and practice. But it is not for me to be the judge in such
matters; yet if he were in any kind of peril, I would lay down my
life to save him!"

The boy's eyes kindled at the thought. He cherished for his
preceptor an ardent and enthusiastic love, and he had his share of
that chivalrous devotion and self-sacrifice which has been the
brightest ornament of days that have much of darkness and cruelty
to disgrace them.

His face wore a very earnest look as he set about his homely task
of cleaning and setting in order this secret chamber. He was more
than two hours over his task, for he went through it with unwonted
energy. The place looked almost tempting before he had done with
it, and he looked about him with satisfied eyes at the close of his
labours.

There was a convenient spout, meant to carry off the rain water
from the complex level of the old roof, which made an excellent
substitute for a dust shoot. It could be got at from this place
without difficulty, and Edred shot down his rubbish without any
trouble through a funnel-like piece of wood he and his brothers had
contrived for the purpose many years before. Then he stood quite
still at the aperture whence the soft breeze came blowing in, lost
in thought.

"It doth get very hot here in the summer days," he remarked, "and
in especial at this end of the room, where it abuts upon the leads.
It is cooler yonder, but then it is also darker. The air and the
light come in at this side, but so does the heat likewise. And how
thirsty one gets, too! My throat is parched and dry. I mind me how
poor Warbel suffered in like manner when he was here. Food could be
brought in without trouble. I will amass even now by slow degrees
some of those hard oaten cakes that keep good for weeks, and some
salted venison that would last the winter through.

"But water--how could that be brought? Suppose that we too were
watched; suppose we dared not go through the secret door? What
would become of the prisoner?

"I must talk to Bertram and Julian about that. Bertram has a
wonderful gift for getting out of such difficulties; he has a
marvellous quick wit. We never thought in old days how the water
was to be conveyed; we thought a few bottles of wine would last a
lifetime. But to die of thirst would be worse than to face one's
foes. I shall not really rest till I have thought how such a danger
might be guarded against."

Edred left the place with a thoughtful air. He gained their own
long sleeping room without adventure. Nobody was ever there at this
hour of the day, and he sat down on his bed to think and plan.

There his brothers found him later when they came rushing up
tumultuously to find him.

"Ha! thou art there. We have been seeking thee everywhere. What
hast thou been doing, brother?"

"I have been up to the room," answered the boy. "I have been making
it all ready. I was something disturbed by what chanced
yester-afternoon. I told thee of Brother Fabian and his evil
looks?"

The other two nodded.

"Yes, verily; but they be brothers of one fraternity. Surely one
Benedictine would not hurt another?"

"I know not that. I was talking this day with Warbel. He has been
about in the world. He has seen priests and monks accused of heresy
the one by the other; and none are so fearfully persecuted as those
who wear the tonsure, if men do but suspect them of that sin.

"Brother Emmanuel a heretic!" cried Bertram, with flashing eyes. "I
would force the word down the false throat of any who dared to say
so! Brother Emmanuel is a right holy man. Art thou mad, Edred, to
think such a thing?"

The boy shook his head doubtfully.

"I would I were," he replied; "but methinks Brother Emmanuel
himself thinks that peril may menace him. I understand not rightly
these matters; but I saw that yesterday upon his face which showed
me that he felt he stood something in peril, albeit he has no fear.
He is not of the stuff of which cowards are made."

Julian's eyes were wide with affright.

"They say the Lollards and heretics are to be sought out and
burned, and that right soon," he said, in low, awe-struck tones.
"Some of our people heard it today from those at Mortimer. The Lord
of Mortimer has become very zealous to help the priests and monks
to scent out all suspected of heresy and make a great example of
them.

"Edred, thou dost not think they will take Brother
Emmanuel--and--burn--him?"

The last words were little more than a whisper.

"I will die sooner than see it done!" cried the boy passionately.
"But in these days no man may say who is safe. Therefore went I up
to the chamber this very day to set it in order;" and then he told
his brothers of the difficulty that had beset him there, and how he
felt no security for any person in hiding there so long as the
difficulty of conveying water to him remained so great.

Bertram grasped the situation in a moment. He well knew that if any
person were suspected of lying hidden in the house, a close watch
might well be kept upon every member of the household, and that it
might be hard indeed to pay more than a very occasional visit to
the prisoner. If, for instance, suspicion were to fall upon the
boys in this matter, it would be probable they would be placed
under some restraint; they might be carried off to the priory and
forced to do some penance there. It would never do for the prisoner
to be entirely dependent upon them for supplies of the precious
commodity; and yet what else was to be done?

"I must think about it," cried Bertram. "I shall never rest till I
have thought of some method. Would we had not left it so long! We
have had all these years to make our plans, and we have never
thought of this thing till trouble seems like to be at the very
doors.

"Still it may but be our fantasy. Neither Brother Emmanuel nor any
other may need the shelter of this room. We will trust it may be
so.

"Yet I will cudgel my brains for a plan. It would be a fearful
thing to know him to be shut up here, and yet to be unable to visit
him with the necessaries of life. How poor Warbel drank when he
issued forth that night. Methinks I see him now. One would have
thought he had never tasted water before."

"But we came not to talk of all this," interrupted Julian, who had
been evincing a few signs of impatience latterly; "we came to tell
of the fair held today and tomorrow at Chadwick. Our father says we
may go thither tomorrow if we will. Warbel says they will bait a
bull, and perhaps a bear; and that there will be fighting with the
quarterstaff and shooting with cross and long bow, and many other
like spectacles. He will attend us, and we may be off with the
light of day, an we will. That is what we came to tell thee,
Edred."

Edred was boy enough to be well pleased at this news. Any variety
in the day's round was pleasing to the lads, who found life a
little monotonous, albeit pleasant enough. It was a relief, too, to
turn from grave thoughts and anxious forebodings to the
anticipation of simpler pleasures, and the boys all ran to seek
Warbel and ask him what these village fairs were like; for they had
been much interrupted during the recent wars, and only now that
peace had been for some years established did they begin to revive
and gain their old characteristics.

At break of day on the morning following, the little party started
forth on foot to walk the five miles which separated them from the
village of Chadwick. It was a pleasant enough walk through the
green forest paths before the heat of the day had come. The three
boys and Warbel headed the party, and were followed by some eight
or ten men of various degree, some bent on a day's pleasure for
themselves, others there with a view of attending upon their
master's sons.

Bertram felt that he could have dispensed with any attendance save
that of Warbel; but Sir Oliver had given his own orders. With so
powerful and jealous a neighbour within easy reach of the village,
he felt bound to be careful of his children. They were but
striplings after all, and doubtless his unscrupulous neighbour
would be delighted to hold one or more as a hostage should excuse
arise for opening hostilities of any kind. He knew well the
unscrupulous character of the man with whom he had to deal, and he
acted with prudence and foresight accordingly.

The little village when reached proved to be all en fete. Rude
arches of greenery crossed every pathway to the place, and all the
people had turned out in their holiday dresses upon the green to
join in the dances and see the sights. There was a miracle play
going on in one place, repeated throughout the day to varying
groups of spectators. In another corner some rude gipsy juggling
was to be seen, at which the rustic yokels gazed with wondering
eyes. There were all the usual country games in full swing; and the
baiting of a great bull, which was being led to the centre of the
green, attracted the attention of the bulk of the spectators, and
drew them away from other sports. The actors in the miracle play
threw off their dresses to come and witness this delightful
pastime, and hardly any of those present seemed to regard for a
moment the sufferings of the poor brute, or the savage nature of
the whole performance.

Edred, however, belonged to that very small minority, and whilst
his two brothers pressed into the ring, he wandered away elsewhere
to see what was to be seen. His attention was attracted by a little
knot of persons gathered together under the shade of a great oak
tree, rather far away from the green that was the centre of
attraction. The shade looked inviting, now that the heat was
growing greater, and the boy felt some curiosity to know what was
the attraction which kept this little group so compact and quiet.
On the green were shouting and yelling and noise of every
description; but Edred could hear no sound of any kind proceeding
from this little group till he approached quite near, and then he
was aware of the sound of a single voice speaking in low tones and
very earnestly.

When he got nearer still he saw that the speaker was a little
hunchback, and that he had in his hand a small book from which he
was reading aloud to the people about him. And this fact surprised
the boy not a little, for it was very unusual for any person in the
lower ranks of life to be able to read; and yet this man was
evidently in poor circumstances, for his clothes were shabby and
his hands were hardened by manual toil.

Drawing nearer in great curiosity, Edred became aware that what the
hunchback was reading was nothing more or less than a part of the
gospel narrative in the English tongue, to which the people about
him were listening in amazement, and with keen curiosity and
attention.

Edred was familiar enough with the Latin version of the Scriptures,
and had studied them under the guidance of Brother Emmanuel with
great care and attention; but he had never yet heard the words read
out in their entirety in his native tongue, and he was instantly
struck and fascinated by the freshness and suggestiveness of the
familiar language when used for this purpose. He was conscious that
it gave to the words a new life and meaning; that it seemed, as it
were, to drive them home to the heart in a new fashion, and to make
them the property of the listener as they could never be when a
dead language was used as the medium of expression. He felt a
strange thrill run through him as the story of Calvary was thus
read in the low, impassioned tones of the hunchback; and he was not
surprised to see that tears were running down many faces, and that
several women could hardly restrain their sobs.

Now and again the hunchback paused and added a few explanatory
words of his own; now and again he broke forth into a rhapsody not
lacking in a certain rude eloquence, in which he besought his
hearers to come to their Saviour with their load of sin--their
Saviour, who was the one and only Mediator between God and man.
Were not His own words enough--"Father, forgive them"? What need,
then, of the priest; the confessional; the absolution of man? To
God and to Him alone was the remission of sins. Let those who loved
their Lord seek to Him, and see what bliss and happiness resulted
from this personal bond between the erring soul and the loving
Saviour.

Edred shivered slightly as he stood, yet something in the
impassioned gestures of the hunchback, and the strange enthusiastic
light which shone in his eyes, attracted him in spite of himself.
That this was rank heresy he well knew. He knew that one of the
Lollard tenets had always been that confession was a snare devised
of man and not appointed by God. Edred himself could have quoted
many passages from Holy Writ which spoke of some need of confession
through the medium of man, and of sins remitted by God-appointed
ministers. He had been well instructed in such matters by Brother
Emmanuel, who, whatever his enemies might allege against him, was a
stanch son of the Church, even though he might be gifted with a
wide tolerance and a mind open to conviction; and his pupil was not
to be easily convinced against his will. Nor was Edred convinced of
the justice and truth of many things that this ignorant man spoke;
but what did strike him very greatly was his intense earnestness,
his fiery and impassioned gestures, the absolute confidence he
possessed in the righteousness of his own cause, and his utter
freedom from any kind of doubt or fear--the eloquence of one of
nature's orators that carries away the heart far more than the
studied oratory which is the result of practice and artifice.

Whilst the man spoke, Edred felt himself carried away in spite of
his inner consciousness that there was a flaw in the argument of
the preacher. He was intensely interested by the whole scene. He
could not help watching the faces of the group of which he made
one, watching the play of emotion upon them as they followed with
breathless attention their instructor's words, and drank in his
fiery eloquence as though it were life-giving water.

And was it wonderful this should be so? the youth asked of himself.
Were not these poor people fairly starving for want of spiritual
food? and what food did they receive from the hands of their parish
priest? Edred knew the old man well. He was a kind-hearted
sexagenarian, and in those days that was accounted an immense age.
He mumbled through the mass on Sundays; he baptized the children
and buried the dead when need arose; and if sent for by some person
in extremity, would go and administer the last rites of the Church.
But beyond that his duties did not go, and no living soul in the
place remembered hearing him speak a word of instruction or
admonition on his own account. He had a passion for gardening, and
spent all his spare time with his flowers; and his people went
their way as he did his, and their lives never touched on any
point.

Such being the case, was it wonderful that the people should come
with eagerness to hear of the Saviour from whomsoever would tell
them of Him? Edred well remembered Brother Emmanuel's words about
the four God-given channels of grace--the living ministry by which
He had meant His Church to be perfected. But how when the streams
grew choked? how when the ministry had become a dead letter? Was
the Church, were the people, to die of inanition? Might not God
pardon them for listening to any messenger who came with His name
upon his lips? Surely He who lived in the heavens would pardon them
even if it were sin, seeing that it was the instinctive love of His
own wandering sheep which brought them crowding round any shepherd
who would teach them of Him, even though he did not come in the
God-directed order.

Some such thoughts in a more chaotic form surged through Edred's
head as he stood listening, almost causing him to lose the words of
the preacher, though the tenor of his discourse was plain. He
almost wished he might enter into a discussion with this
enthusiast, and point out to him where he thought him extravagant
and wrong; but young as he was, Edred yet knew something of the
futility of argument with those whose minds are made up, and
caution withheld him from entering into any argument with one who
was plainly a Lollard preacher. So, after listening with sympathy
and interest for a long while, he quietly stole away again.

The bull baiting was over by this time. The games and other sports
were recommencing with greater energy after this brief interruption.
The miracle play was again represented, and Edred stood a few minutes
to watch, thinking within his heart that this representation, half
comical, half blasphemous (though the people who regarded it seemed
in no way aware of this), was a strange way of bringing home the
realities of the Scriptures, when it could be done so far more
faithfully and eloquently by simply reading the gospel words in the
tongue of the common people.

His eye roved from the actors, with their mincing words and
artificial gestures, to the group still collected beneath the tree,
and he could not but contrast the two methods in his own mind, and
wonder for a moment whether the Lollards could be altogether so
desperately wicked as their enemies would make out.

He was half afraid of allowing himself to think too much on such
themes, and went in search of his brothers. He found Warbel looking
out for him in some anxiety. He had missed the boy for some little
while from his charge, and as the field was filling fast with
followers and servants wearing the Mortimer livery, he was glad to
have the three boys all together beneath his care.

He would have been glad to get them to leave the place, but Bertram
would not hear of it. He wished to try his own skill at some of the
sports; and Julian, of course, must needs follow his example.

The skill and address of the Chadgrove brothers won the hearty
admiration of the rustics, but it also brought them more than once into
rivalry and collision with some of Mortimer's gentlemen-at-arms, who
were not best pleased to be overmatched by mere striplings. It was also
galling and irritating to them to note the popularity of these lads
with the rustics. Any success of theirs was rewarded by loud shouting
and applause, whilst no demonstration of satisfaction followed any feat
performed by those wearing the livery of Mortimer. And if the lads
scored a triumph over any of these latter, the undisguised delight of
the beholders could not pass unnoticed by the vanquished.

Altogether there were so much jealousy and ill will aroused that
little scuffles between the followers of Chad and Mortimer had
already taken place in more than one part of the field. Warbel was
getting very uneasy, and had persuaded Edred to use his influence
with his brothers to return home before any real collision should
have occurred, when a great tumult and shouting suddenly arose to
interrupt the whispered colloquy, and Edred saw a great rush being
made in the direction of the oak tree, where the hunchback preacher
had been keeping his station the whole day long, always surrounded
by a little knot of listeners.

Shouts and yells were filling the air, the voices being those of
Mortimer's following.

"A Lollard, a Lollard! A heretic! Down with him! Away with him! To
the fire with him! A Lollard, a Lollard!"

A deep flush overspread Edred's face. He made a spring forward; but
Warbel laid a detaining hand upon his arm.

"It is no case for us to interfere in," he said, with clouded brow.
"If they have a heretic to deal with we must not meddle. It is not
England's way for a score to attack one; but we must not interpose
betwixt Mortimer and a heretic. That would be too much peril."

But almost before the man had done speaking Edred broke away,
crying out excitedly: "My brothers, my brothers! they are there in
the thick of it!" and with a groan of terror and dismay Warbel
recognized the voice of Bertram raised in angry scorn.

"Stand back, you cowards! Who ever heard of fifty men against one,
and he a cripple? The first who touches him I strike dead. A
heretic! Pooh! nonsense. He is but a poor travelling peddler with
his pack. See, here is the pack to speak for itself. For shame to
mar a merry holiday in this unmannerly fashion! No; I will not give
him up! Ye are no better than a pack of howling, ravening wolves. I
am the Lord of Chad, and I will see that no violence is done this
day. Back to your sports, ye unmannerly knaves. Are ye fit for
nothing but to set upon one helpless man and worry him as dogs
worry their helpless prey?"

Howls, execrations, oaths followed freely; but the village people
were to a man with their young lord, and the scions of Mortimer
felt it by instinct.

"Who is he? Whence came he?" was being asked on all sides; but none
could give an answer. He was a stranger to the village, but all
those who had been drinking in his words rallied round him, and
declared he was but a simple peddler whose wares they had been
buying; and Bertram, who really thought so, stood beside the tree,
opened the bundle, and showed the innocent nature of the wares.

His brothers had forced their way to his side by this time, and
helped to make a ring round the poor hunchback; and Edred kept a
very sharp eye upon the emptying of the pack, resolved if there
should be any book at the bottom to contrive that it should not
reach the eyes of any of the vindictive followers of Mortimer.

But there was nothing of the sort to be seen. The man was both too
poor and too wary to carry such dangerous things with him. His own
thin volume had been slipped into some secret receptacle about his
person, and his calmness of bearing helped to convince all who were
open to conviction that he was innocent of the charge brought
against him.

With dark, lowering faces, and many muttered threats, the Mortimer
retainers drew off, seeing that with public feeling dead against
them they could not prevail to work their will upon the intended
victim. But Warbel was made very anxious by the words he heard
openly spoken on all sides, and he would have given much to have
hindered this act of Bertram's, generous and manly though he knew
it to have been.

"It is ill work drawing down the charge of heresy," he remarked, as
he got the boys at last in full march homeward. "Any other charge
one can laugh to scorn; but no man may tell where orthodoxy ends
and heresy begins. Godly bishops have been sent to prison, and
priests to the stake. How may others hope to escape?"

"Tush!" answered Bertram lightly; "there was never a heretic at
Chad yet, and never will be one, I trow. Was I to see a poor
cripple like that done to death without striking a blow in his
defence--he in Chadwick, of which my father is lord of the manor?
Was I to see Mortimer's men turning a gay holiday into a scene of
horror and affright? Never! I were unworthy of my name had I not
interposed. The man was no heretic, and if he had been--"

"Have a care, sir, how thou speakest; have a care, I entreat thee!
Thou knowest not what ears may be listening!" cried Warbel, in a
real fright.

Bertram laughed half scornfully.

"I have no need to be ashamed of what I think. I am a true son of
the Church, and fear not what the vile Mortimer scum may say. But
to pleasure thee, good Warbel, I will say no more. We will make our
way home with all speed, and tell the tale to our father. I doubt
not he will say it was well done. The Lord of Chad would ever have
the defenceless protected, and stand between them and the false and
treacherous bloodhounds of Mortimer. I have no fear that he will
blame me. He would have done the same in my place."

"I trow he would," answered Warbel in a low voice; "but that does
not make the deed done without peril of some sort following to the
doer."



Chapter V: A Warning.


Sir Oliver and his wife listened with some anxiety to the boys'
story of the rescue of the peddler. Bertram observed the cloud upon
his father's brow, and eagerly asked if he had done wrong.

"I say not so, my son," replied the knight. "I would ever have a
child of mine merciful and just--the protector of the oppressed,
and the champion of the defenceless; nevertheless--"

"And it was those bloodhounds of Mortimer's who were setting upon
him," broke in Julian vehemently. "What right had they to molest
him? Could we of Chad, upon our own soil, stand by and see it done?
I trow, father, that thou wouldst have done the same hadst thou
been there."

A smile flitted over the face of the knight. He loved to see the
generous fire burning in his boys' eyes; but for all that his face
was something anxious as he made reply:

"Belike I should, my son, albeit perhaps in a something less
vehement fashion. My authority would have served to keep down riot,
and the charge against the peddler could have been forthwith
examined, and if found false the man could then have been sent on
his way in safety. But it is dangerous work just now to appear to
side with those against whom the foul charge of heresy is brought.
Knowest thou--know any of ye--what gave rise to the sudden
suspicion?"

Edred, who knew much more of the real nature of the peddler's
occupation that day, kept his lips close sealed. He would not for
worlds have told what he had seen and heard. His brothers were
plainly ignorant of the peddler's exhortation, reading, and
preaching. It was not for him to add to the anxieties of his
parents.

Julian was the first to answer the question.

"It was but the idle spite of the people of Mortimer," he answered.
"They had baited the bull and the bear, and they had the mind to
bait or burn a heretic whilst their blood was up, as a fit end to
their day's pleasuring. I saw them prowling round the tree where
the fellow was talking to the women and showing his wares; and
suddenly they raised the shout. I called out to Bertram that
Mortimer's people were bent on a mischief, and he sprang to the
peddler's side before any had touched him, and we disappointed the
hell hounds of their prey. He had nothing in his pack but such
wares as all peddlers have; and the people vowed he had done naught
all the day but sell to all who came. It would have been sin and
shame for us of Chad to have stood by to see him hounded perhaps to
death. We could not choose but balk those evil men of their will.
None of our blood could have stood by to see such ill done!"

"I cannot blame ye, my sons," said the knight. "Ye have the blood
of your forefathers in your veins, and it goes against all of us at
Chad to see injustice and unrighteousness committed. I do but wish
the cry raised against yon man had been anything else than that of
heresy. The priests and magistrates are very busy now searching out
all those suspected of that vile sin, and those who shelter them
are accounted as guilty as those who are proved tainted. Our foe of
Mortimer is very zealous in the good cause, and will not scruple to
employ against us every weapon in his power. It would be an
excellent thing in his eyes to show how mine own children had stood
up to defend a Lollard heretic. I would we knew something more
anent this man and his views.

"Warbel, didst thou know him? Is he anyone known in and about
Chad?"

"I never saw his face before, sir," answered Warbel. "I know not so
much as his name. I had thought of making some inquiries of the
village folks. All I noted was that he seemed always to have plenty
of persons around and about him, and his wares were nothing very
attractive. Still, it is often the tales peddlers tell and the way
they have with them that keeps a crowd always about them. Some of
the folks of the place must know who and what he is."

"Yes, verily; and it would be well for thee to ride over tomorrow
and make all needful inquiry. It would set my mind at rest to know
that there was no cause of complaint against him. We cannot be
blind to the fact that heretical doctrines are widely spread by
those purporting to be hawkers and peddlers. Yet there must be many
honest men who would scorn to be so occupied, and who know not even
the name of these pestilent heresies."

And with that charge the knight tried to dismiss the subject from
his mind; whilst Edred went to bed feeling terribly uneasy, and
dreamed all night of the secret chamber, and how the time came when
they were all forced to take refuge in it from the hatred of the
Lord of Mortimer and his bloodthirsty followers.

But not even to his brothers did he tell all that he had heard and
all that he knew. The words of the gospel in the familiar language
of his country haunted him persistently. He felt a strange wish to
hear more, although he believed the wish to be sin, and strove
against it might and main. Some of the passages clung tenaciously
to his memory, and he fell asleep repeating them. When he woke the
words were yet in his mind, and they seemed to get between him and
the words of his task that day when the boys went to their tutor
for daily instruction.

Brother Emmanuel had never found Edred so inattentive and absent
before. He divined that the boy must have something on his mind,
and let him alone. He was not surprised that he lingered when the
others had gone, and then in a low voice asked his preceptor if he
would meet him in the chantry, as he felt he could not be happy
till he had made confession of a certain matter, done penance, and
received absolution.

A request of that sort never met a denial from the monk. He sent
Edred to the chantry to pray for an hour, and met him there at the
end of that time to listen to all he had to say.

Edred's story was soon told--nothing held back, not even the
innermost thoughts of his heart--and the expression of the face
beneath the enshrouding cowl was something strange to see.

It was long before the monk spoke, and meantime Edred lay prostrate
at his feet, thankful to transfer the burden weighing him down to
the keeping of another, but little guessing what the burden was to
him to whom he made this confession.

Well did Brother Emmanuel know and recognize the peril of
entertaining such thoughts, longings, and aspirations as were now
assailing the heart of this unconscious boy. That there was sin in
all these feelings he did not doubt; that heavy penance must be
done for them he would not for a moment have wished to deny. But
yet when he came to place reason in the place of the formulas of
the Church in which he had been reared, he knew not how to condemn
that longing after the Word of God which was generally the first
step towards the dreaded sin of heresy.

No one more sincerely abhorred the name and the sin of heresy. When
men denied the presence of the living God in the sacraments of the
Church, or attacked its time-honoured practices in which the heart
of the young monk was bound up, then the whole soul of the
enthusiast rose up in revolt, and he felt that such blasphemers
well deserved the fiery doom they brought upon themselves. But when
their sin was possessing a copy of the living Word; when all that
could be alleged against them was that they met together to read that
Word which was denied to them by their lawful pastors and teachers,
and which they had no opportunity of hearing otherwise--then indeed
did it seem a hard thing that they should be so mercilessly condemned
and persecuted.

Yet he could not deny that this reading and expounding of the
Scriptures by the ignorant and unlearned led almost invariably to
those other sins of blasphemy and irreverence which curdled the
very blood in his veins. Again and again had his heart burned
within him to go forth amongst the people himself; to take upon
himself and put in practice the office of evangelist, which he knew
to be a God-appointed ministry, and yet which was so seldom
worthily fulfilled, and himself to proclaim aloud the gospel, that
all might have news of the Son of God, yet might be taught to
reverence the holy sacraments more rather than less for the sake of
Him who established them upon earth, and to respect the priesthood,
even though it might in its members show itself unworthy, because
it was a thing given by Christ for the edification of the body, and
because He Himself, the High Priest passed into the heavens, must
needs have His subordinate priests working with Him and by Him on
earth.

Again and again had longings such as these filled his soul, and he
had implored leave to go forth preaching and teaching. But he had
never won permission to do this. The request had been treated with
contempt, and he himself had been suspected of ambition and other
unworthy motives. He had submitted to the will of his superiors, as
his vow of obedience obliged him to do; but none the less did his
heart burn within him as he saw more and more plainly how men were
thirsting for living waters, and realized with ever-increasing
intensity of pain and certainty that if the Church herself would
not give her children to drink out of pure fountains, they would
not be hindered from drinking of poisoned springs, and thus draw
down upon themselves all manner of evils and diseases.

He had never doubted for a moment the pureness of the source from
which he himself drank. He was not blind to the imperfections many
and great of individuals in high places, and the corruptions which
had crept within the pale of the Church, but these appeared to him
incidental and capable of amendment. He never guessed at any deeper
poison at work far below, tainting the very waters at their source.
He was in all essential points an orthodox son of Rome; but he had
imbibed much of the spirit of the Oxford Reformers, of whom Colet
was at this time the foremost, and his more enlightened outlook
seemed to the blind and bigoted of his own order to savour
something dangerously of heresy.

He did not know himself seriously suspected. His conscience was too
clear, his devotion to the Church too pure, to permit of his easily
fearing unworthy suspicions. He knew himself no favourite with the
stately but self-indulgent Prior of Chadwater; knew that Brother
Fabian, whom he had once sternly rebuked for an act of open sin,
was his bitter enemy. But he had not greatly heeded this, strong in
his own innocence, and he had been far happier at Chad in the more
truly pure atmosphere of that secular house than in the so-called
sanctity of the cloister.

And now he found his own thoughts, aspirations, and yearnings
repeated in the mind of his favourite pupil, and he was confronted
by a problem more difficult to solve than any that had met him
before. In his own case he felt he had a compass to steer by--the
restraint and guidance of his vows and his habit to help him. But
how would it be with this ardent and imaginative boy? His mind was
struggling to free itself from artificial trammels. To what goal
might not that wish lead?

Earnestly he looked upon the bowed form at his feet, and in his
eyes there was a great compassion. But his lips pronounced, with
sternness and decision, the words of the heavy penance imposed, and
at the end of the prescribed formulas he raised the boy and looked
searchingly into his face.

"My son," he said, very gently yet very impressively, "remember
that the first sin that entered into the world was the sin of
disobedience. Remember that Satan's most powerful weapon is the one
which he employed towards our first mother when he bid her eat of
the tree of knowledge, because that knowledge is good--a God-given
thing--when he persuaded her that God was wrong in keeping anything
hidden from her that in itself was good. The same sin by which
death entered the world has abounded there ever since. God and the
Son of God and the Church have always taught that there be certain
things hidden, only to be revealed to man by God or through the
ordinances of the Church, not to be sought after through curiosity
by unlettered men themselves. Yet for as much as Satan is never at
rest, and can transform himself on occasion into an angel of light,
he is ever present with men urging them on to pry into these hidden
mysteries and to make light of the ordinances of God. He puts into
their mouth words similar to those by which he tempted the woman to
her fall, and men listen greedily as our first mother did, and are
led into destruction when they think they are walking forth into
the light of day.

"My son, beware of this sin; beware of this temptation. Remember
the many solemn warnings against disobedience contained in the Word
of God; remember how obedience is insisted on throughout that holy
volume. Thou mayest not always see the reason--thou mayest not
always recognize the authority; but remember that there is a
blessing upon those who obey, and be not in haste to break the bond
under which thou wast born, remembering who has placed thee where
thou art, and who has bidden us give all dutiful obedience to the
powers that be."

Edred made a deep reverence, crossed himself silently in token of
submission, and prostrated himself upon the step of the altar, to
lie there fasting till set of sun as one part of his penance. With
a murmured prayer and blessing the monk left him, hoping that he
had spoken a word of seasonable warning to one whose heart was
enkindled with ardent devotion, whilst his active mind and vivid
imagination were in danger of leading him into perilous paths.

No questions were asked of Edred respecting this penance, which
took him away from his ordinary occupations during the chief part
of the two following days. He and Brother Emmanuel alone knew the
reason for it, and it was against the traditions of the house that
any open notice should be taken by others.

The episode of the peddler and the outbreak with the followers of
Mortimer had begun to fade somewhat from the minds of those at
Chad. No complaint had reached that house from Mortimer's Keep, as
had been expected, and it was hoped that the thing would never be
heard of again.

Yet it was with something of a sinking heart that Sir Oliver heard
the third day that the Prior of Chadwater desired speech of him;
and as he mounted his horse and summoned his servants about him, he
wondered, not without considerable uneasiness, what this summons
might mean.

He had always been on good terms with the handsome prior of the
Benedictine monastery. The choicest of the game, the fattest of the
bucks slain in the forest, the chiefest specimens of his wife's
culinary triumphs, always found their way to the prior's table, and
an excellent understanding had always been maintained between the
two houses. But the knight had observed of late that the prior had
become more slack in those visits of friendly courtesy which once
had been common enough between them; and when he had presented
himself at the monastery, he had not been quite certain that his
welcome was as cordial as heretofore. It was not until latterly
that this had caused him any uneasiness--it had taken him some
while to feel sure that it was anything but his own fantasy; but he
had just begun to feel that something was amiss, and now this
summons seemed to him to have an evil import.

However, there was nothing for it but to go; and a clear conscience
keeps a man bold even in face of greater peril than was likely to
assail him now. He thought it probable that some rumour of the stir
on the fair day had reached the ecclesiastic, and that he wanted an
account of it in detail. Sir Oliver was quite prepared to give him
that, and entered the presence of the prior with a bold front and
an air of cordial courtesy such as he was wont to wear in the
presence of this dignitary.

There was nothing alarming in the prior's manner. He received his
guest graciously, bid him be seated in the best chair reserved for
the use of guests, and asked him of the welfare of his household
with benevolence and friendly interest. But after all that had been
said, his face took another look, and he brought up the subject of
the travelling peddler or preacher, and asked the knight what his
sons meant by standing champions to a notable and pernicious
Lollard heretic.

The knight started at the words, and disclaimed any such knowledge
both on behalf of himself and his sons. He told the tale as Bertram
and Julian had told it him; and there was such sincerity in his
manner, and his character both for orthodoxy and for scrupulous
truthfulness in word and deed was so widely known and respected,
that the prior's brow unbent somewhat, and he looked less stern and
severe.

"I believe your story, Sir Knight," he said. "I believe that your
sons sinned in ignorance. But none the less is it true that they
have stood champions for a pestilent heretic; and that is an
offence not likely to escape the vengeful notice of the Lord of
Mortimer, who is always on the lookout for a cause of complaint
against person or persons at Chad."

"That is very true," replied Sir Oliver, thoughtfully and gravely.
"I was greatly vexed when I heard of the affair, and chided my boys
for their hot-headed rashness. Howbeit there be many there to
testify that the man was at that time but hawking his wares, and my
sons could not know that he was a secret heretic and Lollard."

"Nay, but when that cry was raised they should not have stood at
his side as his champions without more knowledge of the truth. The
man is now known to have been preaching well nigh the whole day
long, reading portions of those accursed translations of Wycliffe's
which are damnation to all who possess them or listen to them, and
expounding thereupon in the fashion that sends persons raving mad
with the poison of heresy. The man is in hiding somewhere in the
woods about; but he will soon be caught and handed over to the
secular power to be doomed to death. And I like not the story of
your sons' part in all this; it hath an ugly look."

Sir Oliver hid his anxiety beneath a cloak of dignified submission.
He well knew the best way of putting things straight with the
prior.

"I greatly grieve over the hotheadedness of the lads, but I will
gladly make such amends as lies in my power. They sinned in
ignorance, as you, reverend father, believe, and for such sins the
indulgence of the Church may be won by the payment of such sum as
shall be thought right. If you will tell me what I ought to give to
purchase this indulgence, I will do my utmost to meet the just
claim; and Holy Church shall be richer and not poorer for the
trespass unwittingly made by the sons of Chad."

The prior looked pleased at this ready suggestion, and named a sum
which, though sufficiently heavy, was within Sir Oliver's means,
and which he promised should be immediately paid. He knew that the
prior, though a man fond of money, and somewhat greedy in gaining
possession of all he could, was not treacherous or unjust; and that
if he had accepted this sum as the price of the pardon of the boys'
escapade, he would stand their friend, and not allow them to be
persecuted by Mortimer for the same offence, should the matter ever
be brought up against them again.

Indeed, now that the arrangement had been so amicably entered into,
Sir Oliver was rather glad that the subject had been broached. The
prior was the most powerful man in the county, and to have him for
a friend was everything. It was his game to hold the balance very
nicely betwixt the owners of Mortimer and Chad, keeping his neutral
position, and not permitting either party to overstep the limits
beyond a certain extent. After what had just passed, he felt
assured that the prior would not permit his boys to be harried or
accused of countenancing heresy by their enemy, and he was well
pleased at the interview and its result.

He rose now as if to go, but the prior motioned him to resume his
seat.

"There is yet another matter upon which I would speak to you," he
said. "You have beneath your roof one of our younger brethren,
Brother Emmanuel. How have you found him comport himself since he
has been free from the restraints of the cloister?"

The knight looked surprised at the question.

"He is in all ways a very godly and saintly youth," he replied. "He
instructs my sons after an excellent fashion, keeps the hours of
the Church with a scrupulous precision I have never seen equalled,
and instructs all who come to him for advice or assistance in a
manner that makes him beloved of all. Whenever I have talked with
him or gone to him for spiritual counsel, I have been greatly
struck by his spiritual insight, his purity of thought, his
earnestness of mind, and his knowledge of the Holy Scriptures."

The prior shifted a little in his seat, and coughed behind his hand
somewhat dubiously.

"He was ever prone to observe the hours well. He lived blamelessly
here in all outward observances; but as for his knowledge of the
Holy Scriptures, it may be that it goes something too far. It is
whispered abroad that some of his words savour strongly of those
very Lollard heresies which are about to be put down with fire and
sword. Hast thou heard and seen naught of that?"

A thrill of indignation ran through Sir Oliver's frame. It was only
by an effort that he restrained a hasty exclamation. He well knew
that the wave of enlightened feeling rising within the Church
herself had found no echo in the remoter parts of the kingdom,
where bigotry and darkness and intolerance still reigned supreme.
He was perfectly aware that the most enlightened sons of the Church
who had dared to bid the people study the Word of God, and
especially to study it as a whole, would have been denounced as
heretics had they lifted up their voices in many parts of the
kingdom. This very enlightened understanding, which was so marked a
feature in Brother Emmanuel, had been one of the strongest bonds
between him and his patron, and it seemed little short of monstrous
to the knight to hear such an accusation brought against one who
had lived a godly and blameless life, had observed far more
rigorously all the laws of the Church than the prior or the
fraternity thought of doing, and was a far truer and better son
than they ever attempted to be.

But he restrained his indignation, and only answered very calmly:

"I have seen naught of it; indeed, I have seen so much to the
contrary, that methinks it is but an idle tale, not worth your
reverence's attention. In every matter, word or deed, Brother
Emmanuel is faithful to his vows and to his calling. He is an able
instructor of youth; and were your reverence to examine him as
strictly as possible, I do not believe that any cause of offence,
however trivial, could be found against him."

"I am well pleased to hear such good testimony," returned the
prior, who was regarding his visitor with a scrutiny not altogether
agreeable to the knight. "At the same time, it is not always well
for a monk to remain too long away from the cloister, and a change
of instructor is ofttimes better for the young. I have been
thinking that it might be well to recall Brother Emmanuel, and send
in his place Brother Fabian, in whom I repose the greatest
confidence. How would such a change meet your good pleasure? If
Brother Emmanuel is in need of penance, it can better be imposed
here than elsewhere--and by all I hear it seems to me that he
stands something in need of the discipline of the monastery; and
Brother Fabian would make an excellent substitute as an instructor
for the lads."

Whilst the prior was speaking, thought had been rapid with Sir
Oliver, and something in the prior's look--a subtlety and almost
cruelty about the lines of the mouth--warned him that there was in
this proposition that which boded evil to someone.

It flashed across him that Brother Emmanuel was perhaps to be made
a victim of ecclesiastical tyranny and cruelty. He knew that the
ascetic young monk had been no favourite with his brethren at
Chadwater; and if they could bring against him some charge of
heresy, however trifling, it was like enough that he might be
silently done to death, as others of his calling had been for less
fearful offences. Monastic buildings held their dark secrets, as
the world was just beginning to know; and only a short while back
he had heard a whisper that it was not wise for a monk to be too
strict in his hours and in his living. Then again, Brother Fabian
was a coarse, illiterate man, utterly unfit to be the guide and
instructor of youth. Sir Oliver had not dined at the prior's table
and spent hours in his company for nothing, and he knew many of the
monks tolerably well. Brother Fabian was the one he liked the
least; indeed he had a strong dislike and distrust of the man, and
was well aware that the ecclesiastical habit was the only thing
about him that savoured of sanctity or the monastic life. He would
not have allowed the contaminating presence of such a man near his
sons, even had he been indued with the needful learning for the
task of instructor. As it was, he knew that the monk could barely
spell through his breviary, and it was plain that the prior must
have another reason for wishing to induct him into the house.

Nor was the reason difficult to divine. It was not as an instructor
but as a spy that Brother Fabian was to come. The whispers
abroad--doubtless spread industriously by his vengeful foe--had not
been without effect, and men had begun to suspect that his
household was tainted with heresy. Brother Emmanuel was suspected,
his sons were probably suspected as being his pupils, and possibly
some other members of his household too. Brother Fabian was to be
sent to act as spy, and if bribed (as was most probable) by the
Lord of Mortimer, would doubtless find some cause of offence which
could be twisted into an accusation of heresy against someone
there.

It was difficult for Sir Oliver to see his way all in a moment. To
oppose this scheme or to submit to it appeared alike dangerous. His
independence and honest English pride revolted against any attempt
to coerce him in his domestic arrangements, or to submit to
interference there, even from the ministers of the Church.

But it was needful to walk warily, and the prior was watching him
as a cat does a mouse.

"Will you give me a few days to consider this matter?" he asked, in
as easy a tone as he could. "Your reverence knows that changes are
not of themselves welcome to me; and my sons have made such
progress with Brother Emmanuel that I am something loath to part
with him. Also, they are at this moment going through a course of
study which none other could conclude with the same advantage.
Brother Fabian is doubtless an excellent brother of his order, but
he has scarce the same learning as Brother Emmanuel. Nevertheless,
I will well consider the change proposed, and give it all dutiful
heed. But I should like to speak with my wife anent the matter, and
learn her will. It is not a matter of pressing haste, by what I
have gathered from your words?"

"No, not one of pressing haste. Yet I would not long delay,"
answered the prior. "I may not speak too openly, but there be
reasons why I would have Brother Emmanuel beneath this roof once
more. I will leave thee one week to consider and to get the course
of study completed. At the week's end, methinks, I shall be
constrained to bid Brother Emmanuel return home. But if all be well
after a short time has sped by, he may return again to thee."

Sir Oliver was looking full at the handsome but crafty face of the
prior, and as the last words passed his lips he saw a flicker in
the eyes which made him say within his heart:

"If Brother Emmanuel once re-enters these walls, he will never
sally forth again. Mischief is meant him; of that I am convinced.
What must I do? Must I give him up to his death? And how can I save
him, even if I would?"

These thoughts were surging in his heart as he rode home. The peril
he had feared against those of his own name and race had been
averted. The payment of what was practically a heavy fine would
secure to the boys immunity from the results of their rashness; but
with the monk it was far different. What had aroused the animosity
of the fraternity, and why mischief was planned against him, Sir
Oliver could not divine; but that something had occurred to arouse
it he could not doubt.

No sooner had he reached home than he sought Brother Emmanuel in
his own bare room, and laid before him the account of what had
passed.

A strange look crossed the young monk's face.

"Then it is known!" he said simply.

"What is known?"

"That I am the author of a certain pamphlet, written some while
ago, and taken to Germany to be printed, giving an account of some
of the corruptions and abuses that have stolen into the Church, and
in especial into the monasteries and religious houses of this land.
I could not choose but write it. If the Church is to be saved, it
can only be by her repudiation of such corruptions, and by a
process of self cleansing that none can do for her. I always knew
that if suspected my life would pay the forfeit; but I know not how
the authorship has been discovered. Yet the great ones of the land
have ways we know not of; and if the truth is not known, it is
suspected. I am to go back to the priory; but once there, I shall
never go forth again. Yet what matter? I always knew if the thing
were known my life would .pay the forfeit. I wrote as the Spirit
bid me; I know that God was with me then. I am ready to lay down my
life in a good cause; I am not afraid what man can do unto me."

Sir Oliver looked into that young face, which the martyr spirit
illuminated and glorified, and an answering spark kindled in his
own eyes.

"If that is thine offence, and not the alleged one of heresy, I
will stand thy friend," he said; "and thou shalt not go forth from
Chad to thy death so long as I have a roof to shelter thee. I will
stand thy friend and protector so long as I have a house to call
mine own."



Chapter VI: Watched!


"I am glad thou hast so resolved, my husband; but hast thou
considered what it may mean to thee?"

Lady Chadgrove spoke gently, laying her hand upon her husband's arm
with a gesture unwontedly tender; for neither was demonstrative of
the deep affection which existed between them, and he knew that
only strong emotion evoked such action from her.

"I know that if I refuse to give up Brother Emmanuel I may draw
down upon myself stern admonition, and perchance something worse,
but I mean not that it come to open defiance of any injunction from
the Church. Brother Emmanuel must leave Chad secretly, and be far
away ere the week of grace expires. We are but twenty miles from
the coast. This very day I shall ride thither and see what small
trading vessels are in the bay about to fare forth to foreign
shores. I shall negotiate with some skipper making for some Dutch
port to carry thither the person whom I shall describe to him, and
who will show him this ring"--and Sir Oliver displayed an emerald
upon his own finger--"in token that he is the person to be taken
aboard. Those trading skippers are used to such jobs, and if they
be paid they know how to hold their peace and ask no questions. In
Holland the brother will be safer than in any other land. The spite
of the Prior of Chadwater is not like to pursue him there. But here
his life is not safe from hour to hour."

"And how if it comes to be known that thou hast planned this
escape?" asked the lady, a little anxiously.

"I have thought of that too, dame," replied the knight, smiling.
"Let but the good brother be safely out of the country, and whilst
the hue and cry is still going on here after him I will to the king
and tell him all the story. Our pious Dean Colet, who knows Brother
Emmanuel, and knows, too, that it is meet the corrupt practices
that have crept within the pale of Holy Church should be made
known, that they may be swept away and reformed, will stand my
friend, and together we can so persuade his Majesty that even if
the prior and Mortimer both combine to accuse me before him he will
not allow their spite to touch me. The king knows right well that
there is need of amendment within the Church herself. We have heard
words spoken in the Cathedral of London which would be accounted
rank heresy here. There is light abroad which must one day reach to
the ends of the earth, and truly it sometimes seemeth to me that if
the priests, the abbots, and the monks set their faces steadfastly
against this light, they will fall into some terrible pitfall, but
they will never quench the light with their united strength."

The lady gave one quick glance round, as though afraid that even
the walls might have ears, and such sentiments were not those that
it was safe to blazon abroad. But Sir Oliver, strong in the
consciousness of his own deep and abiding love for the Church and
for all the doctrines which she upheld, was bold to speak his mind
in private when the subject broached was the one of corruptions and
abuses which some of the sturdiest and noblest sons of the Church
were now engaged in examining and denouncing, none dreaming of
charging them with heresy on that account.

But the mother had noted the presence of Edred, who had come in
quietly whilst the discussion was going on, and was now standing
listening to his father's words with kindling eyes; and she made a
sign to her husband which caused him to turn round, and then the
boy spoke.

"The horses are ready at the door, father, and Bertram prays that
he may accompany thee. He is donning his riding dress already."

"With all my heart," answered the knight readily, "an he can ride
the forty miles betwixt this and tomorrow at the same hour; for I
do not purpose to be long absent."

"Bertram would ride all day and all night and feel it not,"
answered Edred with a proud smile; "and he loves the sight and the
smell of the salt sea, and would be loath to miss the chance of
seeing it. Father, art thou going to aid Brother Emmanuel to fly?
Is there peril for him abroad?"

The knight bent a quick, keen glance upon his son.

"I fear so, my boy; and Brother Emmanuel himself thinks that ill is
meant him. And it is better to seek safety in flight at the first
hint of danger than to dally and delay, and perhaps find at last
that it is too late to fly. Thou, my son, wilt for this one day and
night be left in charge of thy mother and thy home and all within
it; for I must needs take with me Warbel and a score of our
stoutest fellows, for the lonely road to the coast is none too safe
for travellers of the better sort. Be thou watchful and vigilant,
and keep thine eyes and thine ears alike open. Heed well that the
gates be closed early, and that all be made safe, and let not
Brother Emmanuel adventure himself without the walls. Use all
discretion and heed, and fare thee well. I shall reach the coast
tonight, and do my business with all speed, and be in the saddle
again with the light of dawn, so thou mayest look to see us again
before noon."

And with a tender farewell to his wife, the knight mounted and rode
away with his gallant little train; and the lady looked after him
from the window, and said to Edred, who quickly came to her to
learn more, if he could, of the words he had recently heard:

"Now may the blessed saints and our Lord Himself be with him! for
no braver and truer gentleman lives in the length and breadth of
this land. There be few, indeed, who would imperil their own safety
rather than yield up one who is after all little more than a
stranger. Heaven send that he repent not this deed! May God be with
him in all his ways!"

"My mother," said Edred cautiously, "is it that Brother Emmanuel is
in sore peril? He is so devout and faithful a son of the Church
that it is hard to credit it."

"In sooth, my son, these be matters hard to be understood; but thy
father truly holds that he were safer out of this country and out
of reach of the Prior of Chadwater and the Lord of Mortimer. Men's
words can be turned and twisted till the best may be accused of
heresy; and again, if a monk has fallen beneath the wrath of his
superior, no man may tell what would befall were he to return to
the power of his spiritual father. Sure those holy men who founded
the orders of godly recluses little dreamed what those places might
become in time, and with the ever-increasing love of ease and
wealth which seems implanted in the heart of man.

"Heaven pardon me if I speak or think amiss! but it is strange to
hear and see what passes in the world. But one must use all caution
even in thought, and I would not have thee speak aught of this save
in a whisper in thy brother's ear, that he too may use all caution
and discretion till we can find occasion to send Brother Emmanuel
forth in safety.

"We have a week before us ere he will be summoned hence. Strive
that none shall suspect aught of difference or coming change. Keep
well the hours of study. Give none occasion for remark. For all we
know, a spy may be in our midst; and at least any servant of ours
might well be questioned by any of the monks of Chadwater, to whom
he might go to confess, as to what was passing in the house, and
see no hurt in answering questions. Wherefore be very wise and
discreet, and give none occasion for remark.

"Thou dost understand me, my son? I may trust thee? Remember that
thine own father's welfare may be imperilled by the veriest trifle
should men suspect him of striving to outwit the prior."

Edred's eyes expressed a great comprehension and sympathy. He took
his mother's hand and kissed it, slightly bending the knee.

"Thou mayest trust me, sweet mother," he answered. "Methinks I know
well all thou wouldst say. I will be cautious, and I will teach
caution to Julian. No harm shall come to any beneath this roof from
word or deed of ours."

And then the lady went to her delayed household duties, whilst
Edred went in search of his brother, to take him to the room where
their studies were usually prosecuted, that the household wheels
might revolve after the accustomed manner.

But Julian was nowhere to be seen. Edred sought him and called him
lustily, till at length the old seneschal at the gate heard him,
and informed him that his brother had gone a short distance on foot
with the travellers, but that he would doubtless be back ere long.

Julian was light and fleet of foot as a deer, and often ran for
many miles beside his father's charger, the nature of the wooded
country round Chad giving him many advantages. Edred wandered forth
a little way to meet him on his return, and was presently aware of
a cowled figure standing close against a great beech tree, and so
motionless and rigid was the attitude that the boy had to look
somewhat closely to be certain that it was not a part of the tree
trunk itself.

He paused and examined the figure with an intense curiosity not
unmixed with suspicion. His own light footfall did not appear to
have been heard, and the motionless figure, partly concealed behind
the tree, remained in the same rigid attitude, as though intently
watching some approaching object.

For a moment a superstitious thrill ran through the boy's frame. He
had heard stories of ghostly visitants to these woods, some of
which wore the garb of the monks of the neighbouring priory; but he
had never seen any such apparition, and would not have thought of
it now had it not been for the peculiar and unnatural quietude of
this figure. As it was, he paused, gazing intently at it, wondering
if indeed it were a being of flesh and blood.

He was just summoning up courage to go forward and salute it, when
it moved forward in a gliding and cautious fashion. Edred felt
ashamed of his momentary thrill of fear, for he recognized at once
the awkward gait and rolling step of Brother Fabian, and knew that
his preceptor's bitterest foe was lingering in the precincts of his
home.

Resolved not to be seen himself, the boy sprang up a neighbouring
tree as lightly as a squirrel, and from that vantage ground he saw
that his brother Julian was approaching, and that the monk had
stepped out to greet the lad. He heard the sound of the nasal
tones, so different from the refined accents of Brother Emmanuel.

"Peace be with thee, my son."

Julian stopped short, and slightly bent the knee. He looked up into
Brother Fabian's face with a look which Edred well knew, and which
implied no love for his interlocutor. A stranger, however, would be
probably pleased at the frank directness of the gaze, not noting
the underlying hardihood and defiance.

"Alone, my son?" questioned the brother. "Methought I saw thee not
long since with thy father and brother and the servants. How comes
it thou art now alone?"

"I saw thee not," answered Julian, without attempting to reply to
the question.

"Belike no. I was telling my beads out here in the forest. Thou
didst pass me by all unknowing; but I was nigh thy path the while
nevertheless. Whither--"

"That is something strange," remarked the boy, affecting not to
hear the commencement of another question; "for I could be sworn
that not a squirrel or field mouse crosses my path but that I mark
him down. But I may not linger thus; the hour of our studies is
already here. I wish you good e'en; I must away home."

The boy would have been gone with a bound the next instant had not
the monk laid a detaining hand upon his arm. Edred saw by the
reluctance of his brother's mien that he resented being thus
stayed.

"One moment, good my son," said Brother Fabian. "Tell me whither
thy father and brother have gone. It is something too late in the
day for a hunting party; yet I knew not that the good knight
purposed any journey."

Edred saw the sudden flash that came into Julian's eyes. He was in
an agony lest the boy should betray his father's destination, which
to the astute mind of the monk might betray much more than his
brother himself knew; but as he heard Julian's words he drew his
breath more freely.

"Marry, hast thou not heard that my Lord of Beaumaris and Rochefort
goes a-hunting tomorrow with great muster? My father has gone to
join the goodly company assembling there. Wilt thou not go thither
too, Master Monk, and join the revelry that will make the hall ring
tonight? I trow there is welcome for all who come. I would my
father had taken me."

"Go to, saucy boy, go to!" replied the brother, half piqued, half
amused by the lad's boldness in thus implying that his place was at
a riotous revel such as generally took place when some great baron
invited his friends for a day's sport in the forest.

It was like enough that this hunting party had been arranged for
the morrow, and this road certainly led to Beaumaris and Rochefort.
The reply seemed to satisfy the monk, and he relaxed his grasp of
the boy's arm.

"I must not keep thee from thy studies longer," he said. "Say, what
does Brother Emmanuel teach you?"

"The Latin tongue and the use of the pen. Edred is a fine scribe
already. And he hath taught us our letters in Greek likewise; for
men are saying, he tells us, that it is shame that that language
has been neglected so long, since the Holy Scriptures were written
in it first."

"And he doubtless teaches you from the Holy Scriptures--"

"Ay; and from the writings of the fathers, and the mass book,"
added the boy. "We can all read Latin right well now. But I must be
going, an it please thee-"

"Yea, verily thou wilt make a fine scholar one of these days. I am
glad thou hast so good an instructor. And that reminds me--I would
have speech with Brother Emmanuel some day soon. I have a missal
that I think he would greatly like sight of. I misdoubt me if the
prior would like it carried forth from the library; but if he would
meet me one day here in the forest, I will strive to secrete it and
let him have sight of it. It hath wonderful pictures and lettering
such as he loves. Wilt tell him of it, boy, and ask if he will have
sight of it?"

"I will tell him," answered Julian. "But I trow he will have naught
to do with it an it has been filched away from the library without
the reverend prior's permission. Brother Emmanuel teaches us more
of the doctrine of obedience than of any other. I trow he will not
budge an inch!"

A scowling look passed over the features of the monk, which had
hitherto been smiling and bland. He took Julian by the arm again,
and said in a low voice:

"I have something of import to speak to Brother Emmanuel. He will
do well to heed me, and to hear what I have to say. Bid him be at
this spot two days hence just as the sun goes down. Tell him if he
come not he may live to repent it bitterly."

"Wilt thou not come back with me?" asked the boy, with a quick,
distrustful look into the bloated face beneath the cowl. "Thou
canst speak at ease with him at home. It were better than out here
in the forest. I will lead thee to him straight, and thou canst say
all that is in thine heart."

But the monk dropped his arm and turned quickly away; his voice
bespoke ill-concealed irritation.

"I may not linger longer here. The vesper bell will be ringing by
now. Give Brother Emmanuel my message. I would see him here in the
forest. And now farewell, boy; go home as fast as thou wilt, and
put a bridle on thy forward tongue, lest haply it lead thee one day
into trouble."

The monk strode away in the direction of the priory. Julian took
the path towards Chad, with many backward glances at the retreating
figure, and hardly was it lost in the thick underwood of the forest
than he found his brother standing at his side.

"Thou here, Edred? Whence camest thou?"

Edred pointed to his leafy hiding place, and laid a finger on his
lips in token of caution. Julian pursued his way awhile in silence,
and only when they had increased the distance betwixt themselves
and the monk by many hundred yards, the elder brother said, in low
tones and very cautiously:

"Have a care, Julian; methinks he is not going home. He is here as
a spy, I do not doubt. I saw him watching and spying like a
veritable messenger sent for such a purpose.

"O Julian, I was right glad at the answer thou gavest him about our
father. I trembled lest thou shouldst say he was bound for the
coast."

Both brothers had been too well trained in the creed which allows
and encourages the practice of speaking falsehood and even doing
evil in a good cause, to feel that any kind of shame attached to a
falsehood spoken to conceal from a crafty enemy a thing it would be
perilous to others for him to know. And indeed diplomatic falsehood
has never been eradicated from the world even since purer light has
shone in upon it. It is very hard to meet craft, falsehood, and
treachery by absolute frankness and truthful honesty. In the long
run it does sometimes prove to be the strongest weapon a man can
wield; but the temptation to meet craft by craft, deceit by deceit,
is strong in human nature, and until a much later date was openly
advocated as the only policy sane men could adopt when they dealt
with foes always eager to outwit them. And certainly these lads
would have felt themselves justified in going to far greater
lengths to save their father from suspicion, or their preceptor and
friend from peril.

"Then thou heardest all? I scarce know why I spoke as I did, for
our father has always been the friend of the brethren of Chadwater.
But the look in the man's eye made me cautious, and I minded a few
parting words spoken by Bertram. Tell me, Edred, what it is that is
stirring; I would know more."

"Verily it is that Brother Emmanuel stands in some peril from those
of his own community. He has written something they mislike, and
they mean to have him back to answer for it. Both he and our father
think that if once he enters Chadwater again he will never come
forth alive. Wherefore our father will not give him up to his
enemies, but will contrive for him to escape. That is what he has
gone to the coast for today; and when he knows that a vessel is
ready and about to sail, Brother Emmanuel must be spirited away in
the dead of the night; and when the prior comes to search for
him--as doubtless he will do when we can find him not--it will
puzzle him to lay hands upon him, for he will be away on the high
seas."

"Good!" cried Julian, delighted. "Edred, I mislike those cruel,
crafty monks. Methinks they are little like the saintly men of old
who fled to the cloister to rid themselves of the trammels of the
world. I--"

But Edred laid a hand upon his brother's arm and checked him
suddenly, pointing to another stationary figure a short distance
away amongst the trees--a figure wearing the dress of a lay brother
of the priory, and engaged in keeping a close and careful watch
upon the main entrance to the house.

"Hist!" whispered Edred; "we must not let him hear such words.
Julian, mark my word, this house is watched. The prior has set his
spies upon it. He fears lest Brother Emmanuel shall escape; or else
the watch is set so that any going forth of his may be known, and
he will be set upon and swiftly bound, and carried away to the
priory, whence, I fear me, no man will ever see him re-issue."

Both the boys had stopped short, and now they looked into each
other's faces with dismay.

Their light footfalls had not been heard, nor even the sound of
their voices; for a strong breeze had sprung up, and was rustling
the leaves overhead, and several birds were singing lustily. The
brothers had time to take in the situation without being seen
themselves, and they then drew hack into a leafy covert and spoke
in whispers.

"Edred, do thou go back to the house instantly and openly, and warn
Brother Emmanuel that he go not forth. Belike he might come out in
search of us, since the hour is long past when we should have been
with him. That must not be. Go and tell him all we have seen;
whilst I will creep like a wildcat round the house, and see if
there be other spies keeping watch like those we have seen."

"Ay, do so," replied Edred earnestly. "I fear me we shall find that
every door is watched. But if thou art seen, go forward boldly. Let
none guess that you suspect aught. Doubtless each watcher is well
primed with some excellent reason for being found there. Speak them
friendly, and do not show distrust."

"I will be as wise as a serpent," answered the boy, with one of his
keen looks which bespoke him older in mind than in years.

Edred felt that his junior was better fitted to cope with a spy
than he himself; and gladly taking the other office upon himself,
he walked gaily forward, whistling a roundelay as he moved, and
affecting not to see the dark figure by the oak, which pressed
closer and closer out of sight as the lad strode by.

"Verily he means to remain unseen," thought Edred to himself. "If
he had not been a spy he would have greeted me as I passed. He is
after no good. Thank Heaven we have seen and heard what we have! We
can so manage now that Brother Emmanuel set not foot beyond the
courtyard for long enough to come--not till he may sally forth to
make his way to the coast."

And then a sudden fear smote the boy that per chance this night
journey to the coast might not be so easy to accomplish as had been
hoped. If the cunning prior had set a watch upon Chad with the very
object of preventing the escape of his intended victim, might it
not well be that his father's forethought would be of no avail?

But it would not do to lose heart--time might show a way of escape;
and Edred hurried within, and found Brother Emmanuel awaiting his
tardy pupils, the great Bible open before him, the sunset light
illuminating his face till, to the boy's ardent imagination, it
seemed to be encircled by a nimbus.

His story was soon excitedly told, and as Brother Emmanuel heard of
Sir Oliver's sudden journey, a look almost as of pain crossed his
face.

"I have told thy father that I cannot and will not suffer harm to
befall him and his through his kindness to me. Boy, boy, these be
evil days in which to offend the powers that be; and it were
better, far better, I should give myself up to death than that hurt
should fall upon those I love and those who have befriended me with
such generosity and love."

But Edred passionately disclaimed and explained.

"Brother, holy father, speak not so! thou wilt break our hearts! We
love thee! thou knowest that we love thee! And we think, we are
assured, that we can yet save thee, and ourselves too. Do not break
our hearts by giving thyself up ere we have tried our utmost. It
may be--nay, I am assured of it--that our blessed Saviour has a
great work for thee to do for Him somewhere. Has He not Himself
charged His servants if they be persecuted in one city to flee to
another? He has not bid them give themselves up to their foes, to
be hindered from doing the work He has put it into their hearts to
do.

"Pardon my forwardness if I seem to teach my preceptor. I do but
repeat words thou hast taught me. Stay with us--stay at Chad. There
be ways and means both for hiding and for flight of which few know
or dream. Let us have this alms to do for our Lord, that we hide
and save one of His servants. Thou canst little know what grief and
sorrow thou wouldst cause to us, or thou couldst not talk of giving
thyself up."

The boy's earnestness was so deep that it could not but produce an
impression. Although full of heroic courage and capabilities of
self sacrifice, it was against human nature that Brother Emmanuel
should desire to cast away his life, and that not by raising a
protest for any point of conscience, but simply to be quietly put
out of the way, that he might no longer expose the luxury and vice
prevailing in the monastic retreat of which he was a member.

He had seen a row of underground niches, some of which had been
walled up; and tradition asserted that living monks had been thus
buried alive for being untrue to their vows. He quite believed the
prior capable of accusing him of the same sin and ordering him to a
like fate. In the eyes of the haughty ecclesiastic such a betrayal
of cloister secrets would be looked upon as treachery to his vows,
whilst in reality it was his very love for his vows, and his horror
at their violation, which had inspired the pen that had poured
forth burning words of denunciation and scorn. To die openly for
the cause would have been one thing--a martyr has ofttimes spoken
more eloquently by his death than by his life--but to be thus
buried in a living grave would benefit none; and who would not
shrink from such a fate?

The pause which succeeded Edred's impassioned appeal was broken by
the entrance of Julian, flushed and heated.

"It is as we thought. The house is watched. There be six or seven
spies posted around it--most of them lay brothers, but some monks
themselves. Every entrance is watched closely. None can go in or
out unmarked by one or another. Doubtless they have some signal
which may at any time bring all of them together to one spot.

"Brother Emmanuel, thou must not adventure thyself beyond the
courtyard till this watch ceases. Were they spies of my Lord of
Mortimer's, we might go forth and drive them hence. But none may
lay a finger on a monk. They are all ready with a story that they
are on the watch for some heretic in hiding in the woods. I spoke
to one to see what he would say, and he began about the hunchback
of the fair, whom they have not caught yet, and professed to be
watching for him. Doubtless they would all say the same did any
question them; but they strive to keep out of sight as far as may
be, and some have found hollow trees where they might pass days and
nights and none be the wiser."

There could be no study for the boys that day; they were too deeply
moved and excited. Moreover, Edred had his father's charge to keep,
and as sundown was nigh at hand, the two brothers visited every
gate and portal and saw the house made fast within and without.

An air of excitement and mystery seemed to permeate the place. The
servants had caught some of the infection, and whispers of loyalty
and affection were murmured many times in the boys' ears as they
pursued their round. At last, all being safely ordered, they went
by common consent to their own room, and stood looking at the
secret door which led to the hiding place none knew of but
themselves and Warbel.

"I trow we shall need it now," said Edred. "But all is in readiness
for the fugitive; all has been done save to bring in the victuals.
Brother, shall we do that this very night? I would there were a
supply there for a month, and a couple of gallon jars of good mead
and some bottles of wine. We must put water there, too, but not
till the last minute. They say men must have water, else they die;
but sure they could live for long on good mead and ale. Hath
Bertram any plan for getting water to the chamber save what we can
carry ourselves? He said he would not rest till we had done
somewhat; but--"

A light sparkled in Julian's eyes.

"Come, and thou shalt see, thou brother of books," he said. "Whilst
thou hast been doing thy penance for what sin we know not, and been
reading amain with Brother Emmanuel, we have not been idle. Come,
and I will show thee what we have contrived. I trow none need
perish of thirst in the secret chamber now who knows aught of our
contrivance."

With eager steps Julian led the way, and Edred no less eagerly
followed. It was very dark in the secret chamber; but the means of
kindling a light were now there, and soon a small dim lantern was
lighted.

"Come hither," said Julian, taking the light and leading the way
into a corner that lay beneath the leads of the house; and when
there Edred saw a metal trough or receiver, rudely made but
effectual for the purpose of holding any liquid, something similar
to what the animals in the yard were fed and watered from. Above
this trough was a piece of iron pipe with a bung at the end.

"That trough and pipe Bertram and I fashioned in the blacksmith's
forge with our own hands," said the boy proudly, "and I trow both
are good enow and strong. Dost know what does the other end of the
pipe? Why, we have inserted it into the great rainwater tank yonder
above our heads, which our grandsire contrived, and which is fed
from the roofs and battlements of all the towers. Thou hast heard
our father tell how he read of such things in days of old, when men
built wondrous palaces, and had hanging gardens, and I know not
what beside. He set the tank up there, and, as thou knowest, it is
not now greatly used, albeit there is always water there, and at
times men draw it forth. It may not be the best or purest, but it
will serve for washing, and for drinking too were a man in a great
strait. It is all pure and sweet now; for in the thunderstorm three
nights since Bertram got up and let off all the stagnant water by
the pipe which can be opened below, and the rain soon filled it
again, it poured down with such goodwill. We need not fear that any
captive will die of thirst. He has but to draw this bung and water
will pour forth into this trough till he stops it again. He can
pour away the surplus down the pipe with the dust and such like.

"I trow whoever lives up here awhile will have no such bad housing.
And if we but get the place victualled this night, it will be ready
for Brother Emmanuel whensoever he may need it."



Chapter VII: An Imposing Spectacle.


"To appear at the priory with all our household! Surely, my
husband, that command is something strange?"

Lady Chadgrove raised her eyes anxiously to her lord's face, to see
thereon an answering look of perplexity not untinged by anxiety. He
was perusing a paper held in his hands.

"Such is the missive," he remarked. "It was brought by a lay
brother but now. Methinks the fellow is yet in the kitchen. Our
mead is not to be lightly disdained. I will send young Julian to
talk with him, and learn if may be the cause of this strange
summons. I would not willingly give cause of offence to the lord
prior; and the money has been paid that was promised, so methinks
he means no hurt to me or mine. But it is not safe to adventure
oneself into the lion's mouth. I would gladly know what is behind
all this. I am something ill at ease."

"All the household would mean Brother Emmanuel likewise," said the
lady. "Perchance it is but a means of drawing him within the
toils."

"It is like enough. It will be the day on which the week of grace
expires. Would to God I could see my way more clearly! I am in a
great strait betwixt mine own conscience and the authority of the
Church. How can I deliver up a faithful and devoted son of the
Church to certain death, when my house is his only refuge and
protection? Yet how may I refuse obedience to my spiritual fathers
and superiors, to whom I owe submission in all things, in right of
their office, albeit as men I know them to be--faulty?".

He paused, as if reluctant to put his thoughts into words even to
his wife. He was going through that mental and spiritual struggle
which was speedily to do so great a work in the world--that
struggle which led to the final fall of the religious houses in
this land. Viewed as a God-appointed ordinance, or at least as a
bulwark and rampart of the Church, it seemed a fearful thing to
hold them in aught but awe and reverence, and to look upon their
sons as saints and godly men, in whom the Spirit of the Lord was
working. But when the corrupt practices within those walls were
known, when men were convinced, sorely against their will, that the
inmates were licentious, depraved, covetous, and tyrannical, then
indeed it became hard to recognize their God-appointed mission.

Sir Oliver was no heretic; he had not even the faint sympathy with
and comprehension of the tenets of the heretics which were creeping
into some enlightened minds. He had imbibed some new and
enlightened views from stanch sons of the Church, who were
themselves preaching the doctrine of internal reform, but he went
no further in these matters than his teachers. The very name of
heresy was odious to him, but none the less did it go sorely
against the grain to be a slave to the haughty Prior of Chadwater,
and at his bidding to violate (as it seemed to him) the sacred laws
of hospitality.

Whilst Julian was gone upon his errand, he paced the floor
restlessly and moodily.

"I would we had got him off before this coil began. But who could
have thought it would come--and Brother Emmanuel so true and
faithful a son of the Church? Knowest thou, wife, that he keeps
vigil three nights in the week in the chantry, watching
sleeplessly, lest the Lord coming suddenly should find the whole
house sleeping? Edred keeps watch one night, and good old Margaret
another. I did but lately know this thing. Brother Emmanuel holds
that the Church should ever be watching and waiting for her Lord,
lest He come as a thief in the night. He would have prayers
ceaselessly ascending before Him. It is his grief and pain that
within the cloister walls, whence he has come, no true vigil is
kept, but that sloth and ease have taken the place of watching and
vigil and prayer. And such a man as that they would have me deliver
to his death!"

"Art sure they mean him ill, my husband? It seems scarce possible."

"I am very sure that it is so," answered the knight, with a stern
glance bent upon the sunny landscape beyond the open window. "It is
strange, but it is true; and I sometimes think that some fearful
and unlooked-for judgment must some day fall upon men who--"

But Sir Oliver paused, for his wife had made a gesture, as if to
check the impetuous words that sprang to his lips. He smiled a
little darkly.

"Thou art right, good dame. Such words are better left unspoke. If
it be dangerous to think some things, it be more dangerous to speak
one's thoughts. Let it be enough for us that the Lord reigneth, be
the earth never so unquiet. He sitteth a judge and a king. In His
hands are the final issues of all things."

The lady bent her head with due reverence, and then asked eagerly:

"And when does the fishing smack sail?"

Sir Oliver shook his head impatiently.

"Not for full fourteen days: it had but just come into port, and
there be much merchandise to unlade and lade again. The skipper was
an honest fellow, and a true-hearted man to boot. He would not take
my gold, but said his passenger should bring it with him when he
came; for he knew there was a chance he might not contrive to come,
and he would not receive aught for services he might never have
power to render. But he knows his business, and once safe on board
the sloop our fugitive will be safe enow. But not till it be almost
ready for sea--not till the skipper could weigh anchor at a
moment's notice. He himself said he must not come aboard till the
last moment. Were any hue and cry to be made after him, any vessel
in port would be certain to be searched. How to keep him safe for
these fourteen--nay, it is but twelve days now--is the thing that
is perplexing me. Until the close of the appointed week naught will
be done; but there will be one long week after that which will tax
our resources to the utmost. And this summons from the prior makes
the whole question the more difficult."

"And the boys say that the house is being watched. Hast not heard
as much? There be spies from the priory posted round and about. All
the gates are watched. Edred thinks it is to strive to seize
Brother Emmanuel should he venture forth from the shelter of the
walls.

"I like not the thought of all those prying eyes. My husband, these
be strange times in which we dwell."

Sir Oliver's face was dark and thoughtful.

"Ay, verily they be. How can men wonder that the ignorant and
unlearned turn with loathing and scorn from such crooked and
cowardly ways?--

"How now, Julian? Hast learned the cause of this ado? What says the
lay brother? Hast thou sounded him with care and with all due
caution?"

Julian and Edred came in together. Julian looked flushed and
excited, Edred pale and thoughtful, and his eyes were glowing with
a strange fire.

"Ay, verily, we have found it all out," cried the younger boy, with
eager excitement of manner. "Methinks it will be a fine sight.
Father, hast heard of the thing which men call the 'Great
Abjuration'--was not that the name, Edred?"

The elder boy made a sign of assent.

"It is for the heretics and Lollards," pursued Julian eagerly. "It
hath been done before in many places, and here it is to be done two
days from hence. All those persons who are suspected of heresy, or
have been found guilty, are to be called before the lord prior and
the Lord of Mortimer, and they will be bidden to abjure all their
false doctrines publicly. The whole village will be assembled to
hear them recant; high and low, rich and poor, all are to meet
together in the great quadrangle of the priory to hear and see. The
lay brother says it will be a fine sight. If they will not recant,
the prior will give them over to the Lord of Mortimer, who will see
that they suffer as heretics are wont to do. If they abjure their
errors, the prior will set them their penances; and these be no
light thing, by what the brother says. Some will be branded in the
cheek, that they carry the mark of their shame all their days; some
will have a green badge affixed to their arm, to wear until they
have leave to cast it off, that all men may know they have been
touched by the pollution; whilst others will be set to menial toil
in the monasteries, and will perchance spend the rest of their
lives there, sundered from their friends and their homes and all
those whom they love.

"In truth, I marvel how any man can meddle with heresy in these
days. The bishops have resolved to stamp it out once and for all,
and methinks they will do so right well if they take such steps as
these."

Sir Oliver's face looked a little relieved as he heard his son's
words.

"Then everybody within the district is to be summoned to meet at
the priory upon this same day?"

"Ay, verily; all are to be there, from the highest to the lowest.
The lay brothers are going round the country, bidding all to the
spectacle. It is thought that after all have seen what will take
place upon that day, there will be no longer any fear of heresy
round Chad and Mortimer."

The boy ran off to try to learn more details. Edred stood looking
at his father with troubled eyes.

"Father," he said, in a low voice, "must Brother Emmanuel go with
us that day?"

Sir Oliver looked down at the paper in his hands.

"It bids me to attend with my family and all my household, save
such as must be left to take due care of the house in my absence,"
said he. Then he paused awhile in silent thought, and looking up he
said suddenly, "Go fetch Brother Emmanuel hither."

Edred vanished silently and swiftly, and soon afterwards returned
with the monk at his side.

The past few days had left their mark on the thin, spiritual face
of the young ecclesiastic. The knowledge of the peril in which he
stood had not daunted his courage, though it had drawn lines in his
face and deepened the fire which burned within those dark, resolute
eyes. His face looked as though he had slept but little, as though
his nights had been passed in watching and prayer, as was indeed
the case. He had an air of calm, resolute courage and hopefulness,
though it was plain that he knew the danger of his position, and
was fully alive to the peril which menaced him.

Sir Oliver placed the paper in his hand, and watched him silently
whilst he perused it. When he had finished he handed it back, and
stood for a moment looking out of the window with an expression of
thoughtful concentration on his face. At the end of a few moments
he looked up quickly, and said:

"You and yours will attend, Sir Oliver?"

"Yes; we must needs do that. But you?"

Brother Emmanuel lifted his head and threw it back with a gesture
of resolution and independence.

"Sir Oliver," he said, "upon the day when your household is bidden
to the priory, I cease, by the command of my superior, to be a
member of this household. Upon that day your command over me (if I
may use the word)--your responsibility over me--ceases. Whatever I
may do or not do is no concern of yours. I am no longer the
instructor of your sons, nor the priest within your walls. What I
do I do of mine own self. None can rightly call you to task for it.
Let that be your safeguard; let that be your answer to all
questions. The prior has ordained that from that day I cease to
remain here. From the dawning of that day you have no part nor lot
in my life. I take its control into mine own hands, and it were
better you should not even know whither I go nor what I do."

Sir Oliver bent a searching look upon him.

"So be it," he answered, after a moment's thought. "But this one
word I say to thee: Thou hast been true and faithful to me and
mine; wherefore my roof and my walls shall be thy shelter until
thou goest forth of thine own freewill. Be not afraid to remain
here with me. I will defend thee with every power I have until such
time as thou mayest safely escape beyond the seas."

He held out his hand. The monk took it and pressed it between both
of his.

"The Lord deal with thee and thine as thou hast dealt with me," was
the reply, spoken in deep, earnest accents.

The knight bent his head in response to the benediction; and
Brother Emmanuel moved silently away, closely followed by Edred,
who looked pale and troubled.

"Thou dost not think he will present himself at the priory with the
rest of the world?" asked Lady Chadgrove, with anxiety in face and
voice; and her husband thoughtfully shook his head as he made
reply:

"I trow not. I have spoken to him of that before, and he was very
well resolved to fly the country and strive to finish the work he
has begun, to join the band who are toiling might and main to bring
a purer and holier spirit within the pale of the Church and her
servants. It is a work to which he has long felt called, and he
believes that it will be faithfully carried out somewhere, if not
here. For a while he will be safer beyond the seas; but he may
return and join with those in Oxford and London who are toiling in
the same cause. He knows of the sloop--where it lies and when it
sails; and I trow he is laying plans of his own. It were better not
to ask of these. I would rather walk in ignorance. A man cannot
betray, however inadvertently, what he knows not, and the subtle
skill in questioning possessed by our reverend prior might win the
secret from any unskilled person ere he knew he had revealed it. I
know not what he means to do, nor shall I seek to know. But he has
courage, spirit, and a consciousness of integrity which may carry
him through much. Methinks he has judged wisely and well both for
us and himself.

"When this day comes," touching the paper in his hand, "it is very
true that I am no longer accountable for him as a member of my
house hold. He has received his recall from his superior. It is for
him to answer to it or not as he thinks best."

A sense of excitement and uneasiness pervaded the whole of the
house during the two following days. In all men's mouths was talk
of this solemn abjuration which was about to be forced upon all
those suspected of heresy; and many persons who had tampered
slightly and privately with doubtful matters went about looking
uneasy and troubled, fearful lest they might find themselves
accused of illicit practices, and be summoned forth to do penance
in a more or less severe form before they could hope to receive
absolution.

Sir Oliver Chadgrove's household was strictly orthodox in all
outward matters; but the leaven of Lollardism was wonderfully
penetrating, and he himself had suspected and feared that some of
his servants might be tainted therewith. He awaited the day with
almost as much anxiety as any of his dependants, for he well knew
that the Lord of Mortimer would lose no opportunity of dealing him
a heavy blow; and if he could be proved guilty of harbouring
heretics or even suspected persons in his house, it would give his
enemy a handle against him that he would not be slow to use.

As for the boys, it was plain that something of unwonted excitement
was agitating their minds; but in the general anxiety pervading the
whole household little account was taken of this.

The day came at last, dawning fair and clear. Sir Oliver assembled
his household early in the courtyard, and every retainer was clad
in his best and mounted upon his best charger. It was well to make
a goodly display of strength and wealth on an occasion like the
present. Doubtless the Lord of Mortimer would be there with all his
train, and Chad must not cut a much poorer figure in the eyes of
the beholders.

None knew better than Sir Oliver how far a goodly seeming went in
condoning offences and allaying suspicion, especially in the eyes
of such a worldly-wise man as the Prior of Chadwater. A proud
bearing, a goodly following, a gorgeous retinue, would be a far
better proof of orthodoxy in his eyes than any saintliness of life
and conduct. Mortimer would know that right well, though, as he had
been elected as the secular agent to assist the prior in his work
today, plainly no stigma of any kind was thought to rest upon his
household. Sir Oliver knew that Mortimer was a larger property than
Chad, and that the baron was a greater man than the knight. It was
reasonable enough that he had been selected for this office, and
such choice need imply no distrust of himself on the prior's part;
but still there was an uneasy, underlying consciousness that he was
suspected and watched, and the espionage which had been kept up all
this while on his house was a plain proof that he was not entirely
trusted.

The priory and its adjacent buildings formed a very fine specimen
of medieval architecture. The abbey was in itself a masterpiece of
beauty, and the great block formed by refectories and dormitories
stood at right angles to it. The prior's house, with its ample
accommodation and its guest chambers, formed an other side to the
great quadrangle; whilst the granaries, storehouses, and such-like
buildings formed the fourth--the whole enclosing a very large
space, which formed the exercising ground of the monks when they
were kept by their rules within the precincts of their home.

The smoothest of green grass, carefully kept and tended, formed the
carpet of this enclosure; and today the whole quadrangle formed an
animated and picturesque spectacle on account of the shifting,
many-coloured groups of people gathered together there with looks
of expectation and wonder.

A holiday appearance was presented by the crowd; for however ill at
ease any person might feel, it was his aim and object to look as
jovial and well assured as possible. Every knee was bent whenever
any monk appeared. The professions of reverence and orthodoxy were
almost comic in their display.

The whole of the rural population had gathered in this open space
when the master of Chad and his retainers rode in, followed by the
humbler servants and many women and children on foot. But the Lord
of Mortimer had not yet put in an appearance, though some of his
retainers and men-at-arms might be seen mingling with the crowd;
and Sir Oliver and his wife and sons looked curiously about them as
they reined back their horses against the wall, wondering whether
they should dismount altogether, and what the order of the day's
proceedings was to be.

There were two great raised platforms at one end of the open
enclosure, and upon these platforms, both of which were draped with
cloth, many seats had been arranged. One of these was canopied, and
was plainly for the prior; but beyond this Sir Oliver could be sure
of nothing.

When, however, it became known that the party from Chad had
arrived, a lay brother came out and bid them dismount and send away
their steeds to the meadow beyond, where one or two of the servants
could see to them; and as soon as this had been done, Sir Oliver
was told that he and his lady would occupy certain seats upon one
of the platforms, but that there would not be room for more than
his eldest son to have a place there beside him. The younger boys
must remain in the crowd.

Edred and Julian were well pleased at this, and gave each other a
quick pressure of the hand. Edred was intensely excited; and
gradually edged his way to a good position not far from the
platform, that he might hear and see everything; and Julian stood
beside him, as intent upon the proceedings as anyone.

With a great show of ecclesiastical pomp, forth came the prior with
his monks in attendance, and closely following them the haughty
Lord of Mortimer; with his son-

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