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 / / ^
 
 THE 
 
 PROTESTANT 
 
 A TALE OF 
 
 THE REIGN OF QUEEN MARY. 
 
 AUTHOR OF * DE FO^X,' ' THE WHITE HOODS,' &c. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 HENRY COLBURN, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 
 1828.
 
 PREPARING FOR PUBLICATION. 
 
 FITZ OF FITZ-FORD; 
 
 A LEGEND OF DEVON. 
 
 BV THE AUTHOR OF " THE PROTESTANT/^ 
 « WHITE HOODS/' &c. 
 
 nilNTED BY So AND II. BEXTLEY, 
 
 Dorset Stieet, Fleet Slrctt.
 
 
 THE PROTESTANT, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Near the city of Cantel-bury, during the 
 reign of Mary the First, Queen of England, 
 there stood a retired village, which we shall 
 introduce to our readers by the name of Well- 
 minster. It was situated in one of those richly 
 wooded valleys so peculiar to the county of 
 Kent, guarded by gently sloping hills, and 
 watered by the river Stour. A church, erected 
 in the early ages of Christianity, and said to 
 have owed its foundation to Ethelbert, king of 
 Kent, displayed the massive structure and the 
 round headed arch, of the Saxon era. This 
 church was dedicated to St. John the Baptist ; 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 S! THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 as a spring of the purest water, that rose near 
 the spot, was held by tradition to have been the 
 font of baptism to many of the first converts 
 who embraced the Gospel in our Island. A few 
 humble tenements, and a handsome stone-built 
 house of the time of Henry the Seventh, that 
 stood within a pretty garden, formed the village. 
 The whole was remarkable for nothing so much 
 as the beauty of its situation ; where woods and 
 water, together with the fresh verdure of the 
 fields, combined to form a scene of that happy 
 and cultivated character, so peculiar to our 
 Island. 
 
 Such ivas Wellminster. But Time, that sub- 
 dues empires as well as towns, whose touch 
 withers alike the bloom of human beauty, and the 
 pride of human art, — Time has long since passed 
 over it with a destroying hand, and the church, 
 the village are no more. So complete has been 
 the ruin, that vainly would the traveller now 
 seek to find even the smallest vestige of their 
 former existence.
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 3 
 
 But though the works of man perish, his 
 spirit is imperishable. And, hallowed by the 
 memory of some great and honoured deed acted 
 by that spirit, even a barren rock often becomes 
 more interesting to posterity, by the association 
 of kindred feelings, than a land glowing with 
 beauty, unmarked, unendeared by moral sym- 
 pathy. 
 
 During the reign of Edward the Sixth, 
 Cranmer had placed in the hamlet of Well- 
 minster a pastor of his own choice, Owen Wil- 
 ford, — a man who for some time had served him 
 in the capacity of secretary, but who, devoted 
 to literature, and the quiet pursuits of a retired 
 life, preferred the seclusion of a small country 
 cHre, to his office in Lambeth Palace, where he 
 necessarily became engaged in affairs more im- 
 mediately connected with the court. Owen was 
 a zealous Reformer. He had resided in Ger- 
 many during that eventful period, when the fol- 
 lowers of Luther devoted their lives, and all 
 that they possessed, to the reformation of the 
 
 B 2
 
 4 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 Church. He had been the author of some 
 learned tracts in support of his opinions ; and 
 it was by these that he at first became known 
 to Cranmer. 
 
 Owen Wilford was a married man. He had 
 a son and daughter (now grown up) ; nor did 
 he enter into holy orders till Edward the Sixth 
 allowed the clergy to have wives. Soon after, 
 as we have stated above, Cranmer placed him 
 at Wellminster. As a pastor, he was eloquent 
 and zealous in the pulpit ; and in his life and 
 conversation, honest and sincere ; whilst a thou- 
 sand acts of kindness and benevolence endeared 
 him to his simple flock, who looked to him as to 
 a common father. 
 
 His wife, whose character was in many re- 
 spects similar to his own, was alike beloved by 
 the villagers ; so that, what with their instruction 
 and example, there was not perhaps a happier, 
 or a more virtuous village in all England. 
 
 Cranmer, who really loved the pastor for the 
 simplicity and excellence of his character, had
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 5 
 
 been desirous to promote him in tlie Church ; 
 but Owen declined this kind intention of his 
 patron. Owen was indeed one of those rare 
 men who love not this world's goods, for their 
 own sake. He was fast declining into the vale 
 of years. Contented with a sufficiency, and 
 endeared to his parishioners, he did not wish 
 for a change, especially as he considered that 
 his children would be well provided for; his 
 son Edward (now grown to man's estate, and 
 travelling in foreign parts,) being the sole heir 
 to his maternal uncle, a person of considerable 
 opulence. For his children, therefore, he want- 
 ed nothing ; and for himself he had enough, 
 since his necessary wants and comforts were 
 amply supplied ; and he would often say, " that 
 man was rich, who was content with what he 
 had." 
 
 Whilst Cranmer lived unmolested, Wilford 
 was secure by the favour of his excellent patron ; 
 but ever since the melancholy fate of that great 
 martyr, he had looked forward, as a certain con-
 
 6 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 sequence of his master's fall, to the day of per- 
 secution for himself. Cardinal Pole, acquainted 
 with his character, and using towards him that 
 moderation which he wished to be extended to 
 all the Reformers, had suffered him to remain 
 undisturbed in his cure, and contented himself 
 with enjoining Wilford (as he had done all 
 others of the clergy within his diocese) to per- 
 form mass in the Latin tongue, instead of the 
 service of the English liturgy adopted in the 
 reign of Edward the Sixth ; to see that his 
 parishioners came to confession, that the rood 
 should be set up again in his church, and that 
 holy bread and water should be distributed to 
 the people. And though it was said that the 
 enemies of Wilford whispered in the ear of the 
 Cardinal, that he did not obey these orders, but 
 still read the English liturgy, and preached 
 against Popery as zealously as ever; yet the 
 Cardinal, either from inattention, or an unwil- 
 lingness to bring forward a man whose character 
 he respected, but whose disobedience, if he did
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 7 
 
 SO, he must punish by the laws against lieresy, 
 still suffered him to be undisturbed. 
 
 The insignificance, too, of the place, of which 
 he was the pastor, had been in some measure 
 his protection ; so that, whilst the more known 
 and distinguished clergy and the inhabitants of 
 large towns were dragged to the stake, the little 
 village of Wellminster for a time escaped the vio- 
 lence of the general persecution. Another cause 
 also existed, that had hitherto helped to save 
 Wilford. Sir Richard Southwell, high-sheriff of 
 the county of Kent, a man of power and wealth, 
 lived near the village, at his family mansion of 
 Wellminster Hall ; and, though a rigid bigot, 
 had not interfered to injure Wilford; nay, it is 
 not unlikely that he had extended to him his 
 protection, «ince it was rumoured that the 
 knight was under peculiar obligations to him 
 for some extraordinary acts of service. 
 
 But, be it as it may, Sir Richard and Owen 
 now lived as strangers to each other. And., 
 though the good pastor was thankful to Pro-
 
 S THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 vidence that he had hitherto escaped persecu- 
 tion, yet he did not place any reliance on the 
 present silence with which he w^as passed over, 
 and had long endeavoured to prepare his mind 
 for the worst. Desirous to save his son from 
 the dangers that threatened the Reformers in 
 England, he took the first opportunity to write 
 by a sure liand, bidding him to continue where 
 he was, at Frankfort, till a change in the go- 
 vernment, or till better times, might warrant his 
 return in safety. Having finished and dis- 
 patched this letter, he prayed God that it might 
 reach its destination and produce the desired 
 end. 
 
 Thus in some degree relieved of this care,, 
 with a quiet but undeviating constancy, Owen 
 Wilford continued the exercise of his duties, 
 and stood openly and firmly in his pulpit a sup- 
 porter of the Reformed Faith. 
 
 And as, when describing the character of a 
 man, it is natural to say something of his per-
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 9 
 
 son, we shall state that Owen was of a tall and 
 dignified figure. The expression of his coun- 
 tenance was intellectual ; whilst an air of se- 
 renity and benevolence was an assurance of 
 the simplicity and the kindness of his heart. 
 A more venerable person could scarcely be 
 imagined. Attired in his long black gown^ 
 his grey hairs falling over an elevated brow, 
 whilst his furrowed cheek glowed with the fer- 
 vour of religious feelings that animated with 
 unusual lustre his expressive eye, he seemed 
 to realize those ideas that we are apt to form 
 of the primitive fathers of the Church ; and, as 
 he raised his hands towards Heaven to bestow 
 upon his congregation the benediction of God, 
 he appeared to be wrapt beyond the things of 
 this world. 
 
 One morning, whilst Wilford was prepar- 
 ing to take his usual walk round the village of 
 Wellminster, he was surprised by the sudden 
 entrance of his old and faithful servant, Abel 
 b5
 
 10 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 Allen, who appeared greatly disturbed, and, 
 coming up to his master, said in a most agi- 
 tated manner, " Thornton is coming V 
 
 " Thornton r exclaimed Wilford, " Thorn- 
 ton ! and to tnj/ house P"*^ 
 
 '' Ay, Thornton is coming, sure enough," 
 replied Abel ; " and I don't think he is coming 
 alone either, for I saw him standing in the 
 green lane near Gammer Plaise's cottage, with 
 a couple of fellows of his own kidney, and I 
 do think there was more of them still behind. 
 But who cares for that ?'^ added the old serving- 
 man stoutly ; " shall I knock him down, or 
 shut the door in his face ?" 
 
 '' Do neither," replied Wilford ; " I will not 
 refuse to see him ; although, if I did so refuse, I 
 could find a warrant for it in my own breast. 
 Yet, I will see him. Show him into the little 
 oak parlour, and tell your mistress. Dame 
 Alice, what sort of a visitor we are like to 
 have. I will prepare my mind to meet that 
 man, if I can, with composure."
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 11 
 
 Abel departed, to obey the instructions of his 
 master ; whilst Wilford, who appeared extreme- 
 ly affected by the very mention of Thornton's 
 name^ paced up and down the room with an 
 agitation of manner that was rarely seen in a 
 man of so mild and patient a temper. He then 
 descended to the oak parlour, where he found 
 his wife (who had been warned by Abel of 
 Thornton's approach) busily engaged in put- 
 ting several things away in a closet. 
 
 " Alice," said Wilford, " you have removed 
 it ; bring the book back again, and lay it open, 
 as it was, upon the table." 
 
 " Nay, do not bid me/' replied his wife in an 
 imploring'tone ; " do not bid me ; consider what 
 it is." 
 
 " I do so," answered Wilford, " and there- 
 fore I command you to obey me. Shall I fear 
 to have the service to my God in my mother- 
 tongue upon my table, because Thornton, the 
 Suffragan Bishop of Dover, is coming to my 
 house ? Shall I deny my Master before His
 
 12 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 enemies, because they are my enemies too ? 
 Thank God, sinner as I am, I can meet Thorn- 
 ton with a clear conscience. Bring back the 
 book this moment ; and what have you done 
 with Luther T>e Captivitate Bahylonica ?" 
 
 " Oh do not make me bring that book, I 
 conjure you," said Alice, wringing her hands. 
 *' If you do, you are a lost man, though Car- 
 dinal Pole himself should plead for you. Be 
 content, I have put the Kturgy on the table 
 again ; be content with that. Why rush into 
 danger ? And oh, my dear Owen, my husband, 
 don't, don't provoke Thornton ; for my sake, 
 for our children's, do be patient with him." 
 
 " Well, I will be patient, I will,'' replied 
 Owen; — "he is coming. Surely I heard old 
 Abel opening the house-door." 
 
 " Yes," said Alice, " and Thornton is speak- 
 ing to him." 
 
 "Good God!" exclaimed Owen, "must I 
 suffer that man in my house ?"
 
 THE PROTESTANT. IS 
 
 " Hush, hush, for Heaven's sake !" said 
 Alice ; " he will hear you." 
 
 Wilford threw himself into a chair. He 
 looked pale, but endeavoured to assume a 
 composed air ; whilst his wife, scarcely knowing 
 what she did, yet desirous to seem to be em- 
 ployed about indifferent matters, busied her- 
 self with some little matters of domestic ar- 
 rangement in the apartment. The door opened, 
 and the Suffragan Bishop of Dover entered the 
 room. 
 
 Thornton was a man about forty years old,. 
 above the middle stature, strong and robust in 
 his limbs, and had a countenance, in the fea- 
 tures of which, cunning seemed to contend 
 with malice. There was about him that air of 
 coldness, affected humility, and inflexibility of 
 feeling, that makes up the character of a hypo- 
 crite. His address and conversation were of a 
 cast that we should notv term puritanical ; but 
 Thornton was a zealous member of the Church
 
 14 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 of Rome : and, by some means or other, he 
 had grown rich, and even powerful, in the ex- 
 ercise of his zealous functions. 
 
 Wilford kept his seat; but Alice made the 
 curtsey of salutation to the Suffragan Bishop ; 
 and he gave her a good morrow, without no- 
 ticing the coldness of his reception from the 
 master of the house. 
 
 "Master Wilford," said Thornton, "some 
 business of importance, of which I shall speak 
 anon, has brought me hither. But how is your 
 son ? when had you tidings of him ? and how is 
 your pretty daughter, Mistress Rose ? Tk^ 
 children they are in the flesh; though, I grieve 
 to say it, Master Wilford, they cannot be such 
 in the spirit, since the new law, or rather the 
 old law renewed, holds them illegitimate ; no 
 wedlock being allowed among the holy minis- 
 ters of tlie Church.'' 
 
 " If you are come, Master Thornton,'' re- 
 plied Wilford, " to discuss points of the new 
 law with me, I neither seek nor entertain the
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 15 
 
 argument. My children are the offspring of a 
 holy contract, sanctioned by God himself; and 
 I never yet knew that human laws could set 
 aside those that are of divine origin. But this 
 is not the matter — your business with me, be 
 pleased to state it, or I must bid you good 
 day." 
 
 " I had hoped for a more kindly reception 
 from you, Owen Wilford," said the Suffragan, 
 " since I came as a friend : but good deeds 
 in this world meet with foul recompense." 
 
 " They do, indeed," answered Wilford, " as 
 none can better testify than yourself, Master 
 Thornton, and that by experience; for you 
 once served Archbishop Cranmer, and can tell 
 how he was requited." 
 
 Alice looked at her husband imploringly, as 
 if she would say, " Forbear that point ; do not 
 provoke him.'' Thornton was unmoved : he had 
 a conscience hard as the nether millstone, and 
 he did not now choose to understand this 
 glance at his own ingratitude to Cranmer.
 
 16 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 " I wait to learn the nature of your business 
 with me," continued Wilford ; '' and having 
 done so, the sooner we part the better." 
 
 " His Grace, Cardinal Pole,'' replied Thorn- 
 ton, " languishes much, and being in weak 
 health, he can no longer exert himself to take 
 an active part in public affairs." 
 
 " I am sorry to hear it," replied Owen, 
 " since I cannot choose but admire virtue even 
 in an enemy, and the CardinaPs moderation 
 would adorn a better faith/' 
 
 The Suffragan showed no displeasure at this 
 remark, but continued : " I have full powers, 
 Master Wilford, both from the Cardinal, as 
 legate a latere to his Holiness Paul the Fourth, 
 and from our gracious Sovereign, Queen Mary, 
 and her council, to act in the place of the 
 said Cardinal Pole, in the diocese of Canter- 
 bury ; being joined in commission with certain 
 other appointed authorities. In short, I come 
 to see that those statutes passed in the parlia-
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 17 
 
 ment of the second of the present reign, re- 
 specting the affairs of the Church, are duly 
 and properly observed ; and, for this purpose, 
 I am now peregrinating the diocese of Canter- 
 bury."* 
 
 " By the instigation of my Lord of London," 
 said Wilford. " I perfectly comprehend it. 
 Bonner, grown odious to the people by the 
 cruelties he has exercised in his own diocese, 
 to save himself, if possible, from utter detes- 
 tation, has relaxed in some measure the per- 
 secutions of Smithfield ; and now would cloak 
 his malice, by extending them, with double 
 fury, to the sees of other bishops. If I mis- 
 take not. Master Thornton, you were specially 
 nominated Suffragan Bishop of Dover, by 
 
 * In the articles sent by the Queen to her Ordinary, 
 are these words. " Item ; that every Bishop, SuflPragan 
 Bishop, and all other persons aforesaid, do likewise 
 travel for the repressing of heresies and notable crimes, 
 especially in the clergy, duly correcting and punishing 
 the same according to law,"
 
 18 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 the recommendation of my Lord of London. 
 Doubtless you have his counsel what to do. 
 Are you to begin with me ?" 
 
 " Nay," said Thornton, " do not speak thus 
 warmly. Did I repeat such words as you now 
 utter, think what would be the consequence ! 
 But I will give you a proof of that moderation 
 you are pleased to commend in his Grace, 
 Cardinal Pole, ray very good Lord. I will 
 set down your words to the score of passion ; 
 and passionate men and madmen being of one 
 nature, as the late learned medical doctor Butts 
 used to say, I will pass them over unnoticed, 
 and give farther proof of my good-will and 
 friendship towards you." 
 
 " I want neither," replied Wilford. " Once 
 more, tell me the matter of your business with me 
 and, in God^'s name, depart, if you can, in peace." 
 
 " I came hither in peace," said the Suffra- 
 gan, " and so will I depart. I come to pro- 
 pose some questions to you, Owen Wilford,
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 19 
 
 aiid to offer you some terms, easy to perform. 
 — Allow me to call in my secretary." 
 
 The Bishop of Dover, for a minute, quitted 
 the room, and returned, followed by a little, 
 thin man, dressed in a black gown, a bundle 
 of papers in one hand, a satchel at his back, 
 an ink-horn depending from his button, and 
 a flat and square black silk cap on the 
 crown of his head. His eyes were small and 
 red like those of a ferret ; and his nose, of 
 considerable length, looked like a label for 
 an inscription, upon which might be written 
 the word " impudence.'' 
 
 " Sit down. Master Secretary,'' said the Suf- 
 fragan, *' and wri-te the answers to some ques- 
 tions that I have to propose to this man here 
 present." 
 
 "Is my own house to be made a court of in- 
 quisition .'^" exclaimed Owen. " I shall answer 
 you no questions till I see the warrant upon 
 which you act."
 
 W THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 '' The warrant is my word,'' said Thornton 
 liaughtily. 
 
 " Not with me," repHed the Pastor calmly. 
 
 " Show this man the warrant, then, Thomas 
 Cluny," said the Suffragan to his Secretary. 
 Cluny shuffled over the papers, took out a fair 
 written parchment, to which was appended a 
 large seal ; and coming up to Wilford, he said, 
 '' Be pleased to see the Broad- seal of England. 
 The warrant is from the Council ; shall I re- 
 hearse the indictment ?'"* 
 
 " No,"" answered Wilford ; " I see this is a 
 net to catch me. But, thank God, I am pre- 
 pared. What are your questions ?'^ 
 
 *' Have you/' said Thornton, " caused the 
 rood, sent here at Candlemas last, to be set up 
 in a fair loft in the Church of St. John the Bap- 
 tist, in the Parish of Wellminster ?" 
 
 "No!" exclaimed Wilford; "the wooden 
 god of your idolatry lies now where it was left 
 by your own people, in the belfry of the
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 21 
 
 church. I will never, like Nebuchadnezzar, set 
 up a golden image,* and bid the people to fall 
 down and worship it, at the sound of the lute, 
 harp, cornet, or dulcimer. I deny the worship 
 of i^ our cross, and I will never yield to it." 
 
 Thornton shook his head, whilst Cluny's 
 square cap shook in accompaniment to the same. 
 He dipped his pen in the ink-horn. ''Write down 
 that he denies the cross," said the Suffragan. 
 
 " Xy\ offence under the statutes of Richard 
 the Second, Henry the Fourth, and Henry the 
 Fifth," said Cluny.f 
 
 "Write, that I deny your crosses of wood 
 and stone,""* said Wilford, "and you will find 
 
 * The rood was an image of Christ between St. John 
 and the Virgin Mary. It was generally magnificently 
 painted and gilt. It was set up towards the east, in a 
 loft of rich Gothic screen-work, styled the Rood-loft. 
 
 f In 1554 the Parliament passed an act to revive the 
 cruel statutes of Richard the Second, Henry the Fourth, 
 and Henry the Fifth, against all persons convicted of 
 heresv. — See Burnet.
 
 %% THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 that comes under the statute of God's first com- 
 mandment — * Thou shalt worship no graven 
 image.' " 
 
 " That is the Levitical law,'' cried Thornton. 
 «6 Why, the holy Saint Austin defend us ! have 
 we to deal with a Jew here ?" 
 
 '^ Shall I write down that Master Wilford 
 confesses only the Levitical law ?" inquired 
 Cluny. " That offence comes equally under 
 the aforesaid statute." 
 
 AVilford looked at the secretary a moment 
 with contempt ; but, resuming his composure, he 
 said, " Why should I be angry with thee, poor 
 wretch "^ thou art nothing more to this man 
 than that pen is to thee, — his instrument. I will 
 save your pains; write all in one word, — write 
 that I deny the supremacy of the Pope, the 
 errors of the Church of Rome, and acknowledge 
 only the truth of the Christian faith, as it is 
 revealed to us in the Gospel itself. I will an- 
 swer no more questions. And now do your 
 work, for I am ready."
 
 THE PROTESTANT. ^3 
 
 "That's clear!" exclaimed Cluny; *« that 
 comes under the direct statute for heres}'^, in the 
 second of the present reign. Denies the Pope ! 
 here be heresy indeed, I must make a note of 
 this ;" and again Cluny dipped his pen into 
 the little ink-horn. " This ink is as bad 
 and as muddy as if it was manufactured in a 
 scrivener's shop." 
 
 Cluny once more prepared to write ; but 
 Alice, who had listened, in an agony of feeling, 
 to the bold and open confession made by her 
 husband of his faith, now sprang towards the 
 table, and snatching the pen from Cluny's hand, 
 she exclaimed, " You shall not, you shall not 
 write it ! He is no heretic, but a good Chris- 
 tian ! Spare him ! oh ! spare him I" 
 
 The Suifragan Bishop, who had hitherto 
 stood quite unmoved, now interfered ; and bid- 
 ding Alice be quiet, or that she would make 
 things worse, he desired Cluny to continue his 
 business ; whilst Alice wept and wrung her 
 hands alternately, assuring the Bishop that her
 
 24 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 husband was a true Christian, and imploring 
 Wilford not to provoke the anger of his ene- 
 mies. Wilford gently rennoved her from him, 
 and stood silent, with a firm and upright de- 
 meanour, as the secretary wrote down the con- 
 fession he had made of his faith. This accom- 
 plished, Thornton whispered something in the 
 ear of his secretary, who departed, and in a 
 few minutes returned, accompanied by a num- 
 ber of persons, headed by the town -con stable 
 of Canterbury ; this band having purposely 
 been laid, as it were, in ambush near the 
 house, ready to obey the orders of Thornton. 
 Alice saw them pass on the outside of the 
 window, as they came to enter the house ; and 
 uttered a loud scream, clinging to her husband, 
 and almost fainting in his arms. 
 
 " Take the woman of!*,"*' said Thornton to 
 Cluny, who had again entered the room. 
 
 *' You shall not touch her," exclaimed Wil- 
 ford, in a tone of more passion than he had 
 yet used ; " she is my wife, my dear and ho-
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 25 
 
 noured wife. God gave her to me, and none 
 but God shall part us." 
 
 " Hear him !" said Thornton, " hear him ! 
 he calls his harlot his wife ! But this must 
 be no longer endured. The Church has too 
 long dealt mercifully with thee. Such open 
 shame may no longer be endured. — Cluny, I 
 say, take that woman from the man, and let 
 them both hear the denunciation of the true 
 Church against their offence. I arrest you, 
 Owen Wilford, on your confession, for heresy.* 
 I expel you in the name, and by the authority 
 given under the warrant of the Queen and 
 Council. I expel you from this cure as a 
 married priest, as an obstinate and disobedient 
 heretic, and as a traitor to his Holiness the 
 Pope. .^ You, and the harlot you call your wife, 
 
 * Burnet declares that not less than twelve thousand 
 of the clergy were turned out of their livings, under the 
 Queen's proclamation, for having wives — and Fox tells 
 us, that many of tliese unhappy men were accused of 
 heresy, and suffered martyrdom. One of the charges 
 brought against Cranmer was, for having a wife. 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 ^ THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 are henceforth for ever parted; and she will be 
 made to do a necessary penance for her offence, 
 as the law enjoins." 
 
 " Under the proclamation against harlots and 
 disorderly persons," said Cluny, " of the second 
 of the present reign, the said penance to be 
 done bare-footed, in a white sheet, with a faggot 
 in one hand, and a taper in the other, in the 
 nearest church or churches of the parish or 
 parishes where the said offence was committed, 
 according to the said proclamation of the said 
 date." 
 
 " My wife ! my poor Alice !" exclaimed 
 Wilford, bursting into tears, " be of good cheer 
 — look up, sweetheart, and comfort me in the 
 hour of my sorrow; for I am an old man, well 
 nigh broken down with years, and it may be 
 that I want God's grace to bear this trial. 
 Where is our child, where is poor Rose .?*" 
 
 " Where are you, Owen," said Alice, *' oh ! 
 where will you be. — Good God ! will they take 
 you from us, and must I and my poor girl live
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 27 
 
 to see you in a prison ! Oh ! have these men 
 no hearts ? — Speak to Thornton. He must, he 
 will hear you — I am sure he will ! I will kneel 
 to him to beg mercy for you, so that they may 
 not take you to a prison." 
 
 " The statute for heresy commands it," said 
 Cluny, again shuffling amongst the papers. 
 " Here is the Act. — ' That the prisoner or pri- 
 soners, on suspicion thereof (that means being 
 suspected of heresy, Dame Alice,) shall be 
 taken in corpore (meaning in the body, Dame 
 Alice,) to the nearest prison or prisons, there 
 to be held in loco (that is, in that* place. Dame 
 Alice,) till he or they be brought before the 
 appointed authorities of archbishop, bishops, 
 suffragan bishops, archdeacon or deacons, pre- 
 lates, priests, or proctors ; or in default there- 
 of, that he or they be brought before the 
 nearest sitting magistrate, justice of the peace, 
 mayor, port-reeve, constable, bailif, or baillie 
 for the time being.' " 
 
 " A truce with this jargon," said Wilford, 
 c 2
 
 28 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 ^' and tell me where I am to go, and what 
 will become of my poor wife, and my inno- 
 cent daughter, my dear Rose." 
 
 " Mercy will be shown to them, and indeed 
 to you, unless you are all obstinate," said 
 Thornton : " you must to prison, and the wo- 
 man too ; for the present, your daughter will 
 only be expelled this house." 
 
 " At present the women having been only 
 charged with offences under the proclamation 
 against disorderly persons,"' said Cluny, " the 
 one being a naughty woman, and the other a 
 bastard of the same, they must both be ex- 
 pelled the house."' 
 
 '^ Is this your mercy," replied Wilford, " to 
 cast upon the wide world an aged and ho- 
 nourable matron ? to cast her from the sanctity 
 of an honest home, for no other off*ence than 
 that of having lived for more than thirty years 
 the wife of a man who, since his marriage 
 with her, has taken holy orders .?" 
 
 " Ay, and mercy it is," said Thornton,
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 29 
 
 " when compared to what her shame deserves. 
 A priest can have no wife." 
 
 " Why Cranmer was a married man,"" an- 
 swered Wilford, *' when you, Thornton, were 
 his secretary, as well as myself, at Lambeth ; 
 and you never thought lit to cavil at it then. 
 You were humble and observant in your man- 
 ners to the prelate's wife, and she did you 
 many an act of service, as well as thy mar- 
 tyred Lord.*" 
 
 " Ay," said Thornton, " it is true ; but I 
 have long since repented me of that in sack- 
 cloth and ashes, repented that I could ever 
 bow me down to Jezebel : yea, better had it 
 been for my soul, had I rose up, and cast 
 her down to the doffs/' 
 
 o 
 
 " Hypocrite !"" exclaimed Wilford. " Gracious 
 Heaven ! how long will this man be suffered to 
 persecute thy people, and to belie thy word ! 
 Look on me, Thornton ! Dost thou remember 
 when thou and I were both of us secretaries 
 to Archbishop Cranmer ?"
 
 30 ' THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 " I do remember a time of sin and sorrow," 
 answered Thornton, " when I did serve Satan 
 and the man Cranmer, whom you call Arch- 
 bishop ; when King Henry the Eighth (St. 
 Peter assoil him) denied the supremacy of the 
 Pope, and set up a king-worship of his own ; 
 for the which offence, his Holiness, Paul 
 the Fourth, of Rome, hath been pleased to 
 absolve this repentant realm of England on 
 its return to him, hke the prodigal to the 
 father in holy writ. I remember the days of 
 my shame ; wherefore, then, shouldst thou 
 speak of Cranmer ?" 
 
 " They were the days of thy shame, indeed r 
 said Wilford : " for Cranmer, thy gracious mas- 
 ter, took thee up when thou wert nothing : he 
 fed thee at his board, cherished thee in his bo- 
 som, and was as a father to thee and me ; and 
 how didst thou repay him ? — ^With the basest 
 ingratitude thou didst join with Gardiner to 
 ruin him with King Henry : and when thine own 
 letters were found to convict thee of the foul
 
 THE PROTESTANT. S?! 
 
 deed, then how thou didst kneel and beg for 
 pardon ! then thou didst stoop to solicit me to 
 plead for thee, and I was thy dear Master Wil- 
 ford, thy kind Master Wilford, and thy pitying 
 friend; and Cranmer was thy merciful, very 
 good Lord ; and thou didst then compare thy- 
 self with the prodigal, and him with the father 
 who killed the fatted calf : and Cranmer, ever 
 generous, humane, and noble, Cranmer forgave 
 thee ! no punishment followed thy offence ; or 
 long since thy name would have been numbered 
 with traitors, who meet the reward of their 
 deserts." 
 
 " If I sinned in humbling myself to Cranmer, 
 as you would insinuate,''' replied Thornton, " it 
 was the sin of necessity ; and his Hohness Paul 
 has absolved us of all such sins, and the gates 
 of the blessed St. Peter are once more open to 
 us, since her Highness has consented to pay his 
 pence-money. Meet it is that it should be so, 
 since we should render to all, and especially to 
 saints, their due. But remember I quitted the
 
 32 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 service of Cranmer long before King Henry's 
 death." 
 
 " Cranmer, I remember, sent thee from his 
 service," said Wilford; "for, though he forgave, 
 he never more trusted thee. And in revenge of 
 this, thou, Thornton, thou wast the man who 
 busied thyself to bring him to his ruin. Who 
 marshalled the Lieutenant of the Tower the way 
 to Cranmer's lodging to arrest him ? Who held 
 the torch to light him up the stairs ? Thorn- 
 ton, thou didst it ! It was thy hand, thy heart, 
 thy act, that helped thy benefactor to his death. 
 I lost patience this day when I heard but thy 
 name ; few things could have so moved me." 
 
 " I shall not trouble myself farther with you," 
 replied the Suffragan coolly ; for, unable to an- 
 swer the charges of ingratitude which Wilford 
 brought to his recollection, he instantly turned 
 to the business before him. *' Secretary Cluny,"" 
 he continued, " proceed to make out the com- 
 mittal of this man to Canterbury Castle ; I will
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 33 
 
 put my hand and seal to it, for I will no longer 
 hold parley with such a heretic." 
 
 '* It were to be particeps criminis, if you did," 
 answered Cluny, " and against the statute. Hath 
 the prisoner any other name, cognisance, or ap- 
 pellation, besides that of Owen Wilford .?" 
 
 " He has no other," said Thornton, " unless 
 it were the name he, like a false-hearted liar, 
 assumed when he once fled from England, and 
 travelled to Rome itself in disguise." 
 
 "Shall I put down an Alias, then.^" inquired 
 Cluny. 
 
 "There is no need of that," said Thorn- 
 ton : " the evidence is clear." 
 
 " The evidence is most clear and satisfac- 
 tory," answered Cluny, " being his own confes- 
 sion ; and if we wanted more, I am a witness. 
 And here, I think. Master Thornton, we have 
 as pretty a case, as can be, for the writ 
 De heretico comburendo. Be so good, Dame 
 Alice, as to sit down and be quiet, and do not 
 c5
 
 34 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 disturb this reverend gentleman, and an officer 
 of the law, in the execution of their duties." 
 
 Cluny proceeded to write, as fast as his pen 
 could go, the warrant for committal. Whilst 
 he did so, Thornton demanded of Wilford his 
 keys with much insolence of manner. '' Take 
 them,'' said Wilford ; "there needs no violence, 
 since I know I have no choice, but must needs 
 surrender them to you." 
 
 " Master Attorney, Secretary Cluny," said 
 Thornton, " I shall depart anon with the pri- 
 soner ; and, as he is a man known to be danger- 
 ous in his speech, and has led astray many of 
 the servants of his Holiness and of her Majesty, 
 I shall not leave him till we arrive near Canter- 
 bury. When I am gone, you will search the 
 house, and bring with you all such books and 
 papers as may be necessary to convict this man 
 of heresy. It will be a great act of justice to 
 bring him to the stake, and to clear the house 
 of the contamination of heretical doctrines. I 
 shall leave Ralph Miller, the catchpole, to assist
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 35 
 
 you in the work. I must now proceed to the 
 church, to give orders about setting up the 
 rood in the loft. You, Cluny, will presently 
 follow me to Canterbury.'* 
 
 " The old woman goes to prison," said 
 Cluny ; " what is to be done with the young 
 
 one f 
 
 ?" 
 
 " My child ! my Rose !" exclaimed Wilford, 
 " let her go with us." 
 
 " There is no charge against her," said the 
 Suffragan. " She may rest at large, but she 
 and all your people must this night quit the 
 house ; Friar John de Villa Garcina is for the 
 present appointed to take charge of your flock, 
 and lead back the stray sheep into his Holiness's 
 fold." 
 
 " What !" exclaimed Wilford, " Friar John, 
 the Spanish monk who was placed with Cran- 
 mer to work upon his mind ; and, by flattery, 
 cunning, and the most consummate arts, to in- 
 duce that great man to commit the only act of 
 weakness he was ever known to fall into ; must
 
 36 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 Friar John have the charge of my village ? 
 It was he who wrought upon Cranmer to sign 
 his recantation. For which act my noble 
 master extended his right hand to the burning 
 flame, till it was withered and consumed before 
 his eyes. Must Friar John become the wolf 
 to prey upon my innocent flock .?" 
 
 " Friar John, for the present, will hold the 
 cure of this place, till a proper person can be 
 appointed," said Thornton ; *' the work of faith 
 will thrive when he sets about it." 
 
 " Rather say, the work of destruction," added 
 Wilford. " But I must submit. I will learn 
 patience. For shall I so long have taken good 
 at the hand of my Father, and shall I not take 
 evil also ? I yield, Thornton, for the power is 
 given you over me. Yet, if you have one feel- 
 ing common to human nature, even to the 
 most savage among men, do not refuse a 
 father's prayer ; let me see my child. Let me 
 bless my poor Rose, and I will depart with 
 you to prison without complaint."
 
 THE PROTESTANT. ^7 
 
 Thornton, though it cannot be supposed 
 that he complied with this request from any 
 motive of feeling, did not, however, refuse it ; 
 and the father received permission to see his 
 daughter ere he left the house. Soon after, old 
 Abel Allen, who had learned from the attend- 
 ants of the Suffragan the duty they had to 
 perform, feeling anxious to see his master be- 
 fore he departed to a prison, came into the 
 room just at the moment when the good pastor's 
 daughter also entered it, to bid a melancholy 
 farewell to her parents. 
 
 ^r%
 
 38 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Rose Wilford was about seventeen years 
 old, of a light and small figure, and possessed 
 in her countenance that indescribable expression 
 of simplicity and good-nature, that wins the 
 heart almost at the first glance. Yet, however 
 pleasing Rose might appear to a stranger, it 
 was only her more intimate friends who could 
 duly appreciate her character. With the world, 
 she might be deemed merely a good-natured 
 girl, who, making no pretensions to any thing 
 at all out of the ordinary way, and being modest 
 and simple in her deportment, was not suspected 
 by the generality of persons to possess a mind 
 of a higher and a better order than themselves. 
 Her education had been the care of her fond 
 father, who, knowing the times in which she
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 3y 
 
 was likely to live, early prepared her mind to 
 meet them ; so that the lessons of fortitude and 
 of prudence he had inculcated, found a practi- 
 cable example of their utility in the scenes that 
 daily passed almost before her eyes. These 
 lessons, and these scenes of suff'ering among the 
 Reformers, together with the peril in which Rose 
 long knew her father stood, had given her a 
 serious turn of thought, and considerably check- 
 ed the natural vivacity of her spirits ; so that, 
 whilst yet a girl, she was a woman both in 
 mind and manners. 
 
 Rose entered the room with a calmer and 
 more composed countenance than might have 
 been expected ; and, whilst her mother stood 
 sobbing and lamenting her husband's fate, in all 
 the bitterness of sorrow. Rose gently whispered 
 her to bear up her heart for her father's sake, 
 and to trust in God for his deliverance. She 
 then turned to Wilford and begged his blessing. 
 
 " Thou hast it, my child," said Wilford, 
 " thou hast my daily blessing and my prayers.
 
 4)0 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 May the God of all comfort, indeed, bless you ! 
 Rose, thy father is going to a prison. But be 
 of good cheer, my girl, and remember there is 
 One who is never deaf to the sorrowful sighing 
 of the prisoners, and that those who suffer for 
 His sake, shall never meet loss. Though their 
 bodies lie in the dust, yet shall they see God, 
 and know Him even as they are known. Thorn- 
 ton,'" he added, turning to the Suffragan, " may 
 this poor blossom of comfort that still hangs, 
 though drooping, upon the withered tree of my 
 falling house, — may she sometimes be suffered 
 to visit me in my prison ? If you are a man, do 
 not tear her from me at once — do not shut her 
 out from these old eyes for ever — let me look 
 upon her whilst sight is left to me in this world. 
 To do so can neither hurt God nor man." 
 
 " I do not know that I should be warranted," 
 said Thornton, '' in allowing it. But, as far as 
 I can go, I wish to use moderation towards 
 yourself, and all other unhappy persons, whose 
 guilt may bring them under my hands, during
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 41 
 
 the peregrination of my commission. Still, I do 
 not think I should do right in letting any per- 
 son but the members of our Church, who may 
 convert, have access to a heretic ; I think I am 
 not warranted." 
 
 " Certainly not by the statute/' said Cluny. 
 
 " Still, however," continued Thornton, '' it 
 may depend upon the damsel herself; if she is 
 docile and wiUing to hear reason, and— in short, 
 I must see what stuff she has in her, and then 
 I may pronounce on this question. Master Se- 
 cretary, be pleased to make notes of her words. 
 Come hither, maiden," said Thornton, in a 
 milder tone than he had yet used : " of what 
 Church are you .?'"' 
 
 " Of the Catholic," answered Rose. 
 
 " Humph !" said Thornton ; *' the Reformers 
 say as much. But I suppose you are a chip of 
 the old block. Are you of the Cathohc, Uni- 
 versal, Apostolic, and Roman Church ? answer 
 me that !" 
 
 '' Good lack," said Rose, who dreaded no-
 
 42 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 thing so much as an answer that might be con- 
 strued into a motive for keeping her from her 
 father; "how should a poor simple maid like 
 me take upon me to hold debate with you 
 who are of the schools ? I am a Christian, I 
 hope ; and if the Catholic, Universal, Aposto- 
 lic and Roman Church believe what I do, 
 they may be Christian people also, though I 
 may not have sense enough to hold an ar- 
 gument on terms. So I trust your wisdom 
 will not take offence, if I say, it is too deep 
 for my simpleness." 
 
 " What am I to write down ?" inquired Clu- 
 ny of the Suffragan ; " for this answer amounts 
 to nothing. Be pleased to tell me, Master 
 Thornton, for I really do not understand her." 
 
 " Nor is there need you should," said Rose, 
 " since the Suffragan of Dover bid you write 
 down my words. To understand them, I 
 take it, is not your office ; and the Bishop, 
 I am sure, will not press upon a poor girl 
 questions beyond her years."
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 45 
 
 " By the rood," observed Cluny, " you are 
 a sly one, pretty Mistress Rose, or I am much 
 mistaken. You would do to shift a point 
 of law as well as Master Sergeant Twistem 
 himself. Had you been a man, a gown and 
 a trencher cap would be all you needed to fit 
 you for a bencher ; you seem to have a pretty 
 notion of argument too." 
 
 " Her answer is knavish and incomprehen- 
 sible/' said Thornton : " one would think she 
 had studied the law." 
 
 " Alack !" replied Rose, *^ if it is so, it can 
 have nothing in it like law, I am sure ; since 
 law is made to uphold justice and truth, and 
 knavery is opposite to both." 
 
 " This is a pretty bird, indeed !" said Cluny; 
 " but we will teach her to sing out a full 
 strain, and then see if she is a bird fit for a 
 cage or not. Put her to the proof; touch 
 her on the Sacraments, Master Thornton.'" 
 
 " No, no !" answered Thornton, " she is a 
 young thing, I shall see more of her ; I will
 
 44 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 not take the words of ignorance from her mouth, 
 to catch her by them. I will take care to see 
 her, to instruct her ; I will not harm her." 
 
 " Thank God ! I bless you for that/' cried 
 Alice: '^ you will not hurt my child? Thank 
 Heaven, at least you are pitiful to her !'' 
 
 " I have a feeling of kindness for her in- 
 deed,'" said Thornton, " and it shall do you 
 no harm that I have it ; and Master Wilford 
 will doubtless be grateful." 
 
 " No," said Wilford, " not if your kindness 
 aims at overturning the principles of my child. 
 I would rather that you tore her from my 
 heart at once, than that you should tamper 
 with her mind." 
 
 *' Be silent, father," whispered Rose softly ; 
 " do not fear for me. Do not say a word 
 that may hinder our meeting in the prison." 
 And turning to Thornton, she added aloud, 
 " I am told that I am this night to quit my 
 home. May I crave your farther indulgence 
 that I may be allowed to remove some few
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 45 
 
 things necessary for the comfort of my pa- 
 rents ? Old Abel Allen will help me to do 
 so ; and whoever you please shall see what 
 I take. Much I cannot take, since I know 
 not where I shall this night rest my head/' 
 
 *' But I know where you shall find a home. 
 Mistress Rose," said old Abel, who dashed a 
 tear from his cheek with a hand as rough 
 and as hard as a horn ; *' my master's child 
 shall never want a home whiles I can work, 
 or beg to get her one. My sister Littlewit, 
 an honest widow of Canterbury, has a decent 
 lodging, and thither will I take you." 
 
 " Thank you, Allen," replied Rose, " and 
 I will be no cost to you, since I purpose to 
 labour to help my poor father in prison." 
 
 " I will see that you shall want nothing. 
 Mistress Rose," said Thornton, " unless you 
 are obstinate. But the time waxes on. Take 
 your leave of your father, for he must de- 
 part. Cluny, call in the bills ; the man and 
 woman must both to prison.''
 
 46 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 Wilford embraced his child. " Rose, my be- 
 loved Rose," said he, '* this is but the begin- 
 ning of sorrows. Remember the lessons that I 
 have so often taught you, and that now is the 
 time to practise them. Comfort your poor 
 mother ; speak to her, child ; she has not thy 
 strength of mind to meet evils firmly. Be kind 
 and a comfort to her in her prison, and God 
 shall pour blessings on that young head, for 
 He loves a dutiful child." 
 
 '^ My mother, my poor mother!" said Rose, 
 " what can I do to comfort her ? Oh, my mo- 
 ther, trust in God in this hour of tribulation ; 
 and though He seems to withdraw Himself from 
 us, as if He were gathered into those clouds 
 and darkness that hang about His dwelling- 
 place, yet darkness to Him is as light. He sees 
 us in our hour of trouble, and He will never 
 forsake us." 
 
 " My child ! my child ! God bless you ! 
 and may He have pity upon your father !" was 
 all that the afflicted AHce could answer to her
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 47 
 
 daughter's pious address. Wilford looked upon 
 them both for a moment with fixed attention : 
 not a tear was in his eye; he seemed to be 
 struggling with the powerful workings of na- 
 ture to preserve his composure in these last try- 
 ing moments; but his lips quivered, and the 
 bystanders could observe a convulsive move- 
 ment in his throat. The struggle was too 
 much ; and nature gained the mastery, as he 
 burst into a flood of tears that coursed down 
 his venerable face, and would have moved to 
 pity any hearts but those that were rendered 
 callous by cruelty and superstition. Wilford 
 broke from the man into whose custody he had 
 been given by Thornton, and fervently clasping 
 his aged partner to his bosom, he exclaimed, 
 '' My wife ! my wife ! and must we part after 
 thirty years of mutual love ? Must man tear 
 asunder what God had joined in one heart, one 
 soul, one interest ? Time had left us but a few 
 years longer ; and those are cut short by op- 
 pression, before death dissolves our bond. I
 
 48 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 could — T think I could bear much yet, — pover- 
 ty, sickness, imprisonment, — yea, the stake itself 
 were better than this parting ; for I know they 
 will sunder us at the prison. We may never 
 meet again on earth : look up then, sweetheart, 
 and give me one kiss before I go." 
 
 Alice did indeed look up ; and, embracing 
 her husband, she repeatedly kissed his forehead, 
 his cheeks, his lips, as if she would concentrate 
 in that moment the warm and holy affection of 
 years of conjugal felicity and love. Thornton, 
 on seeing this, turned aside with affected ab- 
 horrence; whilst Cluny drew his trencher-cap 
 more towards the front of his face, and, shaking 
 his head, looked with a reproving air at poor 
 Alice and her husband. 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Thornton, ''what! 
 act abominations thus in the face of open day ! 
 This is a sight enough to make the heavens 
 come down in vengeance upon you both. A 
 priest ! a man wearing that gown, as a member
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 49 
 
 of the Church, and thus to play the wanton in 
 the very sight of God's saints !" 
 
 " Why,"" said old Abel Allen, " no one sees 
 it but us ; and which of us be saints, I trow ? 
 May it be your worship or master attorney ? 
 And if so, you are the first saints that ever I 
 heard of that would take offence at a man for 
 loving his wife." 
 
 Thornton did not deign at present to notice 
 old Abel ; but, turning to the catchpole, he said, 
 " Take away the woman from that man's em- 
 brace ; take her off, this moment ; or I shall 
 think myself a participator in this man's shame- 
 less sin, if I suffer the kiss of a heretic in my 
 sight !" Thornton was obeyed. 
 
 Wilford remained silent for a moment ; but 
 he looked first upon Alice, and then upon Rose, 
 with an expression the most heart-rending. At 
 length he bent his head, and put both his hands 
 over his eyes, as if he would shut out the sight 
 of what was nearest and dearest to him on earth 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 in the endeavour to calm his feelings. Once 
 more he looked up ; he seemed an altered man : 
 the tear was no longer in his eye, although a 
 few moist drops still hung upon his cheek. His 
 manner was composed, quiet, and unresisting. 
 " Thou, heavenly Father !" he exclaimed, 
 '•hast appointed to all men their trial, and 
 their day of grace ; oh ! teach me submission. 
 Bow this proud heart before Thee. Calm my 
 spirit, and make me patient to take meekly 
 this cup of affliction, and, if it be Thy will, to 
 drain it to the last dregs cheerfully. In all 
 things, I submit myself to Thee. — Farewell, 
 wife ! — farewell, Rose ! May God bless you 
 both. — Now, Thornton, I am ready." 
 
 The Suffragan Bishop led the way, followed 
 by Wilford and Alice, both in custody of his 
 officers. As they passed the door of the house, 
 Abel Allen, heedless of the presence of Thorn- 
 ton, rushed forward and caught Wilford by the 
 gown. " My master, my dear master,"" said 
 the old serving-man, ^' what will become of
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 51 
 
 you ? and don't go away without saying a 
 good-bye to your poor old servant. I will 
 come to you in the prison, and I ^11 do any 
 thing for you. I 'd go there in your stead if 
 they would let me. — Do please to stand off,'' 
 continued Allen, addressing the officers, " and 
 let me say a last word to the master in whose 
 family I have lived ever since I was a hand 
 high. I only want to ask him a thing or two, 
 that can hurt nobody." 
 
 " Good people," said Wilford, " indulge this 
 honest man's wish. Stand off a moment, and 
 let him speak with me." The request was 
 granted. " Well, Allen," continued Wilford, 
 " your master goes before you. If you are 
 put to the proof, do not shrink from following 
 his steps ; for remember for whose sake it is we 
 are thus tried." 
 
 " I do, I will," answered Abel ; " nay, I 
 
 could find it in my heart to ask to go to prison 
 
 with you even now, but that I know I may 
 
 serve you more by being out of one. But 
 
 D 2
 
 52 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 what I wanted to say is, that I don't half like 
 Thornton's civility to Mistress Rose, for peo- 
 ple do say that he never spares a pretty lass 
 without he has something bad in his head 
 about her. I will work these old hands to 
 the bone," continued Allen, as he held them 
 up, " before she shall ever come to the pass 
 to go to the Bishop of Dover for care. Men 
 say that he likes a fair damsel as well as ever 
 Gardiner did, with all his sanctity." 
 
 *' I have heard as much," said Wilford ; 
 " and the thought is like an adder stinging 
 the heart of a father, when he thinks that 
 his child may be in danger from such a man, 
 and that he can no longer protect her.'' 
 
 *' But Sir Richard Southwell may and ought 
 to do something," replied Allen; "I'll go 
 to him myself, though I know how you have 
 kept aloof from him ever since what happened 
 before young master went abroad. AVhat will 
 your son, what will Master Edward say, when 
 he hears of this chance ?"
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 53 
 
 " He must long have been prepared to hear 
 of it/' replied Wilford, " since he knows how 
 the times are in England, and that I could 
 not always hope to escape them. God grant 
 that he has my last letter, and may not return 
 hither ! Do you, Abel (for whom else can 
 I trust ?) — do you be a father to your master's 
 child, and God will reward you/' 
 
 "A father to my dear young mistress!" 
 cried Allen. '^ May I never know what a 
 moment's peace is in Heaven or on earth, if 
 I am not father, mother, servant, and brother, 
 and all to her now ; and I '11 knock down 
 Thornton if he does but look at her." 
 
 " Be careful what you do, Abel, for her 
 sake as well as mine," said Wilford. " There 
 is one thing I would ask of you. You are 
 allowed to help Rose in securing some neces- 
 saries for our comfort ; if it is possible, bring 
 my English Bible to the prison ; it may be use- 
 ful in that tongue to some fellow-sufferer, who 
 might not be able to read it in the original."
 
 54 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 '^ That I will, if I can," answered Abel ; 
 " I '11 go back now and see what I can save 
 from the clutches of that long-nosed rascally 
 attorney. There 's not a more dirty fellow 
 in all Canterbury ; and he was once secretary 
 to Bonner. And who ever served the devil 
 unless it was one of his own imps .? Farewell, 
 master ; I '11 do my best for you and Mistress 
 Rose, and bring the Bible to you, though 
 Thornton, and Harpsfield, and the Pope him- 
 self, should stand in the way to bid me back 
 again." So saying, Allen, sanctioned by long 
 service, and the warm affection that makes 
 men forgetful of the distinctions of place in 
 the hour of affliction, shook his master heartily 
 by the hand, and returned back to the house. 
 
 Thornton now, more fully to indulge his 
 malice, and to show the power that he had 
 over Wilford, ordered him and Alice to be 
 shut into a barn that stood near the churchy 
 whilst he proceeded to give orders for putting 
 up the rood, to clear the desks of the liturgy
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 55 
 
 in the English tongue, and all other books 
 belonging to the service adopted in the time 
 of Edward the Sixth, to make way for masses 
 and missals, and all the other requisites of the 
 Popish worship ; and here, for the present, we 
 must leave him, whilst we return to the good 
 Pastor's house. 
 
 When old Abel Allen returned back to the 
 little oak parlour, he found Thomas Cluny, 
 the pettifogging attorney, and his under- 
 strapper, Ralph Miller, the catchpole, busily 
 engaged in rummaging over the contents of a 
 closet, cabinet, and writing-table. Here lay 
 books thrown indiscriminately together; there, 
 many a fair written discourse, the production 
 of Wilford's own pen, for the benefit of his 
 congregation. And all the little articles of 
 Alice's neat housewifery and poor Rose's in- 
 dustry, were seen lying tossed and tumbled 
 about without mercy, under the hands of 
 these inquisitors. *' What have we here ?^*' 
 said Miller, holding up by the corner a book
 
 56 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 printed in the black letter and bound in 
 vellum. 
 
 " Alack !" said Rose, " that book is one of 
 my mother^s : she used it to help my father 
 in edifying any of his parishioners who might 
 be afflicted in conscience." 
 
 " Let 's see the title of it, Ralph," cried 
 Cluny, and he read aloud, " A Salve for a sore 
 Soul; or, a Plaister taken from the House of 
 Comfort, That 's foul, that 's traitorous. Why 
 that book was written by Doctor Mackerel, 
 alias Captain Cobler."* 
 
 " I don't care who it was written by," said 
 Rose, " there are many good things in that 
 book, and I do not beheve that Doctor Macke- 
 rel wrote it any more than I did." 
 
 " And what in the devil's name is this ?" 
 cried Miller. 
 
 " Nay," said Rose, " pray spare that book ; 
 give it me ; it is — it is- " 
 
 * Dr. INIackerel headed a rebellion in the reign of 
 Henry the Eighth, under the name of Captain Cobler.
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 57 
 
 " It is a book of magic, as I live !*' exclaimed 
 the catch pole. " I'll not touch it, I'll not put 
 my hand near it, lest the foul fiend should 
 come up in his own person. I '11 swear that 
 I saw in it all the damning and damnable cha- 
 racters of magic, the whole cabalistic alphabet 
 at once." 
 
 " That comes under the statute," said Cluny, 
 taking up the book, '' against witches, witch- 
 craft, wizards, sorceresses, jugglers, cunning 
 women, and astrologers. So, so. Mistress 
 Rose ! I see we shall have a precious pot un- 
 covered here." 
 
 " Alas ! gentlemen," said Rose, weeping, 
 " how^ can you call the book by such hard 
 names ? It is Greek ; it is the Ph^don of Plato, 
 written fairly out by the unhappy Lady Jane 
 Dudley's own hand. Cranmer, who dearly 
 prized the book because it was her doing, gave 
 it into my father's keeping, when his troubles 
 first began, before he was sent to the Tower. 
 And when Cranmer was burned, my father kept 
 D 5
 
 58 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 the book in memory of him, as well as of the 
 Lady Jane." 
 
 " Yes, yes," cried Cluny, " I knew, from 
 the first, that it was Greek. But I wanted to 
 try you, just to frighten you a little, to see if 
 you would speak the truth. I know Plato 
 very well ; he was a great divine, quite a Saint, 
 and much favoured by the Pope. Pray, Mis- 
 tress Rose, do you read Greek .?'* 
 
 " My father gave me the tongues," answered 
 Rose, " as a part of my daily lessons, and I 
 hope that I have profited something by his 
 instruction." 
 
 " I warrant you have,'' said Cluny, " and 
 that you would use your tongues, as you call 
 them, to chop doctrines with me. But we 
 must go on with our work. — Ralph Miller, 
 hand me down that book in the red velvet 
 cover, with the silver clasps." 
 
 Rose seemed concerned, and stood anxiously 
 expecting the result of the inspection. Cluny 
 looked at it with an air of self-importance.
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 59 
 
 shook his head, and said, " That book is 
 enough to do your father's business; that comes 
 directly under the prohibition of the proclama- 
 tion in the second of the present reign. That 's 
 the English Liturgy. — Ralph Miller, put that 
 into the satchel ; that 's evidence. — And what 
 have we here ? The Supplication of Beggars, 
 hy Simon Fish. Pshaw ! that's a stinking fish, 
 indeed; it savours of Luther, Calvin, and Knox, 
 all in one mess ; it has an odour v/orse than 
 that of an old tripe-wife's tub. Let the fish 
 go into the satchel, Ralph Miller ; and here, 
 let it keep company with the De Captivitate 
 Bahylonica of Luther ; add to it this infamous 
 book of The Whore of Babylon Unmasked in 
 her Scarlets at Home ; and then, I think, you 
 will carry with you as pretty a bundle of heresy 
 as ever the devil wove into one knot." 
 
 "They are all evidence," said Miller. 
 
 " Evidence !" echoed Cluny, " better evi- 
 dence than a thousand tongues ; every page is 
 evidence ; any one of them is enough to con-
 
 60 THE PROTESTANT?. 
 
 * 
 
 vict an offender, since her Grace, Queen Mary^, 
 has been pleased to make it high treason to 
 have an heretical book in any person's house. 
 And Master Wilford's name I saw in every, 
 volume."" 
 
 " Certainly," said Miller, " that is presump- 
 tive evidence that they were his hooks." 
 
 " It is evidence," cried Cluny, " presump- 
 tive, positive, and circumstantial. The Earl 
 of Surrey lost his head for a coat of arms, 
 on the same kind of evidence ; the fact of trea- 
 son, therefore, is assumed." 
 
 " We have now pretty well done with the 
 books," said Miller. " Here is one called 
 Quoth He, and Quoth I; is that heresy, Master 
 Attorney ?" 
 
 " Heresy [" exclaimed Cluny, " heresy ! why 
 I pity thy ignorance, catchpole Miller ; it is a 
 gem amongst books, a very pearl cast among 
 swine. Quoth he and Quoth /, is a work of Sir 
 Thomas Morels, and a sweet companion it is 
 to his blessed book on the Comfort of Tri-
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 61 
 
 bulation^ and the Supplication of Souls in Fur- 
 gatoryr 
 
 " And you will not take them too ?" said 
 Rose ; " surely you do not call them harm- 
 ful r 
 
 " Keep the peace, Mistress Rose/' cried 
 Cluny ; " keep the peace ; don't disturb an 
 officer of the law in his duty. And please 
 to hand me over that book that the old 
 man took off the table just now." 
 
 " I can't spare that book," said Abel very 
 coolly ; " I keep that for my own use/' 
 
 ''What!" cried Cluny, *' contumacious ? 
 Do you dare to interfere with j ustice ? Do you 
 know the statute, the penalty for such an act ? 
 That all such person or persons, so hinder- 
 ing, letting, obstructing, or offending, the said 
 officer or officers, shall be liable to " 
 
 " I know nothing about statues^' said okl 
 Abel bluntly ; " but I know the book is 
 mine, and I won't part from it, and I have it. 
 And you know. Master Attorney, there's an
 
 6S THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 old saying, that possession is nine points of 
 the law ; and if you want a tenth, and at- 
 tempt to take it from mc, I '11 knock you 
 down, and that will be law with a strong 
 arm, after your own fashion." And Abel 
 shook his fist at the attorney as he spoke. 
 
 " Ralph Miller," said Cluny, " you are a 
 witness. This man obstructs an officer at law 
 in the execution of his duty. You are also 
 a witness that he has offered violence and in- 
 timidation, both by word and .bodily action. 
 This is actionable. I shall order him into 
 custody." 
 
 " Oh, Abel !" said Rose, " how can you 
 speak so to Master Attorney ? Do not let 
 them take you from me. Give up the bbok ; 
 for my sake do it, only for my sake.*" 
 
 " Well," replied Abel, " for your sake, my 
 dear young mistress, I will do it. But as for 
 the Attorney, Cluny there, before I would 
 give it up to him, I would " 
 
 ^' Hush, hush !" said Rose, '• do not speak
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 63 
 
 your heart ; you will but provoke him. Give 
 up the book quietly." 
 
 '* Take it then," cried Abel ; and he threw 
 it down upon the table. " It is the Bible." 
 
 " TindalPs translation, as I live !" exclaim- 
 ed Cluny, " and printed in the time of Henry 
 the Eighth. St. Nicholas bless us ! what a 
 work was that, — what a shameless laying open 
 of sacred mysteries to the eyes of laymen and 
 the vulgar ! Holy things should be locked up 
 in an unknown tongue, to keep them from 
 pollution." 
 
 " Master Attorney," said Abel bluntly, '* I 
 know nothing about the right or the wrong 
 of it, in letting us poor men understand God's 
 word in our mother tongue; which we never 
 could do, so long as it was. shut up in Latin. 
 But all I do know is, that I have a fancy 
 for that book, for I learnt some good things, 
 and useful things too, out of it ; and amongst 
 them I was taught that the world loveth its 
 own.; And all people say, the love of the
 
 ^ 
 
 64 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 men of the law is money. Now I have saved 
 a little, by long service ; and I '11 give you a 
 fair angel of King Edward's, if you will let 
 me keep that book, and say nothing about the 
 matter." 
 
 *' What ! what!" exclaimed Cluny, '' a bribe ; 
 offer me a bribe ! What do you take me for, 
 pray .?" 
 
 " An Attorney,"" said Abel ; " you might 
 have known that, when I offered to pay for 
 being allowed to keep what was my own."' 
 
 " And do you dare to suppose that I would 
 take a bribe ?" cried Cluny, '' and have you 
 the impudence, thus publicly, to offer it? 
 But know, sirrah, that I scorn your inso- 
 lence, and that I do all things according to 
 law. Ralph Miller, take these keys, and Mis- 
 tress Rose will conduct you ; she is obliged 
 to do it by the statute, in proceeding to 
 search the house above stairs for the books 
 and papers of a heretic. Go up with her
 
 THE PROTECTANT. 65 
 
 and bring down whatever you find — there 
 now, begone !" 
 
 Miller obeyed, and Rose followed him, to 
 conduct th^ catchpole into her father's cham- 
 ber, where he usually studied. Cluny and 
 Abel remained below. " And pray, old man,'** 
 said Cluny, '' what could induce you to pre- 
 sume to offer me a bribe, an angel, to let 
 you keep that book, when the catchpole was 
 in the room? Do you know the consequence 
 of such an oifer ? Do you know the statute ? 
 Do you know the penalty ? Do you know 
 what you are liable to ? It comes under the 
 statute for attempting to corrupt, suborn, 
 and lead astray by bribes, or bribery, the 
 officer or officers of the King's or Queen''s 
 Highnesses, in the discharge of their duties. 
 I am a considerate man myself; but I can't 
 answer for Ralph Miller, — he may bring an 
 indictment against you for the offence. Some- 
 thing ought to be done to make him hold
 
 66 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 his tongue. I answer for no man''s discretion 
 but my own ;'' and Cluny took off his trencher 
 cap and put it down upon the table with a slap. 
 
 Allen smiled archly, and looked at him and 
 at the cap, from out the corner of his eye; as 
 much as to say, I see what you want. 
 
 " Had you asked me quietly and in private/' 
 continued Cluny, "just to give you the book; 
 that is, had you asked me not to see it ; why, I 
 would have turned my back, as I do now." — 
 The attorney turned his back towards the ta- 
 ble.—" And as the Bible is the Bible, if it be 
 in English, Hebrew, or Latin, why, I don't see 
 there 's flat heresy in letting a man keep a copy 
 of it, if he asks it of me as a favour. But, fie 
 upon it ! not by offering bribes, and to an officer 
 of the law, and before his own catch pole ; fie, 
 fie !" — (Cluny put his hand behind him and 
 shuffled his cap that lay upon the table:) — 
 " and Ralph Miller, as I said before, may bring 
 an indictment, unless I give the fellow an angel 
 to make him drink a cup of ale and forget the
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 67 
 
 circumstance : and I have a feeling of pity for 
 a faithful servant like you, and I may do some- 
 thing; for I was always reckoned a merciful 
 man, even when I was an under-secretary to the 
 clerk of the Star-Chamber." 
 
 " My father was Yorkshire," said old Abel 
 Allen, " though I be a Kentishman; and your 
 Yorkshire folk are cute enough to teach their 
 sons the way^of the world ; so 1 understand you, 
 master Attorney. And don't look round just 
 yet ; but good luck to you with 3^our trencher 
 cap when you next put it on your head," — and 
 Abel slipped the angel under the cap as he 
 spoke. *' And now, master Attorney, do you 
 speak to Miller, and I '11 now beg the book of 
 you in charity ; for we are in private.^'' 
 
 " Put it into your pocket,"" said Cluny, " and 
 say nothing about it. But I really don't 
 know what you mean about my cap," added 
 Cluny, as he slipped his hand under it, se- 
 cured the angel, and then clapped the cap 
 upon his head.
 
 68 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 The door opened, and Ralph Miller entered 
 the room, carrying a bundle of papers, and fol- 
 lowed by Rose, who looked extremely alarmed. 
 " I shall now proceed,*" said Cluny, " to ex- 
 amine these papers ; and, in the mean time, do 
 you. Mistress Rose, and you, Abel Allen, col- 
 lect together what you wish to remove from the 
 house, and we will search them before we de- 
 part. Go about it qviickly." 
 
 Rose again quitted the oak parlour, now fol- 
 lowed by Abel Allen. Cluny and the catchpole 
 commenced the examination of the papers. 
 " The Bishop of Dover was most particular in 
 directing me," said Miller, " to give every letter 
 into his hands, because such things may throw 
 some light on the connexions of this heretic, 
 whom, as he was one of Cranmer's gang, the 
 Bishop would make an example of, for the be- 
 nefit of others." 
 
 " Assuredly," said Cluny ; '' the Bishop's 
 orders shall be fulfilled. But what bundle of
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 69 
 
 letters is that you are putting into your pocket? 
 Hand them over to me." 
 
 " May I do so and obey the Bishop ?" in- 
 quired Miller. 
 
 " Undoubtedly," answered Cluny ; " the law 
 gives full power to the deputy acting in the 
 place of the principal, — ergo, I, standing here in 
 the place of the aforesaid Bishop, for the time 
 being, possess the authority as the Bishop. I 
 do all things according to law — so be pleased to 
 hand me the packet." 
 
 " There it is," said Miller ; " and as I take 
 it, the packet must be of some consequence, for 
 only see the indorsement on these letters : ' Copy 
 of a Correspondence between Edward Wilford 
 and the unfortunate Sir Thomas Wyatt, be- 
 headed for the late rebellion? ""^ 
 
 " That smells of treason, Miller," said Clu- 
 ny ; " that comes ^nder the statute of the 
 twenty-first of Henry the Eighth ; * every person 
 or persons holding conversation or communica-
 
 70 THE PROTESTAKT. 
 
 tion, either by letters, indictments, signs, sig- 
 nals, or symbols, with any offender or offenders 
 convicted, suspected, or attainted for treason, 
 shall be held particeps criminis in the said of- 
 fence of the said offender or offenders."* This is 
 an unlooked-for discovery." 
 
 " It is indeed," replied Miller, " and must go 
 to make a charge, as I take it, against the old 
 heretic's son, Edward Wilford, now in foreign 
 parts. I will be most particular in giving this 
 packet to the Bishop of Dover, since he called 
 me aside, and laid a great stress on securing all 
 letters ; so, with your leave. Master Cluny, I '11 
 put the packet once more in my pocket." 
 
 " Better let me deliver it," rephed the attor- 
 ney ; " these papers come under the statute 
 against treason, and not under that for heresy. 
 The Bishop will most likely wish to hand them 
 over to the civil power." 
 
 " Be that as it may," answered Miller, " I 
 found the letters, not you, master Attorney ; so I
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 71 
 
 am answerable for them. And here they go 
 into my pocket." 
 
 " The devil take the fellow's impudence/' 
 muttered Cluny. And then he added aloud, 
 " Ralph Miller, it appears to me that you 
 have had much labour and toil in conducting 
 this affair ; and I don't see why you should 
 not refresh yourself with a cup of good ale. 
 I '11 warrant we shall find it here, for I never 
 yet knew a reformed parson but what had 
 a larder and a buttery fit to regale a lord. 
 These heretics are great friends to creature 
 comforts, and put aside those holy fasts that 
 we of the true Church observe. Call to that 
 old fellow, Abel Allen, and bid him bring us 
 a flaffon of his best home-brewed." 
 
 " What, Abel ! Master Abel Allen !'' cried 
 Miller aloud, as he opened the door of the 
 room, " we would desire of you to bring 
 down some of your bundles for us to search 
 them, and then to supply us with something
 
 7^ THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 to cheer up our hearts to the work. We 
 would crave a flagon of your best ale, and, 
 if you have it, a slice or so of a cold capon, 
 or any thing that may be at hand."" 
 
 " What !" said Abel, as he returned to the 
 oak parlour, " am I to see my old master's 
 house searched and robbed before my eyes, 
 and am I to feed the thieves that strip him ? 
 Help yourselves to what you want, as you 
 have done already in other matters ; I am no 
 waiter on St. Nicholas's clerks; nor need I 
 cater for an attorney, since he has a nose and 
 a hand long enough, and ready enough to lead 
 him to other men's goods." 
 
 " Insolent varlet !"" said Cluny, " hold your 
 peace. And don't be a fool, Abel," he added 
 in a lower voice. " Don't you remember what 
 I promised just now to do to make Ralph 
 Miller hold his tongue about your indecency 
 in offering me a bribe ? have you forgot ? I 
 have tutored him. The Miller will let your 
 sack go untolled ; so begone, and bring up
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 73 
 
 the ale ; but stay, first put down that bundle 
 you have under your arm, and we will just 
 look at it slightly for form's sake — only for 
 form's sake, whilst you fetch the ale.*" 
 
 Abel obeyed, and went, though with evi- 
 dent reluctance, to get the refreshments re- 
 quired of him. 
 
 *' Miller," continued Cluny, '^ now the old 
 rascal is off for the ale, lose no time in search- 
 ing that bundle : so begin with this woman's 
 gear, that I see it contains, and look that 
 nothing escapes you.*" 
 
 "Here's a purse," said Miller, "in the 
 bundle, and I see the gold shine through the 
 network." 
 
 " I seize it," cried Cluny, — " I seize it, in 
 the name of the Commission. Prisoners and 
 heretics must not be allowed money to bribe, 
 corrupt, suborn, or lead astray the King's 
 or Queen's officers and subjects ; it is against 
 the statute. I will put this purse into my 
 own pocket, and render it up to the proper 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 authorities. I now take it by virtue of the 
 law. These gold fish would come into a pre- 
 cious net, indeed, did they rest in the keeping 
 of a heretic as baits to angle with." 
 
 " Better count over the pieces, however, 
 Master Attorney,'' said Miller, " that you 
 may know for how much you have to render 
 an account." 
 
 " No," answered Cluny, '^ I '11 not so much 
 as touch the strings of the purse ; and as to 
 opening it, upon no consideration would I 
 suffer you to do so; the law gives me the 
 power to seize, but none, as I take it, to 
 reckon ; and, as the security of these monies 
 is the chief point, lest they be made the in- 
 strument of sin and corruption, it were far 
 better that they remained untouched in the 
 hands of the law." 
 
 Cluny pocketed the money, and hearing 
 the door open, he looked round. 
 
 ^' Here comes Mistress Rose," said he. — 
 " Mistress Rose, be pleased to walk aside to
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 75 
 
 that window ; my duty obliges me to look to 
 the searching of these goods before they are 
 removed, yet the tenderness of my feelings 
 (a very weak failing, I grant, in a man of 
 my office) makes it painful to me that you 
 should witness what must be a sore sight to 
 your eyes — I would spare you all unnecessary 
 griefs, — so be pleased to stand off whilst Miller 
 continues the search." And with these words, 
 Cluny took Rose by the shoulders and fairly 
 shoved her to the window, where he placed 
 her with her back towards himself and his 
 companion. He returned to the catchpole. 
 
 " Ralph Miller," continued Cluny in a 
 whisper, " thrust your hands into the pockets 
 of these garments; they may contain letters 
 of consequence that the Suffragan would es- 
 pecially desire you to produce; — stoop down, 
 and examine that grogram taffeta, for it hath 
 a huge pouch apparently well stuffed." 
 
 The catchpole obeyed ; and whilst he did so, 
 Cluny, who narrowly eyed him, observed the 
 E S
 
 76 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 corner of the packet of those letters he had 
 been so desirous to possess, just peeping out 
 from the pocket of Miller's doublet. Cluny 
 slipped behind the catch pole's back. Rose kept 
 her station at the window, not daring to move 
 on account of the terror in which she held the 
 inquisitors. Miller was busily engaged in 
 hunting the gown of grogram taffeta as Cluny 
 continued saying, " And you know, Ralph Mil- 
 ler, the consequence of securing all papers as 
 directed by the Bishop of Dover, and more 
 especially such as may have a reference to 
 treasonable practices. It were better for you, 
 Ralph Miller, did you lose your ears than one 
 such document, either by fraud, carelessness, or 
 inattention, since such a loss might be to the 
 profit of others, but certainly at your own 
 peril.'* And whilst he was thus speaking, the 
 cunning Cluny, having watched his opportuni- 
 ty, softly and gently drew the packet of letters 
 out of Ralph Miller's pocket, and very quickly 
 slipped them into his own, and never once moved
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 77 
 
 from his station till the more simple and un- 
 suspecting catchpole had finished his search. 
 
 By this time Abel had returned, bearing re- 
 luctantly a large flagon of strong ale for the 
 refreshment of the inquisitors. Cluny knew 
 well the weak point in Miller's character, and 
 he now plied the catchpole with cup after cup, 
 as fast as he could swallow them. It was the 
 attorney's object so to muddle Ralph's brains, 
 which at no time were of the clearest order, that 
 he might hereafter be induced to believe he had 
 lost the packet of letters either in the house, or 
 when he had quitted it ; the possession of those 
 particular letters, from some cause, being ne- 
 cessary to Cluny himself. Cluny, it is true, 
 sat down at the table with Miller, and affected 
 to take a share of the ale ; but he was careful 
 only to taste the cup, and to leave nearly all 
 the contents of the potent flagon for Ralph, 
 who, unable to resist temptation, forgot his 
 business past, present, and future ; and, fearing 
 the return of the Suffragan before he should get
 
 78 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 to the bottom of his draught, made such good 
 haste to answer Cluny's pledge, to the health 
 of the Queen and the success of the Commis- 
 sion, that he was more than bewildered in his 
 ideas, when the return of Thornton once more 
 to the oak parlour suddenly put an end to this 
 hasty carouse. 
 
 Thornton looked severely at Miller ; and 
 asked Cluny what was the meaning of this in- 
 dulgence in his assistant, at a time when he 
 ought to be engaged in the discharge of his 
 duty. «' Ralph Miller," replied Cluny, 'Ms 
 one of those persons who lack a draught to 
 help them through their work. But (he add- 
 ed in a lower voice, as he looked significantly 
 at the Suffragan) the fellow is staunch, very 
 useful in his way ; though, I grieve to say it, 
 he never knows when he has enough ; lacks 
 discretion. Master Thornton, — lacks discretion. 
 But we must bear with him, since he is no 
 flincher in these necessary matters. You had 
 better, perhaps, all things considered, send him
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 79 
 
 forward with the rest of the officers. What 
 has your reverence done with the old heretic 
 and the woman ?" 
 
 " Shut them up in their own barn,'^ replied 
 Thornton, " whilst I went to see matters duly 
 arranged for Friar John in the church. Here, 
 Miller, do you go forward to the barn ; take up 
 your satchel ; it seems well loaded. The pri- 
 soners must forthwith be conducted to Canter- 
 bury Castle." Miller took up the satchel, hea- 
 vily laden with the spoils of Wilford's small 
 library, and, making sundry lateral movements, 
 managed to stagger out of the house, nearly 
 knocking down Abel, whom he chanced to meet 
 in his way to the door. Cluny also quitted the 
 house. 
 
 Rose, who was in the oai^ parlour when she 
 heard that Thornton Avas actually proceeding 
 to remove her parents from the place where 
 they had lived happily together for so many 
 years of peace and love, ^vept bitterly, and 
 begged the Suffragan to let her go to the barn.
 
 80 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 once more to bid them farewell. But Thornton 
 denied this request, and bade her employ the 
 short time she had to remain in the house in 
 collecting what things she might wish to remove 
 for her own use. " And for your father, 
 Mistress Rose, he is a man," said the Suffragan, 
 " that I much desire to see his own friend, and 
 that he may return again like a stray sheep to 
 the true flock, and spare us of the Commission 
 the pain of inflicting a wholesome and neces- 
 sary chastisement. Mistress Alice will, I dare 
 say, get clear, upon doing penance ; — and for 
 yourself, Mistress Rose, I have an especial 
 kindness for you, and much pity for your 
 youth. If you are wise, no harm shall come to 
 you ; and I will myself take upon me the task 
 of instructing your ignorance." 
 
 " I will not cumber you," replied Rose, " to 
 make you, Master Thornton, the schoolmaster 
 of io simple a maid as I am ; and I hope that I 
 shall not easily forget what 1 have already
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 81 
 
 learned from my father. I would ask nothing 
 of you but to be merciful to my parents." 
 
 " I will not hear any dangerous opinions from 
 your hps, my pretty blossom ! " said Thornton ; 
 " and as for your parents, you may do much for 
 them with me. And I, considering you as a 
 sister in much danger of straying into the path 
 of perdition, I will take upon me the charge 
 of your spiritual welfare. So, be of good cheer, 
 lass," continued the Suffragan, kindly taking 
 her by the hand ; '* and do not mar those pretty 
 looks with sorrow ;'' and he bent his head as he 
 spoke, and somehow or other the Suffragan 
 stooped so low that his face came in contact 
 with Rose's blushing lips before she was aware 
 of it, and Thornton gave those lips a hearty 
 kiss; plainly showing, that however obnoxious 
 the kiss of a heretic might appear to him in 
 others, he had no objection at all to it himself, 
 when the heretic was seen in the shape of a 
 pretty girl. Rose blushed deeply, and started 
 E 5
 
 82 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 from the Bishop of Dover, hastily exclaiming, 
 " Do you dare" — 
 
 Thornton interrupted her : " Only the kiss of 
 peace, my child ; nothing but the kiss of peace, 
 enjoined to the members of the true Church, 
 when they v/ould greet each other in sisterly or 
 in brotherly love. And I now give it you with 
 my benison, in the hope that it may drive out 
 the Evil Spirit, so that you may come back to 
 the fold of his Holiness''s flock — And so, at pre- 
 sent, farewell ! and I will not lose sight of you 
 in the desire to do you good, my pretty Rose 
 in the midst of thorns." 
 
 The Suffragan patted the damsel on the 
 cheek as he spoke, and, quitting the room, 
 set forward to conduct his prisoners towards 
 Canterbury.
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 When Thornton proceeded to join Cluny 
 and his attendants, in order to convey Wilford 
 and Ahce from the barn, where they had been 
 held in custody for some time, he found, to 
 his surprise, that the barn was already sur- 
 rounded by a crowd of people, who so pressed 
 upon the officers standing as a guard over the 
 prisoners within, that it was with considerable 
 difficulty they could be kept back. The news 
 of what was going forward had been eagerly 
 conveyed by a female servant of Alice to one 
 or two of her gossips in the immediate vicinity 
 of the Parsonage House ; and these gossips 
 had lost no time in running down to the vil- 
 lage to spread abroad the dismal tidings of
 
 84 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 the removal of their beloved Pastor from his 
 people. 
 
 The alarm spread like wildfire ; and, in a 
 few minutes, there was scarcely a farm-house, 
 or a cottage, but had sent forth its inmates 
 to bewail the fate of Wilford ; to see him, if 
 possible, before he was conveyed to prison, 
 to curse his oppressors, and, had it been prac- 
 ticable, to have rescued their good father (for 
 so they termed Owen) from the clutches of 
 his enemies. Men, women, and children, had 
 alike joined the throng ; and no sooner did 
 Thornton appear than the uproar became 
 general, and a confused sound of shouts, hiss- 
 ings, hootings, curses, and imprecations at once 
 burst upon his ears. " Silence these madmen,'" 
 said Thornton to the officers ; ," do your duty, 
 and arrest any one who shall dare to interrupt 
 us in the discharge of ours, under her Majesty's 
 commission. Who is it that is cursing me ?" 
 
 " May it please your Reverence," said 
 catchpole Miller, still staggering from the po-
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 85 
 
 tent effects of the ale ; " may it please your 
 Reverence, they are all cursing you.*" 
 
 " Bring out the prisoners," said Thornton, 
 " and set on for Canterbury this moment. 
 Here be times, indeed ! when the rabble and 
 the dolt-headed mob rail against the lawful 
 authorities. Move that fellow from the barn- 
 door ; and if he refuses to give place, take 
 him into custody.*" 
 
 Wilford and Alice were brought out. The 
 tide of public feeling was now turned for a 
 moment into another channel ; for, at the sight 
 of Wilford, all hearts were melted into sorrow ; 
 and tears and groans burst from the assembly, 
 as the reverend Pastor, with a composed coun- 
 tenance, and a meek and unresisting air, ap- 
 peared before his parishioners in the hands of 
 his hard-hearted enemies, like a lamb led by 
 butchers to the slaughter. Alice also seemed 
 more composed than when she quitted the 
 house. But no sooner did she witness the 
 general feeling of sympathy excited by her
 
 86 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 condition, than her fortitude forsook her, and 
 she burst into tears as she spoke a few words 
 of farewell to the inhabitants of the village, 
 who could get near enough to bid her an 
 affectionate adieu. 
 
 Thornton, who now earnestly desired to 
 hasten the removal of the prisoners, again 
 ordered his officers to set forward, charging 
 them to secure any one of the mob who should 
 distinguish himself in the uproar, since it was 
 impossible, at present, to wreak his vengeance 
 on the whole body now assembled. But so 
 great was the burst of popular indignation, 
 that neither the authority of Thornton, nor 
 the threats of his officers, could keep them 
 within bounds. 
 
 *' I wish," said Thornton to Cluny, who 
 walked by his side, " that we had brought a 
 body of her Grace's guards to assist us in 
 conveying the prisoner ; the town bill-men are 
 scarcely sufficient ; but I did not expect such 
 a scene as this."
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 87 
 
 " It would have been as well," replied Cluny, 
 " since the military power, by \irtue of the 
 late proclamation, may be called in to assist 
 the ecclesiastical. This uproar is punishable 
 even by the statute." 
 
 ^•^ Let us tear him from them,'' cried a 
 loud voice amongst the crowd ; " don't let 
 that fire-and-faggot fellow burn our old Pastor 
 for the sake of the devil and the Pope." — 
 " Knock them down ! hang up the Attorney ; 
 and let Thornton swing upon his wooden god, 
 and see if a gilt figure will deliver him," ex- 
 claimed another."— " Oh, Wilford ! Wilford ! 
 our dear Pastor, our good father, our friend, 
 our benefactor, must we lose you?" — " Down 
 with tyrants and tyranny ! " These, and a 
 thousand other Hke expressions, resounded on 
 all sides, as the Bishop of Dover and his offi- 
 cers proceeded, as fast as the throng would 
 let them, to convey the prisoners down the 
 village street. As they passed along, an aged 
 and decrepit woman, whose infirmities had
 
 88 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 prevented her quitting her cottage, stood lean- 
 ing upon a broom, with which she had been 
 sweeping the little entry before her door. A 
 youth, about twelve years old, was stationed 
 near her, in the open pathway ; and though he 
 seemed, by the expression of his countenance, 
 to partake in the general feeling, yet the fixed 
 and unaltered position of his head, that was 
 bent down on his bosom, showed that he was 
 incapable of observing passing objects. " Why 
 does not that youngster draw back, and make 
 way for the Bishop?" said Cluny to an 
 officer; " the obstruction is contumacious and 
 impudent. Move out of the way, boy ; don't 
 you see, the most worshipful Suffragan of 
 Dover is coming ?"" 
 
 " No," replied the boy ; " I am blind. But 
 granny wishes me to beg the good father's bless- 
 ing as he passes along." 
 
 " Thou hast it, my child, — thou hast it," 
 said Thornton; and, with an assumed air of
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 89 
 
 sanctity, he laid his hand upon the head of the 
 bhnd boy as he spoke. 
 
 " Not thy blessing, Thornton !" exclaimed 
 the old woman, who saw the action and heard 
 what passed. " Not the blessing of a mass- 
 monger, and an idol- worshipper, and a blood- 
 spiller, like thee. It is not thy blessing that I 
 would seek for my Tommy. Take off that 
 bloody hand from my boy''s head ; take it off, I 
 say ; for thy god is as blind as my poor gran- 
 son's eyes ; and he is deaf too, — deaf as the god 
 of the priests of Baal : for if you cry to him 
 from morn till eventide, he will not hear you. 
 Perchance he sleepeth ! But the true God 
 shall hear you, and He shall wake up to crush 
 you and your cruel company." 
 
 " Who is that decrepit old wretch," in- 
 quired Thornton, " that bawls like a mad wo- 
 man at her Majesty's Commission T^ 
 
 " It is Gammer Plaise," said a stander-by. 
 " She be the village potecary and midwife,
 
 90 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 and cures cows as well as children, if they be 
 sick." 
 
 " She has an evil eye, I suspect," said 
 Thornton. 
 
 " If she has, she comes under the statute 
 of the 33rd of Henry VIIi;' cried Cluny, 
 '' against witches and witchcraft. Only see 
 what a bent back she has — a sure sign that she 
 has long been ridden by the devil : and her nose 
 and chin, that almost meet, look as if she could 
 use them like hooks, to hold him fast by the 
 tail. 1 11 make a note of her in my book as a 
 suspected person." 
 
 " Do so," said Thornton. " And are you, 
 my lad, a follower of that old bedlamite, your 
 granny.? Has she taught you her abomina- 
 tions ?"" 
 
 " She has taught me to love God and to 
 obey His Commandments," replied the blind 
 boy, *' and to obey my spiritual teachers, pas- 
 tors, and masters."
 
 THE PROTESTA.NT. 91 
 
 '' And whom do you call your spiritual 
 teachers, pastors, and masters ?" said Thornton. 
 
 " Good Master Wilford, our father,'' an- 
 swered the boy. 
 
 " Oh ! what a foul heretic is that man,*' said 
 Cluny, " who leads astray a whole parish, old 
 women, little boys, and all. And we can't 
 move, you see, most Reverend Suffragan, with- 
 out his calling up a riot contrary to law, and 
 in contempt of the high authority of these 
 realms. Go back, lad ; and, if you are wise, 
 leave that old woman, your granny, or she will 
 bring you into trouble." 
 
 " Don't go back. Tommy," cried Gammer 
 Plaise, as loud as she could shout ; " don't go 
 back. Ask the good man's blessing, or you 
 shall want mine. Stand to the truth in the 
 light of day, and glorify God and magnify His 
 saints and His martyrs, though the Pope him- 
 self, with his excommunications, and his rods, 
 and his racks, and his curses, and his priests.
 
 92 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 and his faggots, and his fires, and his purga- 
 tory, and his devils, stood before you, and 
 fought you with them all. Down on your 
 knees, boy ! down, and beg Master Wilford''s 
 blessing, as you value body and soul ; for you 
 were a poor, blind, orphan boy, and Master 
 Wilford has been as a father to you. You are 
 fatherless by the wicked, but he took you up. 
 Down on your knees, I say, though Thornton 
 should roast you for it, as Bonner once threa- 
 tened he would do to Tomkins, in a dry pan 
 over a slow fire, after the Spanish fashion." 
 
 The blind boy obeyed his grandmother; and, 
 feeling about him for a moment in the crowd, 
 he at last caught Wilford by the gown, as he 
 stood between two officers who were conducting 
 him along ; fell on his knees before him, and, 
 holding his hands pressed together, turned the 
 sightless balls of his eyes up to heaven, as he 
 raised his head and said, '* Dear Master Wil- 
 ford, bless me before you go to prison ; and if
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 98 
 
 a poor child's prayer can do you good, these 
 wicked people sha'nH keep you long from us." 
 
 " God bless you, my poor child !" said Wil- 
 ford ; " be a good boy, mind your duty to God 
 and man, be a comfort to your grandmother in 
 her old age, and, though God has been pleased 
 to deprive you of the light of this world, He 
 shall more than recompense you by that light 
 of His blessed Spirit, before which there is no 
 darkness. And remember, Tommy, to be peace- 
 ful, and to obey the lawful authorities, for His 
 sake who has given them the power." 
 
 "Get up, boy, — get up!" cried Thornton ; 
 " you stop our progress. Get up this minute !"" 
 
 " Stand out of the way, child !'' said Cluny, 
 " or your back shall feel my walking staff, for 
 your insolence to the Bishop of Dover, in ob- 
 structing his progress. I shall be borne out by 
 the law, if I strike you in assisting his Reve- 
 rence." 
 
 " Don't touch the child !" exclaimed old Gam-
 
 94 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 mer Plaise, — " don't touch so much as a hair of 
 his head ; for if you do, Master Attorney, 111 
 knock out your brains with my broom, with as 
 httle remorse as ever you showed to ruin the 
 most wronged man that came to you in his 
 need. I know you, Thomas Cluny ; I remember 
 you before Bonner and Thornton took you up 
 out of the dirt, to put their own dirty work 
 upon you. I remember you when you stood in 
 the stocks for picking a lock in the good Widow 
 Littlewit's house at Canterbury, and all the 
 boys spattered you with rotten eggs, and every 
 old wife shook her mop at you, and you slunk 
 after the constable's heels like a beaten dog that 
 hangs down his tail and ears.*" 
 
 Whilst old Gammer Plaise bawled out this 
 address as loud and as fast as she could, in 
 order to expose the attorney in the eyes of the 
 villagers, Cluny, to show his own contempt of 
 her assertions, and his authority, gave the poor 
 blind boy a hearty cuiF, because he did not get 
 fast enough out of the way. Gammer Plaise
 
 THE PROTESTA.NT. 95 
 
 lifted up her broom, and would have made good 
 her threats, could her old limbs have kept pace 
 with her intentions ; but her feeble arm, unable 
 to manage her weapon, let it fall, and Cluny 
 escaped with no other punishment than a hoot 
 from the populace, with cries of " Shame, 
 shame ! to strike the poor blind child." 
 
 " No shame at all," said Thornton ; " my 
 Secretary acts under the Commission, and has a 
 right to use personal force, if persuasion will 
 not avail in the execution of his duty ; and that 
 little heretic has shown himself such, by begging 
 a blessing of a man so arrested and accused as 
 the prisoner. Good people, stand back, and 
 cease this uproar, and let us pass in peace." 
 
 Gammer Plaise now raised her broom at the 
 Suffragan himself. " What !" she cried, " do 
 you, Thornton, encourage that dirty fellow that 
 hangs at your skirts, to beat my Tommy ? but 
 this is but a small thing compared to what you 
 do to yonder good man. You take from us our 
 minister, our friend, our comfort. But hark
 
 96 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 3'ou5 Thornton ! you called me a witch just now, 
 because I am old and broken down with sorrow, 
 and labour, and care, to see these times. But, 
 witch or no witch, I will be to you a prophet of 
 evil for the deed you do this day.'' 
 
 Thornton was about to interrupt her. " Let 
 her go on," said Cluny ; ^' she shook her broom 
 at me just now, as witches are wont to do ; 
 that 's something worthy noting. Let her say 
 her say, — it will be evidence against her, and I 
 am a witness.'' 
 
 " Hark you, Thornton !" continued the old 
 woman ; " you, and your fellows in blood, Bon- 
 ner, and the rest of you, burnt, at Smithfield, 
 my only son, the father of yonder poor blind 
 lad. You first apprehended him, forsooth, be- 
 cause he was a bargeman to the Lady Jane 
 Dudley ; and you burnt my son, between you, 
 for a heretic and a traitor. But I live to curse 
 you for the deed. I live to tell you, Thornton, 
 that the blood of saints and martyrs shall 
 rise up against you at the day of doom. That
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 97 
 
 you and your Queen Jezebel, who now seats 
 herself in high places, and sends out her people, 
 saying, " Slay me this man, and burn me that, 
 that I may make a sacrifice of a precious odour, 
 to do incense to the Beast in his scarlets at 
 Rome ; she, I tell you, shall fall ; her reign and 
 yours shall be shortened. Ye shall triumph for 
 a while ; ye shall slay, and revel, and delight ye 
 in the blood of God's people, till God has 
 proved His own ; but then ye shall fall, like the 
 rebellious Spirit, never to rise again ; and men 
 shall say of her, ' Take this cursed woman and 
 bury her, for she is a king's daughter.' And 
 death shall call you hence, like a thief in the 
 night, that slays the man of the house, when 
 he thought the doors were made fast against 
 him." 
 
 " High treason !" said Cluny : " she imagines 
 the Queen's death. Shall I take her into cus- 
 tody now, or deal with her hereafter ?" 
 
 " Not now," answered Thornton ; "it will 
 but add to the uproar. Note down her words, 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 and you can send the billmen from the Castle 
 to apprehend her at your leisure." 
 
 " Thornton," said Wilford mildly, for he saw 
 to what danger the vehemence of Gammer 
 Plaise would expose her, " show mercy to that 
 poor old woman. Her son was burnt at Smith- 
 field ; and whenever any circumstance brings 
 that sad pass to her mind, she is half beside 
 herself." 
 
 " She is a pretty sample of your flock, Master 
 Wilford/' replied Thornton: " do you suffer 
 your parishioners thus to utter treason, and stir 
 up strife, and rail against the Queen's Highness, 
 in the public streets? Wilford, Wilford, this 
 woman's conduct were alone sufficient to con- 
 demn you. You have badly filled your station, 
 and I fear you are a naughty pretender to the 
 truth of lawful supremacy and sway." 
 
 " So far from it. Master Thornton," answered 
 Wilford, " that it was not longer ago than last 
 Sunday, that I discoursed to my parishioners a 
 homily of my own composition, on the text of
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 99 
 
 obedience to the powers that be ; as these good 
 people will bear me witness." Wilford turned 
 towards some of the inhabitants as he spoke ; 
 but the crowd was now too much moved calmly 
 to listen to any appeal. The circumstance of 
 Cluny striking the blind boy, the imprecations, 
 and violent discourse of Gammer Plaise, had all 
 helped to stir them up to a feeling of irritation 
 and wrath, that amounted almost to madness. 
 Some struck the officers, others ventured even 
 to assault the Bishop ; and so great was the 
 fury of the populace, that, had Wilford been of 
 a more artful or daring character, in these mo- 
 ments of general uproar and confusion, he might 
 have attempted, and perhaps with success, his 
 escape. But so far was he from taking advan- 
 tage of the circumstance, that he now loudly 
 called upon his parishioners to hear him, and 
 at length was suffered to address the people. 
 '* What ! my beloved brethren,'" said the good 
 man, " is it thus you reward me for all the be- 
 nefits that, under God, I have endeavoured to 
 F 2
 
 100 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 bestow upon you ? Will you make me believe 
 that 1 have taught you your duty in vain ? 
 These men, in whose hands it has pleased Al- 
 mighty Providence to place me, — these men are 
 but the instruments of the lawful Sovereign, 
 Mary Queen of England — a Queen, though it 
 may be a severe one, whom God has placed over 
 you. But she is your Queen and mine, and we 
 cannot resist her authority without disobedience 
 to his word, who has said resistance is punished 
 with death both of body and soul. I am inno- 
 cent, my dear brethren, of the things charged 
 against me ; I am a freeborn Englishman, and, 
 as such, cannot fall but by the laws of my coun- 
 try. I shall be examined, tried, and heard in 
 my defence : do not, therefore, interrupt the ex- 
 ercise of a power against which God himself has 
 taught us we must not rebel. And, believe me, 
 that, armed as I am with a clear conscience and 
 a reliance on Heaven, I feel my heart light 
 within me ; I feel that I am going to my trial, 
 to be proved at the bitter waters of strife, but
 
 THE PROTESTANT. tOl 
 
 that my deliverer is at hand. Pray for me, nay 
 weep for me ; but remember, I beseech you, the 
 lessons I have so often taught you in yonder 
 church, and do not let my sorrow be the occa- 
 sion of your sin. I rebuke you now, to save you 
 hereafter : — silence, submission, and resignation, 
 these are things that I require at your hands, 
 that we may not part in anger, but, as we have 
 lived, in the bond of peace and charity." 
 
 The serious and emphatic manner, the com- 
 posed aspect, with which Wilford made this ad- 
 dress to the assembly, sensibly affected all 
 hearts. That violence which had before raged 
 like the tumult of a stormy ocean, was in a mo- 
 ment calmed ; and tears ran fast down the poor 
 people's cheeks, as they begged pardon of their 
 pastor for what they had said or done to offend 
 him ; and sobbed out a last farewell, in voices 
 rendered inarticulate with grief. The old in- 
 voked blessings upon his head, the women 
 begged blessings of him for their children, the 
 stout and the young men eagerly pressed about
 
 102 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 him and wrung him by the hands ; and chil- 
 dren, nay almost infants, though incapable of 
 knowing the cause of so much sorrow, never- 
 theless sympathized in its effects, and cried for 
 company, as they called out " Daddy Wilford 's 
 going away — kiss us, daddy. And don't stay 
 long, and come back again, and I won't cry if 
 you will," said a little girl who hung upon 
 his gown as he patted her on the head, and 
 endeavoured to disengage himself from her 
 tiny hand. 
 
 But neither threats, nor exhortations, nor 
 tears, nor sorrow, could operate with old Gam- 
 mer Plaise, so as to silence her tongue. She 
 railed at Thornton, at Bonner, at Harpsfield, 
 and at the Queen ; and, as the Bishop of Dover 
 passed her door, she once more shook her broom 
 at him ; and calling her dog, with many a hoot 
 and hiss, endeavoured to set the animal about 
 Thornton's heels, in the hope that it would 
 bite him. A knot of idle boys had gathered 
 themselves near her, to listen to her discourse,
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 103 
 
 and to stare at what was going on ; and, ever 
 ready for mischief, they clapped their hands and 
 encouraged the dog, which ran about Thornton, 
 so as to avoid the blows aimed at its head by 
 the Suffragan, who attempted to knock it 
 down with his staff; and barked, snarled and 
 yelped ; whilst the boys snatched up the stones 
 that lay about, and fairly pelted Thornton, 
 Cluny, and their attendants, with a shower of 
 them, as they set forward and quitted the 
 village of Wellminster.
 
 lOi THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 On the evening of that day which saw Owen 
 Wilford removed from his house and his pa- 
 rishioners, in the cruel manner we have detailed 
 in our last chapter, Rose and her faithful at- 
 tendant, Abel Allen, completed their arrange- 
 ments for securing such necessaries as might 
 be found useful to Wilford, Alice, and them- 
 selves; since Thornton, something contrary to 
 his general custom, had allowed of such things 
 being removed. The greater part of these ne- 
 cessaries they bestowed for the time present in 
 the houses of some of the villagers, who were 
 all eager in affording assistance to the unhappy 
 and persecuted family; whilst Rose, knowing 
 well the poverty of her humble friends, and fear-
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 105 
 
 ing to bring them into trouble on her account, 
 should she remain in any one of their dwellings, 
 determined for the present to take up her lodg- 
 ing with an honest widow, the sister of Abel 
 Allen, in Canterbury. There she would be 
 near the prison of her parents ; and she re- 
 solved, instead of giving way to her feelings, 
 to make such exertions as she could to do them 
 service; and hoped, by the daily labour of her 
 hands, (as she had much skill with her needle,) 
 to contribute her mite to their comforts, and to 
 maintain herself, without being chargeable to 
 her faithful but poor adherents. 
 
 All was now prepared. Old Abel clenched 
 a stout oak staft', and, offering his arm to his 
 young Mistress to support her in her walk, pro- 
 posed that they should set on for Canterbury 
 before the night closed in upon them ; and 
 Thornton had threatened them both with im- 
 prisonment, if his orders were disobeyed, or if 
 they were found to remain in the house on the 
 following morning. This was a trying mo- 
 F 5
 
 106 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 ment for poor Rose. She had hved from child- 
 hood in the house she was now to quit for 
 the first time in her life, and to quit too under 
 circumstances of such deep distress. Here she 
 had lived in innocence and happiness^; here 
 she had seen her parents dwell together in 
 peace and love for so many years. But now, 
 when she looked around and saw all forsaken — 
 the image of sorrow and desolation that was 
 presented to her view, so much overpowered 
 her, that, desirous to compose her feelings be- 
 fore she set out, she excused herself to old 
 Allen, bidding him fetch something from ano- 
 ther part of the premises, and, saying she would 
 rejoin him in a short time, she retired into 
 the little garden at the back of the house, to 
 indulge her tears unobserved, and to endeavour 
 to regain that fortitude, she felt to be so neces- 
 sary to her in this trying hour. 
 
 Not long after Rose had quitted the house, 
 a stranger was observed to pass hastily through
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 107 
 
 the village of Wellminster, and, without stop- 
 ping a moment by the way, or noticing any 
 thing in his progress, he came directly up the 
 pathway that led to the mansion of the pastor. 
 The stranger was a young man, of a tall and 
 comely person; but his features expressed a 
 character of thoughtfulness, that bordered on 
 melancholy. He was wrapped in a large black 
 cloak of Geneva taffeta, and his brows were 
 shaded by a broad-flapped hat of foreign 
 fashion, entirely differing in form from the 
 English close cap of the day. He had arms 
 at his girdle, and in his hand he carried 
 such a light staff, or riding-rod, as it was usual 
 with gentlemen to take upon a journey. 
 
 The stranger struck' upon the door of Wii- 
 ford's house with his staff, but no one answered 
 this call for admission, since old Abel Allen 
 was busied in an out-house, where Rose had 
 sent him to seek something, whilst she herself 
 retired into the garden ; and the other domestic,
 
 108 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 a female servant of Alice, was employed in 
 removing her own apparel to a neighbour''s 
 cottage. 
 
 The stranger, finding that no one came to 
 the door, laid his hand upon the latch, raised 
 it, and, without farther ceremony, entered the 
 house. He then walked into the kitchen, being 
 the first apartment that lay open before him 
 near the entry. It was deserted, and the 
 kitchen chimney, whose well-piled hearth is 
 the sure indication of good cheer, hospitality, 
 and social feeling in an English country house, 
 now presented an appearance as cheerless as 
 the stranger's visit. The fire was out, not even 
 a faggot mouldering into embers lay upon the 
 hearth. There was neither fire nor comfort to 
 be found here ; the stranger quitted the kitchen, 
 and went directly to the oak parlour. 
 
 The oak parlour was also empty, and he 
 started with surprise at the appearance of gene- 
 ral confusion still visible from the ransacking 
 and rummaging so lately made by Cluny and
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 109 
 
 Miller. An empty flagon and a couple of 
 tankards were seen upon the table, and a stool 
 or two lay overturned upon the ground. A 
 couple of large armed and carved oak chairs 
 stood, the one on this, the other on that side 
 the chimney. In one of these, a dog, with its 
 nose resting upon its hind-legs, lay sleeping ; 
 but as the stranger approached, the dog- 
 started, and set up a fierce bark; in another 
 moment, as if the animal recognised in this 
 intruder an old acquaintance, it made one 
 bound from the chair to the feet of the stran- 
 ger, and leaped and danced about him, — now 
 jumping so high as almost to reach his shoul- 
 der, — again, bending its head and stretching out 
 its fore-paws, came fawning and crouching be- 
 fore him, and whined with impatience to be 
 noticed and greeted in his turn. 
 
 " Poor Pincher !" said the stranger, as he 
 patted the animal upon the head ; " poor 
 Pincher ! it is many a long day since we met, 
 but you have not forgot me ; and there is, I
 
 110 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 see, no friend, save yourself, to welcome me 
 here." 
 
 The alarm that had been given by the dog- 
 reached the ears of old Abel Allen as he was 
 coming towards the kitchen, and whilst the 
 stranger was in the act of returning the 
 caresses of the dog, Allen stood before him. 
 The stranger and the serving-man looked at 
 each other in silence for a moment. Th^ 
 latter lifted up his hands and eyes, and at 
 length so far recovered from his surprise as to 
 exclaim, " Good God ! is it you ?"" 
 
 *' Yes," answered the stranger, " I believe 
 I am still myself, though many things have 
 happened that might have changed the nature 
 of a better man since we last parted. But 
 Avhat means all this?" he continued, as he 
 glanced his eye around, and pointed with his 
 hand to the confusion of the room ; " what 
 does it mean ? For God's sake, tell me, though 
 I fear to ask it, — where is my father? How 
 fares my mother ? and where is Rose ?*"
 
 THE PROTESTANT. Ill 
 
 Abel shook his head, and wringing the 
 stranger by the hand, he said, " Don't ask 
 me, don't ask me. I '11 tell you all anon. 
 But oh, my young master! my dear master 
 Edward ! what made you come back again 
 in such times as these ? Why did you not 
 mind your father's counsel, and stay where you 
 were ? You can do him no good here, but 
 only bring him into more trouble." 
 
 " I do not know what you mean," replied 
 Edward ; " but I can no longer endure this 
 suspense. Tell me the worst at once ; what 
 has happened ? Where are my parents?" 
 
 Abel remained silent. He hung down his 
 head ; he looked up, and wiped his eyes. 
 
 " Tell me, for God's sake !" repeated Edward 
 Wilford: "I can bear to hear it; indeed, I 
 can ; — I can bear any thing but this suspense." 
 
 " Your father is in prison," said old Abel : 
 and he turned aside his head, as if he would not 
 witness the expression of the unhappy son's 
 feehngs at hearing such intelligence.
 
 112 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 Edward turned as pale as death. "In pri- 
 son !" he exclaimed ; " where ? — for what?"*** 
 
 " Thornton fetched him from us but this 
 day," continued Abel ; " so you may know all 
 the rest without my speaking another word." 
 
 " Thornton ! Thornton !" repeated Edward 
 Wilford, in great agitation ; " Oh God ! is that 
 man my father's keeper ? then he must fall, — 
 but I will bear it. — Go on, Abel; tell me the 
 rest — you see I bear it ; you see I do : I have 
 not shed a tear." And Edward paced the room 
 distractedly as he spoke, v/hilst his lips quiver- 
 ed and his bosom heaved in tumultuous agita- 
 tion. " Where is my mother ? — tell me, where 
 is my poor old mother ?" 
 
 " That devil, Thornton," said Abel — and he 
 struck his hand upon the table — "has taken her 
 up for a harlot, and she is had to prison too." 
 
 " It is a lie !" exclaimed Edward — and the 
 blood rushed into his face in a torrent as he 
 spoke, — " she is my father's chaste and honour-
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 113 
 
 able wife. Dares the villain thus assail the 
 honour of my mother's name ?" 
 
 *' Ay, and he gives foul names to you and 
 to your sister too," continued Allen : " he as 
 good as said you were born legitimate, or some 
 such Latin word, that the priests use when they 
 mean to make out an honest man's children to 
 be no better than bastards.*" 
 
 Wilford, fired at hearing this, and clasping 
 with his hand the haft of the short sword, or 
 dagger, that he wore at his side, exclaimed 
 in a tone of voice rendered deep and impetuous 
 by passion — " I will seek out Thornton, and if 
 he is a man he shall answer this to me !" 
 
 Abel went up to him, and laid his hands upon 
 his shoulders, and endeavoured to soothe his 
 young master as he said, '' Don't now ! don't 
 be rash ! Thornton is a priest, and there is no 
 making him fight, you know ; for the Pope has 
 given him a shaven crown, and the devil shel- 
 ters him under the hood that covers it. And
 
 114 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 think, into what trouble you would bring your- 
 self, only to talk of fighting such a man. Dear 
 Master Edward, think of your poor father and 
 mother; it may be, you may do them some 
 good ; but, sure, it would be wicked to make 
 them more unhappy than they are just now. 
 And besides, think of your sister. Mistress 
 Rose, an innocent young thing as she is, and no 
 father to care about her, nor mother now to 
 look after her, and nobody but you and me to 
 comfort her. Do be chary of yourself, if it is 
 only for the sake of your sister." 
 
 " Well, well," said Edward Wilford, " I will 
 try to govern my feelings. I will be prudent. 
 But when I hear Thornton's name, when I re- 
 collect all that he has done already, and may do 
 hereafter, I am ready to burst with indignation 
 at the thought of his villany. And where is my 
 sister ? But I need not ask ; I suppose she 
 shares in the common fate, and is in prison too." 
 
 " No, she is not ; she is not, dear Master 
 Edward," replied Allen ; " she bears up her
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 115 
 
 heart better than you do. She is just stepped 
 into the garden, and I'll go to her, and say that 
 you are here, that you may not startle her as 
 you did me just now, to see you come home so 
 sudden, when we all thought you were at 
 Frankfort. And do take a sample of her ; for 
 somehow or other. Master Edward, I don't 
 know how it is, but you young men catch fire 
 and speak hot words, and often kill each other 
 in your quarrels ; but women, though they cry 
 oftener than we do, yet, after all, they bear up 
 trouble with more patience and more heart than 
 half of us men do. So I '11 go and call Mistress 
 Rose to you; — and do pluck up your spirits, 
 and don't look so sad when she comes." 
 
 Whilst Allen made this speech, Wilford 
 stood fixed in thought, with his hand resting 
 upon the back of a chair. He did not answer 
 the old servant, but motioned him with his 
 hand to go and do as he intended. 
 
 In a short time Allen returned, accompanied 
 by his young mistress. Rose flew towards her
 
 116 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 brother, and in a moment they were locked in 
 each other's arms. " My dear Edward," said 
 she, " how glad I am to see you ! — but how sorry 
 I am you come at such a time as this !" And 
 she wept, and kissed, and welcomed her brother 
 by turns. 
 
 *•' And you, my dear sister, how glad I am 
 indeed to see you !" said Edward; " and how 
 you are grown. Rose ! you are quite a woman 
 now ! But oh, my dear Rose ! this is a sad, 
 sad home to come to ! Think of our parents. 
 How shall I bear to meet them I" 
 
 *' I do indeed think of them," replied Rose, 
 " but I try to think what I may do for them ; 
 and it seems to me, my dear brother, that the 
 best thing children can do for their parents in 
 the hour of their trouble, is to comfort them, 
 and for their sakes to hide, if they can, those 
 feelings that will but add a fresh weight of sor- 
 row to the burthen already laid upon them." 
 
 " You are right. Rose, — quite right," said 
 Edward; " you teach me what I ought to do ; I
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 117 
 
 will try to practise your lesson. But, tell me, 
 how came this sad chance upon my father? 
 For I conclude, by Thornton's taking him 
 away, that he is accused of heresy."" 
 
 " Ay, God help us ! he is indeed," answered 
 Rose. " I can tell you very little of the matter 
 as it happened, though I am not without my 
 own thoughts as to the cause of his arrest, but 
 I would not tell my father ; for you know how 
 angry he used to be with me for suspicion, and 
 would chide me if I spoke my mind when it 
 was unfavourable to another." 
 
 " I know, Rose," said Wilford, " that before 
 I left England you showed some disposition to 
 a freedom of remark on the character of others 
 that our good father deemed uncharitable, and 
 he took pains to crush the vice he feared in 
 you, before it had gained strength by indul- 
 gence." 
 
 " I hope I am not uncharitable, brother," 
 
 replied Rose, ^' in the present instance. But I 
 am sure, whatever I may think of our cousin,
 
 118 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 Sir Francis Morgan, that his own behaviour 
 will justify my worst thoughts ; and I cannot 
 help suspecting that Morgan is our father's 
 enemy, and has been the stirrer of all this 
 mischief." 
 
 " Tell me, what makes you think so .^^ in- 
 quired Wilford impatiently. " I know enough, 
 too much of Morgan already," he added as he 
 sighed deeply. " But what interest could he 
 have in harming our father, especially as, you 
 know, he is nephew to our mother, her late 
 sister's only son ?" 
 
 " Morgan has never been near us," answered 
 Rose, " since you left England. But, on the 
 Sabbath before the last, I saw him in the church, 
 when our father preached against the worship- 
 ping of popish idols, and the uselessness of 
 prayers for the dead, and other points of the 
 Romish doctrine. I am sure that I saw Sir 
 Francis Morgan making notes of the discourse. 
 And did you ever know him make notes of
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 119 
 
 a sermon, — nay, did you ever know him go to 
 hear a sermon for any good purpose ?" 
 
 " You conclude then," said Wilford, " that 
 it is Morgan who has stirred on Thornton to 
 act against our father as he has done ?" 
 
 " I do think he may have helped to do it," 
 replied Rose ; " though my father says Thorn- 
 ton has been his enemy ever since they lived 
 together with Cranmer as his secretaries, when 
 my father found out that Thornton had be- 
 trayed his master." 
 
 " I knew Morgan to be wild, extravagant, 
 and selfish," said Wilford; "but I never yet 
 suspected him of being a bigot. Indeed, I 
 thought he was of no religion, but conformed 
 for his own safety to any worship of the times, 
 without troubling himself about the faith of 
 others. I cannot, therefore, see what good it 
 could do him to hurt our father.'" 
 
 " Well, I may be mistaken,^' said Rose ; 
 " but now tell me, why have you left Frank-
 
 ISfO THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 fort, when, not long since, my father wrote to 
 bid yon remain there for your own safety ?" 
 
 " Did he so ?'"* exclaimed Edward : " I have 
 never received his letter. I cannot now enter 
 into a full detail of particulars ; but you know, 
 I believe, that I have acted under letters of 
 permission from the Emperor to pass and re- 
 pass the seas. My own object, in making use 
 of this permission, was to assist Master Boyer, 
 of London, in his mercantile transactions. I 
 did so ; but, at the same time, I undertook the 
 charge, hazardous enough had I been dis- 
 covered, of conveying the bounty of the mer- 
 chants of London, who in their hearts are of 
 the reformed faith, to their suffering brothers, 
 the exiles of Frankfort. A sad dissension has 
 broken out amongst them on points of the 
 liturg}^ Calvin and Knox are at variance. 
 And Dr. Cox, the tutor of the late King Ed- 
 ward, arrived also as an exile at Frankfort ; and 
 there standing up for the liturgy, as it was read 
 in our churches in the reign of his loyal pupil.
 
 THE PROTESTA.NT. 121 
 
 he gave offence to Knox. I grieve to say it, 
 but our Ciiurch at Frankfort divided itself into 
 parties ; and those of the Doctor's party banished 
 Knox the Scot, on an absurd charge — that a 
 book he wrote many years past was traitorous to 
 the Emperor.'' 
 
 " My father will grieve to hear of these di- 
 visions," said Rose, *' since he thinks that now, 
 more than ever, the Reformed Church should 
 be united in itself: — but go on." 
 
 '' In short," continued Edward, " what with 
 party spirit and dissensions, many of our exiles 
 lost their foreign friends ; and they are now in 
 such want and affliction, that I offered to risk a 
 journey into England, as well to obtain for 
 them money and supplies, as to gain my 
 father's opinion on some points of their dis- 
 putes, in the hope to make peace ; for they 
 hold his instructions in great estimation, know- 
 ing him to have been the friend of Cranmer, 
 and once a pastor at Frankfort. This is the 
 cause of my once more putting my foot on 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 English ground, for I had hoped never again 
 to return." 
 
 " What can you mean by that, brother P**' 
 said Rose. '^ It is a most unkind speech. 
 Surely, foreign parts and foreign friends cannot 
 have made you so soon forget father, mother, 
 sister, and country, that you should say you 
 had hoped never to see them more." 
 
 " Forgive me, Rose," replied Edward ; " I — 
 I did not mean that. Forget you ! do you 
 think, Rose, that I could forget my home and 
 my family ? God knows how I have remem- 
 bered you all ; how I have prayed for you, and 
 that I might but once more see you all in Eng- 
 land safe and happy, and secure in better times ; 
 and then I could have laid my head in my 
 grave, and bid farewell to this world for ever ! 
 I have had many, many bitter remembrances of 
 you all." 
 
 • " Of us who love you so, Edward ?" said 
 Rose ; " but I will not reproach you for saying 
 so, because I see how it is. You are half heart-
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 123 
 
 broken by these times. And then, to come 
 home worn with toil and travel, and to find 
 such a chance as this is to welcome you, — it 
 is enough to make you say hasty and unkind 
 words. So, kiss me, my dear brother, and do 
 try to take comfort." 
 
 Wilford looked stedfastly in his sister's face, 
 and kissed her with an affection the most 
 sincere. " You are a dear girl. Rose," he 
 said ; *' and I am a brother unworthy of you. 
 I have not half requited your tenderness as it 
 deserves. But I will be a brother. Rose; 
 I will be kinder for the future ;" and again he 
 pressed her to his embrace. 
 
 Old Abel wiped his eyes ; for, though he 
 had been in the room during this discourse, he 
 had respectfully forborne to interrupt it. "It 
 glads my old heart to see this," said the 
 faithful creature. " Oh, it is a blessed thing 
 to live together in brotherly love. My chil- 
 dren," continued he, as he came up to them 
 and took the hand of each, " do not think a 
 G 2
 
 IM THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 poor man too free, if he gives you counsel. 
 I have seen the birth of you both. I re- 
 member you, Master Edward, when you were 
 a stout cherry-cheeked boy, as gamesome as 
 a young lamb ; and you would follow after 
 Abel Allen, and get him to play with you at 
 blind hob half the live-long day. And you, 
 Mistress Rose, were of a less frolicsome mood. 
 You loved, when you were a little girl scarce a 
 hand high, — you loved to sit on my knee and 
 to hear me tell you old tales about the things 
 I had seen when I was young, and specially 
 about the coronation of the Lady Ann Boleyn ; 
 and you would then dress you up in your 
 mother's paafts and frows, and would play Lady 
 Ann about the house like a little queen. But 
 you wept when I told you of her sore fate ; 
 and I loved you for being a tender-hearted 
 child." 
 
 These reminiscences of former days, for a 
 moment, led old Abel from the theme of his 
 discourse ; else he was not very garrulous at
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 125 
 
 any time. However, he returned to his sub- 
 ject. " I love to call up past days," said 
 Abel, *' because I think we should do so when 
 they have been happy ones ; and to thank God 
 for them in those seasons when He pleases to 
 give us darker hours. But what I would say 
 is this, my children : — There are but two of you, 
 brother and sister, — you are babes of the same 
 parents. You have hung at the same breast, 
 when you were as poor and as helpless as a 
 bird just fledged. I have seen you sleeping 
 together, fast locked in each other's arms when 
 you were infants; and God''s angels stood and 
 kept watch by your bed. You have knelt and 
 prayed together in the same faith ; you have 
 a father common to you both. — Have then but 
 one interest— one heart. Be true, kind, and 
 comfortable to one another, in the day of your 
 trouble; and the blessing of that God, who 
 delights in the love of His servants, shall be 
 upon you both." 
 
 The brother and sister were both sensibly
 
 126 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 affected at this feeling admonition from their 
 old and faithful servant ; and they both assured 
 him, they would never forget his instructions. 
 Rose, whose eyes had scarcely wandered from 
 her brother since he came into the house, now 
 remarked, that she thought he was altered a 
 good deal since he had last left England. " You 
 are much browner in the face than you used to 
 be, Edward," said she, " though I do not mind 
 that ; but you have lost your colour, and you 
 have such a sad fixed look, that it seems as if it 
 were habitual to you, and not alone owing 
 to what has so lately happened." 
 
 Wilford pleaded fatigue and anxiety of mind. 
 
 "I will get you some refreshment ; I '11 go 
 and tap the fresh cask of ale," said Abel Allen, 
 " and I hope you will drink as much as you 
 can, for it would be a pity to leave it all, as we 
 must do, for that Spanish friar, John de Willa 
 Garcina, as they call him, to guzzle and drink 
 healths to the Pope in it." 
 
 " What ! Friar John de Villa Garcina !" ex-
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 127 
 
 claimed Edward ; ^' is he to succeed my father 
 here in Wellminster ?" 
 
 " He is to do so for the time being," replied 
 Rose. 
 
 *' He is one of the most artful of all the 
 Jesuits," said Wilford, " that King Philip 
 brought over with him from Spain : and he it 
 was who was set upon Cranmer to make him 
 sign his recantation. Must he succeed our 
 father?" 
 
 Rose sighed as she answered " Yes." Abel 
 Allen returned with some refreshment for his 
 young master. " I have tasted nothing since I 
 came on shore at Dover," said Edward ; " I 
 would not rest a moment on the road, so anx- 
 ious was I to reach home. I left my horse in 
 Canterbury, that I might come hither in pri- 
 vate, by crossing the fields. I have reached 
 what I hoped to find my home ; but, alas ! how 
 do I find it !" 
 
 Rose and Allen were silent; and, observ- 
 ing the pale and sad looks of Edward Wil-
 
 128 THE PROTESTANf. 
 
 ford, they pressed him to take food and driflk* 
 He partook but slightly of either. " Why, you 
 have hardly tasted the ale," said Abel, " and I 
 thought you would have liked it ; for I brewed 
 it myself, not thinking it would come to a Spa- 
 nish friar'^s mouth. But so it is ; we labour 
 and toil, and, as the Scripture says, lay up 
 goods, but know not who shall gather them. 
 Do taste another cup." 
 
 " No, no more," replied Wilford ; " I have 
 no appetite — 1 have no relish for it. I am 
 quite out of heart." And, rising from his seat, 
 Edward paced the room, till, coming near the 
 door, he stood still, and looking with fixed at- 
 tention at the arm-chair by the chimney-side, he 
 burst into a flood of tears. 
 
 '* Don't look at that," said Allen ; " I see 
 what you are thinking of." 
 
 " And there," said Wilford, pointing to the 
 chair, — " there he used to sit: I think I see 
 him now, with his venerable white hairs and 
 his mild and manly face, as he would sit and
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 129 
 
 read the Bible to us, Rose. And now I look 
 and find but his empty place. God give me 
 patience ! — This is too much.*" 
 
 " Don't, don't talk so," said old Abel. " You 
 have set Mistress Rose a-crying. Come, we 
 must go at last. So, do let us think of leaving 
 the house." 
 
 " Leave the house !" exclaimed Wilford. 
 " Must my sister be turned out of our fa- 
 ther's house ?'"* 
 
 " You forget," replied Rose, " that I told 
 you Friar John de Villa Garcina is to take 
 possession of the cure; and this, you know, 
 is but the house appointed for the parish mi- 
 nister." 
 
 " True, true,"" said Wilford ; " I remember 
 it too well : and where are you going. Rose ? 
 where will you find a home .?" 
 
 " God will not forsake me, brother,'' answer- 
 ed Rose cheerfully ; " though I grant it is a 
 heavy pass for me. I have no friends of any 
 consequence in this neighbourhood, and I fear 
 g5
 
 180 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 to bring my poor ones into trouble on my ac- 
 count ; so I intend to lodge me for the present 
 with good Widow Little wit, this honest man's 
 sister ; and perhaps, Edward, she may have a 
 bed to spare for you ; for since she has been a 
 poor widow, she chiefly lives by what she can 
 make of her lodgings." 
 
 " I will warrant she will find a bed for Mas- 
 ter Edward," said Abel Allen; "and I don't 
 know where I am to rest ; but I and Pincher 
 will find a bed somewhere. We are both old 
 servants of the family, and we will neither of 
 us stay behind to serve a Spanish friar, nor 
 desert our masters in their distress ; and Pin- 
 cher, I am sure, is no friend to the Pope or the 
 devil, but as faithful a dog as ever wagged a 
 tail." Pincher seemed conscious of the eulo- 
 gium Abel bestowed upon him, since he looked 
 up in his master's face, and wagged his tail, as 
 if he assented to the proposition. 
 
 Edward Wilford now summoned up all his
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 181 
 
 fortitude, and prepared to conduct his sister to 
 Canterbury. " I will see my father ; I will 
 see him to-night: so, be of good cheer. Rose, 
 and let us trust in God, and endeavour to prac- 
 tise the duty of submission." 
 
 " I am glad to hear you say so,'"* said Rose ; 
 " for I am sure, Edward, that our father 
 always taught us that the passive virtues (of 
 all other virtues the most useful in life), when 
 they are founded on humility, were the most 
 acceptable to Heaven." 
 
 " You may not see your father to-night, my 
 dear young master," said Abel ; " for by the 
 time we reach Canterbury it will be dark, and 
 past the hour for opening the Castle gates. 
 In the morning you may see him." 
 
 " Well, then," replied Edward, '' I must 
 be patient, and wait till morning comes. — Abel," 
 continued Wilford, as they were leaving the 
 house, " do not let us pass through the village, 
 in our way to the high-road ; I am too much
 
 1S2 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 disordered to meet my father's old parishioners 
 this evening, and, being with Rose and you, 
 I shall certainly be recognised." 
 
 " We will take the short cut, then,*" said 
 Abel Allen, " and go down the green lane, 
 and so through Sir Richard Southwell's wood, 
 and that will bring us out near the main road 
 to Canterbury." 
 
 " Must we go that way ?" inquired Wilford ; 
 " I thought there used to be another path 
 over the common ?" 
 
 " Ay, but that way is enclosed now,"''' said 
 Abel, " since the great alterations that have 
 been made here, now Sir Richard is come to 
 live at home, and doesn't go staying abroad for 
 years at a time, as he used to do in the late 
 King's days. So we must go through Sir 
 Richard Southwell's property."" 
 
 " Does Sir Richard Southwell constantly 
 live here now ?" inquired Wilford. " Is he 
 well ? and — and is his family all well .?"
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 133 
 
 " They are all well," replied Abel, " and 
 Lady Southwell is dead." 
 
 " Dead !" exclaimed Wilford ; '' Lady 
 Southwell dead — dead — I — I am much grieved 
 to hear it. When did she die ? when did it 
 happen ? — Was she here, or in London ? Is Sir 
 Richard here now ?'' 
 
 " Bless my heart, Master Edward," said 
 Abel, " I can't answer such a number of 
 questions in a minute ; and I don't know much 
 about the matter. All I know is, that Lady 
 Southwell died at Wellminster-hall about a 
 year ago ; that Sir Richard took on, people 
 said, very much about it, but comforted his 
 heart by paying a score of priests to sing for 
 her soul every day : that ever since her death, 
 a Spanish friar lives in his house, to keep up 
 his spirits, as I suppose ; and Sir Richard is 
 sometimes at Whitehall along with the Queen, 
 and sometimes here in the country, and that 's 
 all we know about them. But, bless me ! dear
 
 134 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 Master Edward, only to see, now, how travel 
 and strange parts make a man forget himself. 
 Why, you said just now that you did not wish 
 to go through the village ; and, see, if you be 
 not turning down the very path that leads 
 to it." # 
 
 " I had forgot," said Wilford ; " do you 
 lead on : — Come, Rose, take my arm ; why do 
 you stop ?" 
 
 " Only to pluck a flower from this rose- 
 bush," rephed his sister ; "my poor mother 
 planted the tree with her own hand. What a 
 changed place will this be !" and a tear stole 
 down the* cheek of Rose as she spoke. " I be- 
 lieve I am very fond and foolish,'^ added she ; 
 "but, notwithstanding all our troubles, I cannot 
 leave the old house, and the garden, and all 
 these inanimate things, without feeling as if I 
 loved them more now that I part from them, 
 perhaps for ever, brother; and it may be I 
 shall never more see such happy days as I 
 have known here."
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 135 
 
 " Dear young mistress," said Abel, " a 
 man's happiness, and, I take it, a woman's also, 
 lies most in his own breast ; and God can make 
 any place a temple for His blessed Spirit. So, 
 don't think happiness depends so much upon 
 place ; for it's all in the heart. Though, I 
 grant, there is not a better spot for grazing 
 sheep and breeding cattle in all the county 
 than Wellminster ; and we grew our own hops 
 too, from which I brewed the ale. But God's 
 will be done ! He gave those blessings, and He 
 takes them away, — for sheep, cattle, hops, and 
 ale, are all His, — and who shall say Him nay .?" 
 
 Rose assented to this sound reasoning of 
 poor old Allen ; and, taking her brother by the 
 arm, the little party set forward to Canterbury. 
 Abel Allen led the van, armed with a strong 
 oaken staff, from which depended a bundle 
 of necessaries, as he carried it over his shoulder; 
 and Pincher followed close at his heels, as the 
 guardian, friend, and companion of the trusty 
 servant.
 
 136 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 The evening drew on apace ; and, long 
 before they reached the city of Canterbury, 
 the high tower of its beautiful cathedral, its 
 massive walls and many turrets were silvered 
 by the moon, that rode tranquilly through the 
 heavens, as she shed her light upon this lower 
 world, undisturbed by the passions of men, 
 and still proclaiming in her course the power, 
 the wonder, and the glory of that God, who, 
 excellent in all the works of His creation, is 
 alone represented cruel and unrelenting by 
 the bigotry and superstition of man.
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 137 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 We must now return to the elder Wilford, 
 whom, it must be remembered, in the chapter 
 before the last, we left under the guidance 
 of Thornton, Cluny, and the attendants of 
 the Commission, on his way to prison, on a 
 charge of heresy. Thornton, who was already 
 sufficiently satisfied with the share of odium 
 and abuse he had incurred in the callage for 
 being the instrument of Wilford's accusation, 
 had no mind to try how he might be received 
 in the same capacity by the populace of Can- 
 terbury ; since, however retired Wilford had 
 lived, his cure was too near that city to allow 
 the worth of his character to be unknown to 
 many of the inhabitants ; and his having onee
 
 138 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 been a favoured secretary with Archbishop 
 Cranmer, was a circumstance that had of late 
 contributed to interest many persons in his 
 behalf. These considerations, therefore, in- 
 duced Thornton, who (Uke most persons that 
 commit acts of cruelty) was very chary of his 
 own safety, to leave Wilford before he reached 
 the city gates ; and, having charged Cluny to 
 see the prisoner safely deposited in the ap- 
 pointed place, the worthy Suffragan, it was 
 said, hastened home, as fast as he could, to 
 solace himself over the luxuries of a well- 
 spread table, and, as he drank his goblet of 
 wine, to devise new schemes for the glory of 
 the Queen, by the extirpation of heresy within 
 her realms. 
 
 Canterbury Castle, to which Wilford was lo 
 be conducted, (and of which, perhaps, at the 
 present time scarcely a vestige remains,) was 
 a stately pile of Norman construction. Many 
 a siege had assailed its massive and weather- 
 beaten walls in vain. At the period of our
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 139 
 
 narrative, though some of the outer barriers 
 bore evidence of these contests, and looked, 
 hung about with their mantle of ivy, as if 
 the period of their decay was not far distant ; 
 yet the inner-court, the towers, and the keep, 
 still reared their heads in defiance, like giants 
 in strength, threatening terror to whomsoever 
 might become their assailants. The gateway 
 was perfect, defended on either side by a flank- 
 ing round tower of ponderous construction, 
 with many a narrow window, and many a 
 hollow loop-hole in its sides, like the eyes of 
 Death, and whence he had often launched the 
 arrows of destruction. These towers had stood 
 the test of ages : they had witnessed the 
 changes of governments, of laws, of religion, 
 and of generations. And, whilst time had long 
 since numbered the men of their days with 
 the " years beyond the flood," they still rose 
 to the view in solemn grandeur, like the cha- 
 racter of their hardy founders in the pages 
 that record their deeds.
 
 140 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 The great oaken gates, thickly studded with 
 nails, were closed, nor did they now open to 
 give entrance to the prisoner ; but a small door, 
 cut within the gates, and called the wicket, was 
 uubolted, unlocked, and unbarred, to admit 
 Cluny and his charge. Wilford passed through 
 the wicket with a firm step, and now found 
 himself beneath the huge dark archway that 
 formed the interior of the gateway. Here he 
 was met by the keeper of the prison, — a man 
 who was the terror, the rod, and the theme of 
 malediction to every unfortunate wretch placed 
 within his dominion of cruelty and death. 
 
 This man was a tall, raw-boned fellow, of a 
 stern and ruthless countenance. He had been 
 appointed to his situation in consequence of the 
 fierce bigotry of his character; and he joyed to 
 see a heretic come within his power. His per- 
 son altogether presented whatever the imagina- 
 tion of the timid sufferer could picture to itself 
 as most terrible ; and he rivalled even William 
 Alexander himself, the famous keeper of New-
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 141 
 
 gate in Mary's days, and seemed to vie with 
 him which should prove most unrelenting, — the 
 savage master of the metropolitan prison, or 
 that of Canterbury Castle. 
 
 The keeper looked at Wilford for a moment, 
 in order to become perfectly well acquainted 
 with his features ; and seeing, by the habit that 
 the good pastor wore, he was a churchman, the 
 fellow gave a sneer, but expressed no surprise, 
 and appeared in a moment to comprehend the 
 whole affair. He did not deign to ask so much 
 as a single question respecting his prisoner, but 
 simply demanded of Cluny the warrant of com- 
 mittal. 
 
 " That shall be tendered anon/' said Cluny; 
 " in the mean time, do you, Master Keeper, 
 please to suiFer me to speak to you apart, since 
 I have that for your private ear which may not 
 be spoken here." 
 
 The keeper motioned Cluny to follow him 
 into a small apartment in the tower of the gate- 
 way; and, for the present, Wilford and Alice
 
 142 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 were conducted by the billmen into the inner 
 court, or open space of the Castle, surrounded 
 by high walls and massive towers. Here the 
 prisoners were suffered to breathe the air dur- 
 ing certain hours of the day, and it was now the 
 time for this indulgence. Upon entering the 
 inner court, a strange and mixed scene present- 
 ed itself to Wilford. There was an assembly 
 of persons apparently of all orders and grades 
 in society. Some were the victims of guilt, 
 others of tyranny. Here might be seen the 
 squalid, ragged, and the miserable ; the cut- 
 purse, the midnight burglar, the cheat, the 
 maker of false monies, the beggar, and the 
 common thief. 
 
 Many appeared wholly senseless or indiffe- 
 rent to their condition ; others seemed to brave 
 it out, and to rejoice in the very acts or talents 
 that had consigned them to a prison. A few of 
 the poor debtors were busily employed in such 
 little occupations as they could here follow, in 
 the hope to gain a trifle to better their condi-
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 143 
 
 tion ; whilst some of the idle and vicious part 
 of their fellow-prisoners, from mere wantonness, 
 endeavoured, by sundry tricks and annoyances, 
 to interrupt the progress of their work. In 
 one part of the court-yard four or five men were 
 amusing themselves in the game of jumping or 
 leaping at the ring, accompanying their amuse- 
 ment with loud shouts and exclamations, ac- 
 cording to the success or failure of the jumper. 
 Another group of savage-looking fellows had 
 collected themselves together, and were draw- 
 ing straws for the cost of a flagon of beer. 
 
 In one corner, something apart from the rest, 
 sat two persons of an extraordinary appearance, 
 who amused themselves with playing a game at 
 cards, that seemed deeply to interest them both. 
 The younger player, in his dress exhibited a 
 mixture of threadbare finery and dirty indi- 
 gence. The gold lace that faced his doublet 
 was tarnished, and the velvet of his cloak faded 
 and worn ; many a point was broken, and his 
 hose showed the skin of the wearer through
 
 144 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 more than one hole. But the beard, cut and 
 knotted into two formal peaks, with a small vel- 
 vet cap, from which depended a broken plume, 
 set shantily on one side of the head, proclaimed 
 an affectation of the fashion of Whitehall. 
 
 This sorry and broken-down beau of his day, 
 was engaged in play with an old fellow, whose 
 beard, white, long, and flowing, would have 
 seemed venerable, but for the shrewd and 
 knavish cast of the features to which it be- 
 longed. The old man was dressed in a large 
 black gown, his middle girt about with a broad 
 leather belt, from which depended a rosary and 
 a cross. Near these card-players stood a little, 
 fat, stout fellow, whose only employment 
 seemed to be the delight he took in disturbing 
 the game, by singing, as loud as he could bawl, 
 a ditty that appeared to be particularly dis- 
 agreeable to the old man's ears, as from time to 
 time he begged the singer to desist. 
 
 One man, heavily ironed, whose fetters 
 clanked in time to the motion of his feet, was
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 145 
 
 seen pacing up and down the court-yard alone ; 
 his beard and hair hanging wild and matted, 
 his clothes retaining in no part their origipai co- 
 lour, and so tattered, as to leave bare his sinewy 
 arms and legs ; whilst, his countenance exhi- 
 biting an expression of the most reckless bru- 
 taUty, he gazed about him with the utmost in- 
 difference, as if wholly insensible to his condi- 
 tion. This man was charged with the crime of 
 murder. 
 
 Apart from all the rest, shunned by all, and 
 even by the murderer, appeared a group of 
 persons both male and female, whose sober ap- 
 pearance and quiet deportment, together with 
 an air of composure and resignation strongly- 
 depicted in the countenance of each, at once 
 proclaimed that their only crime was the result 
 of conscience. These were accused of heresy. 
 
 Wilford and Alice, who had not yet been 
 separated, though they were both in custody, 
 now conversed together, and the former endea- 
 voured, by every argument that religion or 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 affection could suggest, to arm her mind to meet 
 with firmness the day of her calamity. Whilst 
 Wilford was speaking to Alice, a man with a 
 very red face, and habited meanly in a doublet 
 and hose of rusty black, with a cross suspended 
 from his neck, and an ink-horn from the button, 
 came up, and saluted the good pastor with an 
 air of familiarity, assuring him that he was very 
 glad to see him. Wilford returned this saluta- 
 tion with cold civility. 
 
 " Master Parson," said the man, " for I see 
 by your gown you are one, you need not stand 
 off so shy, like a game-cock that won't fight ; we 
 are all fellows here, and crow alike on the same 
 perch, and |so I mean nothing but in a civil and 
 a friendly way, and yi>\x had better receive 
 me well." 
 
 " God forbid,^' replied Wilford, " that I 
 should receive the good intentions of any man 
 otherwise ; but as you are a total stranger to 
 me, I am at a loss to know how I can be parti- 
 cularly indebted to you for friendship, except.
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 147 
 
 indeed, it be that friendly desire for mutual 
 good offices one prisoner should entertain 
 towards another." 
 
 " There you are out again. Master Parson,^' 
 said the intruder. '^ I bless our Lady that I am 
 no prisoner here, but one who acts in the way 
 of business for the prisoners. My name is 
 Timothy Cutt, a scrivener by profession. I 
 write letters, appeals, and make out alibis and 
 cases for those who cannot write themselves. 
 In short, though no attorney, I often do just 
 as well for prisoners as if they put themselves 
 into the hands of one of the law, to have their 
 feathers plucked off, and nothing left but the 
 bare bones for old mother Justice to gnaw 
 upon ; — and seeing how it is with you, Master 
 Parson, for I guess you are in here for a faggot 
 and a roast," (continued the scrivener, smiling 
 at the pleasantness of his own conceit,) '^ I 
 thought, perhaps, you might lack a help of my 
 function, — a touch of my pen.'' 
 
 " I thank you, but I can write myself,'' re- 
 H 2
 
 148 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 plied Wilford, " and indite somewhat too, I 
 hope ; it would be else no small shame to the 
 gown I have so long worn." 
 
 " No shame at all, if you could not tell great 
 A from little b," continued Cutt; "for many 
 of our priests can say or sing their mass by 
 rote very well ; but once put them out, or 
 give them their missal book to put them in, 
 and, St. Benedict bless them ! they cannot find 
 the right place ; they are as completely foun- 
 dered as an old horse that has broken down in 
 the course. I have written many things, and 
 good and quaint devices to help many a Ro- 
 mish priest out of a strait, and especially one 
 of Augustine's monks, who was taken up on 
 a charge of making angels for King Edward 
 without a legal power to canoniire them. And 
 I have as good skill as any man in Canter- 
 bury at writing a recantation for a heretic, or 
 to help him to a last speech at a burning. In 
 short, I serve all people in an honest way for
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 149 
 
 one groat per sheet, and find paper into the 
 bargain."" 
 
 " I thank you," answered Wilford, "but 
 I do not need your services."" 
 
 " Perhaps,'' continued the important scri- 
 vener, " you may doubt my skill, or the truth 
 of what I say. But only ask that old gentle- 
 man, with the long white beard, who is playing 
 at cards ; ask him, if I have not done him 
 many a good service by my pen. — Here, old 
 Jemmy Jinkins," added Timothy Cutt, aloud ; 
 " tell the parson how I got you off when you 
 were sent to prison on a charge for false swear- 
 ing, at the instigation of the Countess of Roch- 
 fort, against the Queen, Ann Boleyn." 
 
 ^' Do not appeal to me, Timothy," replied 
 the white-bearded card-player ; "I need no 
 man's aid at inditing; though I allow you 
 copied out a statement for me, to assist in 
 showing the innocence of my conscience in that 
 matter."
 
 150 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 *' Was that all I did for you, old white- 
 locks ?" cried Timothy. " Why now, that 's 
 what I call gratitude. Why, you lying old 
 rascal, was not I the man to bring you through 
 three several committals for perjury ; two for 
 cheating by false weights ; one for forgery ; 
 and sundry other minor offences ; such as pick- 
 pocketing, cut-pursing, and keeping a stew with- 
 out a licence ? But you have no more gratitude 
 than a thief." 
 
 " What is the card ?'' said the old man ; 
 continuing his game without heeding Timothy 
 Cutfs appeal to his recollection for past ser- 
 vices. 
 
 '' The knave of clubs is the card," answered 
 the dingy beau of Whitehall. 
 
 " And he takes your queen of spades," re- 
 plied the old man. 
 
 " Mind what you are saying, Jemm}^ Jin- 
 kins," cried Cutt; " take care how you talk 
 about knaves and queens being together. Mind 
 you don't get into bad bread with her Grace
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 151 
 
 Queen Mary and Bishop Bonner for so doing. 
 
 Sir George Blagues was taken up at Paul's 
 
 Cross for as small a matter. * 
 
 " But you are an old sinner, Jemmy Jinkins, 
 and you can't deny a word of what I have said 
 about you ; for all the prison knows that you 
 would have been hanged long ago if it had not 
 
 been for my helps, sinner as you are." 
 
 '^ The sins of my youth have been long 
 since repented," said the old card-player, " and 
 
 * In the time of King Henry VIII., Sir George 
 Blagues was taken up at Paul's Cross, for some slight 
 words that he spoke playfully, which v/ere conceived to 
 be in ridicule of the mass. He was condemned to be 
 burnt. " When the news came thereof to the privy- 
 council, the king hearing them whispering together, 
 ^hich he could never aWde,) commanded them to tell 
 him the matter." The king, on hearing it, granted Sir 
 George a pardon, and sent for him ; who coming after 
 into the king's presence, '* Ah, my pig !" said the king 
 to him, (for so he was wont to call Sir George,) " art 
 thou there?" — "Yea," (quoth he,) *^ and if your Ma- 
 jesty had not been better to me than your bishops 
 were, your pig had been well roasted ere this time.'' — 
 See *' Mirrour of Martyi-s," printed in London, 1633.
 
 152 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 I have laid out the savings of my industry to 
 purchase pardons, absolutions, and indulgences, 
 enough to clean any man's conscience, and to 
 carry him, as it were, on horseback to heaven ; 
 and I daily bless his Holiness, for granting me 
 such comforts for my money." 
 
 Here the Httle fat fellow again set up his 
 song as loud as he could roar it out. 
 
 " You disturb our pastime, John Skylark," 
 said the old man ; and besides, it is an infamous 
 heretical jargon of foul rhymes that you now 
 sing-, to the dishonour of the service of his 
 Holiness.'' 
 
 '^ Don't you talk about holiness, Jemmy 
 Jinkins," replied the singer. " You have not 
 as much holiness in you, as would serve to 
 make a fish-wife's oath seem good, when she 
 swears that her stinking herrings are fresh ones. 
 And as for my song, I don't care who hears it ; 
 and I would sing News out of London * under 
 
 * News out of London was a famous heretical song of 
 the period, common with the vulgar, in ridicule of the 
 mass.
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 153 
 
 the Pope's nose if I liked it, and never cry 
 grace for so doing. But I believe you are 
 as great a heretic in your heart, Jemmy, as the 
 best of them ; though you can play cards and 
 cheat at them too, as readily as any old dow- 
 ager's confessor." 
 
 "la heretic!" exclaimed Jemmy Jinkins; 
 " I defy your words. No ; I bless our Lady and 
 all the saints ! I am no heretic. My belief is 
 most Catholic and Roman ; I trust in all the 
 saints, and in all the relics of the saints; I 
 entirely believe in his Holiness the Pope, and in 
 Bishop Bonner; I believe all that he com- 
 mands me to believe, and renounce all that he 
 renounces ; I pay as good a price as any body 
 for the pardons and indulgences so necessary to 
 the weakness of the flesh ; I buy a bag of 
 them at a time; I carry a faggot at my own 
 cost to the burning of every heretic that comes 
 in my way ; and if that is not being a true 
 believer after her Grace's own heart, I don't 
 know where you will find a religious man now-a- 
 h5
 
 154 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 (lays. To go on with our game, — let me see — 
 where was I ? — making or marring ?" 
 
 <f Why that 's a thing quite as unlawful as 
 my song," cried the little man ; " you are not 
 so nice in all matters to obey the Queen, as 
 you are about saying your prayers, old Jemmy, 
 else there would be no black and white in 
 your games." 
 
 "What's that you say?" said Cluny, who 
 at this moment was passing near the card- 
 players in his way towards the spot where 
 Wilford stood. " What are those fellows 
 playing at ?" 
 
 "Black and White, or Making and Mar- 
 ring,"* replied the singer. 
 
 No sooner did Cluny hear this, than he 
 pounced upon both cards and card-players, 
 something in the same way as a cat pounces 
 
 * Black and WTiite, or Making and Marring, was put 
 down by Act of Parliament in the third j^ear of Queen 
 Mary's reign, as well as sundry other games considered 
 injurious to the morals of the people.
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 155 
 
 upon and holds within her claws an unlucky 
 mouse chased into a corner. ^' I seize them, 
 I seize the cards in the Queen''s name," cried 
 Cluny : " you are taken in the fact, playing 
 an unlawful and prohibited game, put down 
 by act of parliament in the third of the pre- 
 sent reign. I shall seize the stakes too ; the 
 statute will bear me out, since monies wagered 
 at an unlawful game come under the penalty 
 of the law." 
 
 Whilst Cluny was thus exclaiming against 
 an unlawful game, and pocketing both the 
 cards and the money staked down, the old man 
 with the white beard got up, and, now that 
 he was on his legs, he looked so wretched and 
 meagre, that his appearance was more like 
 that of a figure cut down from a gibbet than 
 a living creature. " Thomas Cluny," said he, 
 addressing the attorney, " I fancy that you 
 have forgot me ; for now-a-days so ungracious 
 is this world grown, that men are apt to fojget 
 their best friends — but I pray you, for the
 
 156 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 sake of former acquaintance, not to be too 
 hard upon an old man for practising an inno- 
 cent pastime to beguile the cares of his con- 
 science." This speech was pronounced aloud ; 
 but Jemmy Jinkins had another for the pri- 
 vate ear of the attorney ; and drawing him a 
 little aside, he added in a whisper, " Cluny, 
 we know one another, — sweep the stakes, if 
 you will be content with that ; but don't 
 pocket the cards. I have a pigeon here who 
 has a few feathers left for my plucking — you 
 shall have a quill of the rifle. So, do leave 
 the cards for my use, and you know by ex- 
 perience that I am not a dry-fisted fellow to 
 a friend." 
 
 Cluny winked his eye, and nodded his head, 
 laid his fore-finger upon his nose, and said 
 softly, " Don't ask for the cards ; but here, 
 you old dog, put j^our paw into my pocket; 
 pick it, pick Vm out yourself; it 's not the first 
 time you '\ c done that in your life, you know. 
 Sharp — sharp, I say ; you have not surely for-
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 157 
 
 got the trick of Paul's Cross, to hear a sermon, 
 and filch the auditors as they stand staring 
 at the preacher." 
 
 Jemmy Jinkins looked intelligence, as Cluny 
 suffered the old rogue to pick his pocket of 
 the cards in a most professional manner; and 
 he forthwith returned to strip the miserable 
 man of fashion of his last penny, according to 
 the promise made to the attorney, Ciuny's 
 power was indeed great in Canterbury Castle. 
 There was no one, innocent or guilty, whom, 
 somehow or other, he did not manage to bring 
 within his toils. He was like a busy spider 
 in his web, ready and watching to snap up 
 and to entangle each unwary fly which might 
 chance but to brush its wing within the intri- 
 cate maze framed by its ingenious enemy. 
 With prisoners who had no money to pay 
 certain fees of office, Cluny was very severe; 
 but to others, who dropped a little coin in his 
 path, Cluny was very merciful, — overlooking 
 their transgressions, and granting them indul-
 
 158 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 gences as effectual as the Pope'^s, and treating 
 their offences in his own mind in a manner 
 as perfectly oblivious as if he had pronounced 
 absolution on the offenders. 
 
 Cluny now joined the keeper of the prison, 
 and came forward to give orders for locking up 
 and securing the persons of the new prisoners ; 
 and Alice and her husband were separated to 
 be confined in opposite parts of the Castle. 
 Wilford ventured to inquire if he might be 
 permitted to see his daughter and his servant 
 Abel Allen during his confinement. No coun- 
 ter order had been issued by the Suffragan 
 of Dover, so that this request was not denied ; 
 but it was not extended to any other than the 
 two above-named persons, Abel and Rose. 
 
 Wilford rejoiced to find that he should at 
 least be allowed one indulgence thus dear to his 
 heart, and did not press upon his enemies any 
 more questions ; nay, so indifferent ^vas he to 
 his own personal comforts^ that he actually for- 
 got to ask in what part of the Castle he was to
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 159 
 
 be confined. Soon after, he bade a last farewell 
 to Alice, and was conducted to his cell in a 
 frame of mind so composed and resigned to his 
 fate, so fully conscious his sufferings were the 
 dispensations of Heaven, that he seemed al- 
 ready to soar in spirit to that world, where 
 neither malice, bigotry, nor superstition, can 
 reach the soul they so gladly would consign to 
 the greatest misery here on earth .
 
 160 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 On the morrow, Rose and Allen were busily 
 employed in making some necessary arrange- 
 ment, not only with a view to their present ac- 
 commodation at the house of Widow Littlewit, 
 but also in the hope to afford some comforts 
 to Wilford and Ahce in their prison. Whilst 
 they were thus occupied, Edward set out with 
 the intent to visit his parents in Canterbury 
 Castle ; but as he was seen soon after to pass 
 out of the city by Westgate, it appeared he had 
 not yet been able to gratify the wish of his 
 heart in obtaining such an interview. 
 
 Edward Wilford walked on towards the same 
 road he had traversed on the preceding evening 
 with his sister and Abel Allen, and he had
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 161 
 
 nearly gained the wood belonging to Sir Richard 
 Southwell, through which they had passed, be- 
 fore he perceived that old Abel's trusty Pincher 
 was at his heels. When the heart is sorely 
 oppressed, and the mind harassed by anxious 
 thoughts, we often feel wholly indifferent to 
 those things which, in happier moments, afford 
 us a source of innocent delight. So was it now 
 with Wilford ; for, as the dog jumped and play- 
 ed about Inm, far from being pleased by its 
 caresses, he repelled them, and attempted to 
 drive Pincher back again. The faithful ani- 
 mal, that seemed sensible of his unkindness, 
 hung down his ears; but, instead of retreating, 
 stood at a little distance, as if determined to 
 follow Wilford when he should move onward. 
 •' Alas!" said Edward, " why should I drive 
 the poor creature back, and treat him as the 
 world has treated me.^ I have not so many 
 friends, that I should dispense with one of the 
 most faithful." And, repenting what he had 
 done, he called the animal by its name^ and the
 
 162 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 dog instantly sprang forward, rejoicing to find 
 that he was again taken into favour. 
 
 Wilford pursued his walk ; and the melan- 
 choly of his mood seemed to refresh itself at the 
 sight of those very objects that supplied a fresh 
 source of mournful contemplation. Once more 
 he was wandering amidst scenery that a few 
 years before was familiar to him, and where, in 
 happier hours, he had delighted to roam, as he 
 pictured forth, with the vivacity of youth, those 
 hopes of futurity that are raised by the imagi- 
 nation to captivate the heart and to keep alive 
 expectation — hopes that are so often lost and 
 withered amid the sad realities of human life. 
 
 The morning was fine, and had all that 
 freshness which gives to beauty itself an added 
 charm. The trees grew thick around, stretch- 
 ing their long arms over the pathway, and 
 ghttering with dew. There was an opening 
 purposely cut through some of them, in order 
 to afford that burst of view, so strikingly 
 beautiful, when we suddenly come upon it from
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 163 
 
 out the deep shade and intricacy of a forest 
 From this spot was seen, as through a window, 
 the valley in which was situated the family 
 mansion of Sir Richard Southwell. 
 
 The valley was of that character so pecuHar 
 to the county of Kent : it was rich, varied, and 
 cultivated. The house had been erected about 
 the time of Henry the Seventh. The gateway 
 that led into the inner court was flanked by two 
 elevated towers with battlements around their 
 tops ; and near this entrance was seen a small 
 Gothic chapel, a frequent accompaniment to 
 the houses of the English nobility and gentry 
 of the period. Not far from the chapel, a still 
 and transparent lake spread itself, like a vast 
 mirror, to a considerable distance, reflecting 
 upon the deep blue of its waters every fretted 
 window and rising pinnacle of the Gothic pile. 
 Beyond the lake arose a gentle eminence, 
 clothed with a thick wood, where many an 
 oak and elm, that had grown old as they stood, 
 like the guardians of the forest, reared their
 
 164 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 bald heads and scathed arms far above every 
 surrounding object. A herd of deer was seen 
 to stray under their broad shadows, whilst 
 some of these dappled " burghers of the wood'** 
 were slaking their thirst on the margin of the 
 lake, as the sun shone bright upon their *' vel- 
 vet coats" and branching antlers. An exten- 
 sive, lawn that lay in front of the house, swept 
 sloping down to the very verge of a rivulet that 
 supplied the waters of the lake ; and at some 
 distance was seen the river Stour, as it mean- 
 dered and watered in its course the little village 
 of Wellminster. 
 
 Wilford stopped a moment whilst he con- 
 templated this prospect. Every object had a 
 tongue that spoke in thrilling accents to his 
 heart. Overcome by the painful recollections 
 that were called up in his own mind, he hastily 
 turned away, and striking down another path 
 that led towards the outlet of the wood, he 
 walked quickly on, as if fearful of again trust- 
 ing himself to his own reflections. At length
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 165 
 
 he came to a spot where an oak tree, whose age 
 was only estimated by conjecture, since some 
 averred it to be more than five hundred years 
 old, stood alone, like the lord and founder of 
 the forest. The branches that covered the top 
 were entirely bare; towards the centre a few 
 boughs were still clothed with their mantle of 
 foliage; and the trunk of the tree, riven and 
 entirely hollow in the body, now contained a 
 seat for the passenger within its antiquated 
 and natural recess. Wilford remembered the 
 old tree as a familiar friend ; and throwing him- 
 self upon the seat, paused for a moment to give 
 vent to those feelings he could no longer sub- 
 due. Whilst he sat fixed in thought, he heard 
 the bark of the dog, that had run on before 
 him ; and a slight rustling among the leaves as- 
 sured him that some one was approaching. 
 He instantly arose, and, turning towards the 
 pathway, suddenly encountered a young lady, 
 who appeared to be leisurely walking through 
 the wood.
 
 166 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 Edward instantly recognised her, and ex- 
 claimed, in a voice deep and tremulous with 
 emotion, " Arabella !'* 
 
 The lady looked up in his face as he pro- 
 nounced her name, and uttered an involuntary 
 shriek of terror as she endeavoured to pass 
 forward. Wilford caught her by the gown, 
 and cried aloud, " Stay, I conjure you ; I com- 
 mand you, stay V in such an emphatic manner, 
 and with looks so wild, yet so expressive of a 
 determined purpose, that the lady stood irre- 
 solute, reluctant, as it seemed, to remain, yet 
 fearful to depart. 
 
 "Good God!" exclaimed Edward Wilford ; 
 '* is it come to this pass, that you would shun 
 me as if I were a thing the most abhorred, the 
 greatest stranger to you upon the face of the 
 whole earth ? Look at me, Arabella ; can you, 
 dare you forget me in the sight of God and 
 man ?"" 
 
 The young lady, wliose person and counte- 
 nance were of the greatest beauty, looked down
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 167 
 
 upon the ground. She remained silent ; but 
 her colour changed from red to white, and 
 every nerve in her body seemed to shake like 
 the aspen quivering in the wind. 
 
 '^ Look at me, Arabella ! Speak to me, I be- 
 seech you !" continued Wilford. " Who am I? 
 Can your heart deny me, though your tongue 
 refuses to acknowledge me? In the sight of 
 God, by the sacred compact sealed in His name, 
 am I not your husband ?" 
 
 " No, no," said the lady ; "the ceremony of 
 the Church was never solemnized, and the com- 
 pact is void by " 
 
 " Wretched, miserable subterfuge !" exclaim- 
 ed Edward indignantly. " Is it because a mere 
 ceremony was wanting that the most sacred 
 vows must be void — a compact given by your 
 own consent, and sanctioned by the authority of 
 the only natural guardian you then possessed ? 
 Oh, Arabella ! can I bear to think that you, 
 you whom I dehghted to fancy the image of 
 all that is good and perfect here on earth, can
 
 168 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 thus abuse, play with, and trample under foot, 
 the laws of God and man, the inviolable en- 
 gagements of honour and affection ?" 
 
 The lady seemed greatly distressed by this 
 appeal. The tears burst from her eyes, and 
 fell fast down her cheeks, as she said, '^ Why 
 do you reproach me ? You know it was my 
 father.'^ 
 
 " Your father can have no power to set aside 
 those common ties of justice and humanity that 
 bind one creature to another, — and why am I 
 thus used? Great God! why was I cast off? 
 Am I alone to suffer by a man whose name 
 stands in the world as the example of all that is 
 worthy ?" 
 
 ** You know — you cannot forget the cause," 
 said Arabella : " My father has insisted that 
 faith cannot " 
 
 " Cannot be kept to me!" said Edward Wil- 
 ford, interrupting her; ^' because I am what he 
 esteems a heretic ! Think, Arabella, what I 
 have suffered for your sake, and for your mo-
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 169 
 
 ther's too. Lady Southwell, with whose death 
 I but lately became acquainted, was, in early 
 life, what Sir Richard now terms me, heretical ; 
 and, however she might be prevailed with after- 
 wards to change her faith, her heart was ever 
 inclined to the Reformers. Think how I have 
 been used, encouraged, flattered, my affection 
 for you nursed and fanned into life, till even 
 habit itself made that affection a second life to 
 me. Your father was absent, it is true, in fo- 
 reign parts ; but your mother led me to think 
 that he would approve our mutual love ; even 
 the contract was drawn between us;* I thought 
 you mine — mine in the sight of God ! And 
 then what followed ? think of that !" 
 
 " My father returned from the embassy he 
 had so long entertained in France,*" said Ara- 
 bella ; " and learning from your own lips your 
 detestation of the Roman Church, and your 
 
 * At the period of our narrative, a written contract of 
 marriage generally passed between persons of family and 
 fortune, before the performance of the ceremony. 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 firm belief in the new doctrines, he banished 
 you his house for ever ; and, angered as he was 
 with my poor mother for her weakness, threat- 
 ened her, if she sanctioned your pursuit of me, 
 to part from her also for ever." 
 
 '' And to save her," replied Edward, (" for 
 she was worn in mind and body with these 
 wretched times,) — to save her, I consented to 
 absent myself from the kingdom. But never, 
 Arabella, never did I renounce the compact 
 that is between us. Your mother is now at 
 peace ; she is dead ; she can no longer suffer 
 by your father's stern and fearful opinions ; and 
 I hold you still as mine, as my affianced wife 
 by your own act and will." 
 
 Arabella clasped her hands together, and, 
 looking up imploringly in Wilford's face, she 
 said, " Oh, do not, do not think of me ; for, if 
 you do, my father may be your ruin. He is in 
 all things a merciful, a good man ; but where 
 his religion is at stake, — where the welfare, as he
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 171 
 
 would deem it, of my soul is concerned, there is 
 nothing but he would do to save me." 
 
 " Arabella," said Wilford, " that I now renew 
 my claim, must convince you that I am reckless 
 of my own safety. Whilst your mother lived, 
 there was a bond in honour that would have 
 held me apart from you, even had her years 
 been extended to the extreme verge of old age, 
 since I would not sacrifice her to the tyranny of 
 your bigoted father. But were you once mine, 
 I would assert a husband's right ; and Sir 
 Richard, though your father, should never en- 
 slave either your mind or your body. You are 
 bound to me by your own act, and I will never 
 cancel that bond." 
 
 " Can you, can you wish to hold me by it !" 
 exclaimed Arabella, " when you know what 
 would be the inevitable consequence of its ful- 
 filment V 
 
 *' You mistake me, I fear, — sadly mistake me, 
 Arabella," said the young man. " I would 
 i2
 
 172 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 despise that bond without the heart that gave 
 it. No, Arabella, though to part with you 
 for ever would give me a deeper pang than all 
 the cruelties your father might enforce against 
 me, yet, did I but think you had forgotten me, 
 I would as freely break the tie that binds you 
 to me, as I could tear asunder this light web of 
 the spider that hangs across our path ; — I want 
 no ties without affection." 
 
 Arabella wept, and only repeated the name of 
 her father, her fears for her father. Wilford 
 continued — " But I know you have not, you 
 could not forget me, Arabella. We were play- 
 mates in childhood, before we knew any thing 
 of those wretched discords that arise by the 
 folly of man, from a religion that was sent as 
 the bond of peace and love." 
 
 " My mother was good, virtuous, and pious/' 
 said Arabella, " and condemned none who obey- 
 ed the laws of God in their actions, however 
 they might differ on some points of doctrine." 
 
 " And she," replied Wilford, " delighted to
 
 THE PROTESTA>IT. 173 
 
 see our growing love. She first bid me hope to 
 win you. Think of the days, the years that I 
 have lived but for you ; and then ask your 
 own heart, if you could, if you ought to forget 
 me, and, in requital for all my honest affection, 
 to cast me off to the wide world, where, God 
 help me ! I could not find one hope of happiness 
 or peace." 
 
 " You must not say that," said Arabella. 
 " Think how dear you are to your family, and 
 how much they look to you as the support of 
 their declining years. We never meet them 
 now ; but I know they do so. Only look to 
 them.'' 
 
 '' Look to them !'' exclaimed Wilford, in 
 great agitation, " and where shall I find them ? 
 In a prison — deserted, accused, driven from 
 their peaceful home ; their grey hairs held up 
 as a theme for mockery and scorn, and their 
 lives endangered by the cruel followers of your 
 father's faith." 
 
 " Alas ! alas !" said Arabella, " I never
 
 174 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 heard of this. When did it happen? — where 
 are they ? — can I do them good ? — can my 
 father?" 
 
 " I am now about to seek your father on 
 their account," rephed Wilford. " Whatever 
 may be my determination concerning you, Ara- 
 bella, I did not now come to seek you, or to 
 plead to you for the fulfilment of your promise. 
 No, though I were to lose you for ever, I could 
 not, for a moment, when my father lies in prison 
 and in danger of his life, bestow so much care 
 on any hope, however dear to my heart, but 
 what concerns his safety. I was going to your 
 father when I met you." 
 
 " For what purpose ?" inquired Arabella. 
 " My father is now engaged with his confessor, 
 and he will not leave his oratory for some time 
 to come. On no consideration would he be dis- 
 turbed whilst he is so engaged. You may not 
 see him for this hour." 
 
 " Then," said Wilford, " I will pass the time 
 that is so unexpectedly given to me with you.
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 175 
 
 My business with your father will be brief. I 
 visited Canterbury Castle this morning with a 
 view to gain access to my father, for I have not 
 yet seen him, since I returned but last night 
 from abroad. I was denied admission at the 
 prison-gates, and the keeper told me that I 
 could not enter them unless I procured an order 
 to do so either from the Suffragan of Dover, or 
 from Sir Richard Southwell, the high-sheriff of 
 the county. I could not ask Thornton, for he 
 but last night arrested my father. I should 
 have forgot myself had I seen him, and might 
 have injured my father by the violence of my 
 own feelings towards his oppressor. To meet 
 Sir Richard Southwell, my own enemy, is evil 
 enough ; but I choose it as the least ; and from 
 him I must solicit the admission to see my pa- 
 rents in their afflictions." 
 
 *' I am sure," said Arabella, " I think he 
 will not deny your request ; but do not, I be- 
 seech you, for your own sake, — do not name 
 me to him."
 
 176 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 " I shall not purposely do so," replied Wil- 
 ford, '* but I cannot answer for what circum- 
 stances may occasion me to mention or to 
 withhold." 
 
 " Do not name the contract/' said Ara- 
 bella, " since my father considers it for ever 
 annulled by the Cardinal's decree to render it 
 void." 
 
 " Does he consider it annulled .?"' repeated 
 Wilford indignantly. " It is not annulled by 
 me, at least ; and I am some party concerned, I 
 believe ; and that he should find, if my poor 
 father were but once in safety. No Cardinal 
 nor Pope can abrogate a solemn vow made in 
 the name of God. Still, I repeat it, all lies 
 in your own power : speak but sincerely, Ara- 
 bella ; will you dare to speak the truth to 
 me ?" Wilford took her hand, and as he 
 pressed it to his lips, the tears stood in his 
 eyes, and he said, in accents of the tenderest 
 affection, " How long, how ardently I have 
 loved, God only knows; He has seen all that
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 177 
 
 I have suffered for your sake, and I would 
 only ask you now to requite me with sincerity. 
 My heart is nearly broken ; do not you finish 
 the work by a cruelty I have not deserved." 
 
 " What can I say ?'' said Arabella. " What 
 would you have me do.f* Must I become the 
 means of involving you in danger — perhaps in 
 ruin .?" 
 
 '' Tell me, Arabella," continued Wilford, in 
 a solemn voice, — '' tell me, in the name of Him 
 who knows the secrets of all hearts, in whose 
 presence we now stand, and to whom we must 
 both answer at the dreadful day of retribution, 
 — tell me, was that engagement the free act of 
 your own will .?" 
 
 Arabella, thus solemnly addressed by Ed- 
 ward, could no longer hesitate, and she replied, 
 " Yes it was," in a firm and emphatic manner. 
 
 '' Did you renounce it," continued Wilford, 
 " by your own will, or solely by the command 
 of your father .'^" 
 
 " It was my father," answered Arabella, 
 1 5
 
 178 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 '* who obliged me to renounce it. I obeyed 
 from fear." 
 
 '' And your heart is still mine ?" said Ed- 
 ward ; " I know it is. These moments — this 
 very anxiety to give me up, In the hope to 
 preserve me from danger, all declare it. Then 
 let the worst come, whilst I have life I will 
 never renounce you but by your own will :"*** 
 and Edward folded the weeping Arabella to 
 his bosom, as he endeavoured to soothe her 
 agitation, and to support her mind to bear 
 with firmness whatever might befall him. 
 " I know you, Arabella," continued Wilford ; 
 " you are good, kind, and tender ; but your 
 temper is timid, and you have much of the 
 weakness of your poor mother in your nature; 
 you are one who in this world is carried down 
 the stream by the force of circumstances, having 
 no force of your own sufficient to meet or to 
 repel them. But think of me, Arabella, and 
 do not sacrifice us both to the tyranny of a 
 blind and heartless bigotry."
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 179 
 
 " You must not speak thus," said Arabella, 
 " of that faith in which I have been educated. 
 Though my father often accuses me of being 
 half a Reformer in my heart, yet I am of his 
 Church ; still I learnt from my mother to abhor 
 those acts of cruelty and superstition enjoined 
 by a spirit of persecution." 
 
 " God has already touched your heart," re- 
 plied Wilford, " and in His own good time, I 
 doubt not, but that He will perfect the work 
 He has begun. Have you still the few books I 
 put into your hands that might lead you to 
 examine the principles of our faith ?" 
 
 " I have them," answered Arabella ; " but I 
 dared not avow such books were in my posses- 
 sion, and given me by you ; and besides that, 
 the faith in which I have been educated forbids 
 its followers to inquire into the truth of its 
 principles by those works the Church deems 
 heretical. My faith demands absolute submis- 
 sion — absolute obedience to its doctrines." 
 
 " Good God !" said Wilford : " to think that
 
 180 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 the revelation of the Gospel, which, of all 
 other truths, will best bear the most rigid 
 scrutiny, should be thus abused, thus be made 
 the instrument of a deep and wicked policy ; 
 first to enslave the mind, and then to govern it 
 by fraud and tyranny !" 
 
 " I must be gone," said Arabella ; " though a 
 follower of the Church of Rome, my mother 
 early taught me that mercy and charity are 
 consistent with all religions founded on Chris- 
 tianity. I would not, therefore, hear you speak 
 thus of the faith I have been taug-ht to believe 
 by a father: — you lack charity in your dis- 
 course." 
 
 " Well/' said Edward, " if I do, it is the 
 persecution of these times that has taught me 
 to think ill of the religion that gives birth to it. 
 I will pray to God for you, Arabella, that He 
 may enlighten your mind, and make it more 
 worthy of your heart." 
 
 " And I will pray God to bless you too, 
 Wilford," replied Arabella, " and to show
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 181 
 
 mercy to your afflicted parents. I feel for them 
 and deeply commiserate their sad fortunes. I 
 remember the dear old man your father; and 
 even when a child I loved to receive his bless- 
 ing ; for though he was one of King Edward's 
 clergy, yet I knew liim to be a good man, and 
 a good man's blessing I always thought must 
 be acceptable in the sight of God." 
 
 " May every blessing encompass you !" said 
 Edward. " Will you return towards the 
 house — shall I bear you company, or must I 
 leave you here ? And tell me, may I hope 
 sometimes to be permitted to see you ? if but 
 for a moment, it will be some consolation to me.'' 
 " We must part here," replied Arabella. 
 " By the time you reach the house, I think, my 
 father will be at leisure to receive you. Beware 
 what you say to him. I conjure you to be pru- 
 dent, for your own sake as well as mine. I 
 dare tarry no longer; farewell !" 
 
 Edward Wilford bade her a hasty but affec- 
 tionate adieu, again conjuring her that he might
 
 182 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 be allowed sometimes to see her. But Arabella 
 assured him that she was not the mistress of her 
 own actions, and begged he would cease to press 
 upon her the subject at the present time. Wil- 
 ford, though disappointed, was obliged to yield 
 to her request ; and at length, quitting her side, 
 he advanced without delay towards the house, 
 as Arabella continued her walk to the village of 
 Wellminster.
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 183 
 
 CHAPTER VII, 
 
 Edward Wilford soon gained the en- 
 trance leading through the great gateway to the 
 house of Sir Richard Southwell. As he crossed 
 the inner court, he met a man habited in the 
 garb of a Friar. His countenance was dark and 
 swarthy ; and there was in it that expression 
 of pride, mingled with gravity, that induced 
 Edward to believe that he was one of those 
 many Spanish Friars who had been brought into 
 England by King Philip, — a circumstance that 
 excited the indignation of the English, since it 
 was contrary to Philip's marriage-treaty with 
 Mary, wherein it had been expressly stipulated 
 that no foreigner should fill any office in this 
 country, and that Spaniards should not be en-
 
 184 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 couraged to intrude themselves into the court 
 or realm. But Philip, whose marriage had 
 been wholly political, and whose ambition in- 
 duced him to hope that one day this kingdom 
 would become subject to the Spanish yoke, not 
 only brought in foreigners, but those of the 
 most artful and insidl^ous kind, since many of 
 his train of Spanish friars were of the newly- 
 instituted order of the Jesuits ; and he had 
 taken care to select such as were famihar with 
 the English tongue. 
 
 The bigotry of Mary induced her to counte- 
 nance these men; and the measures she adopted 
 by instituting a Commission that was to peram- 
 bulate the different towns and cities, (expressly 
 to receive informations to detect the Reformers,) 
 clearly proved that she was nothing loth to see 
 the spirit of the Spanish Inquisition established 
 in her own kingdom. 
 
 It is well known to every reader of the in- 
 teresting biography of this period, that amongst 
 other abominable arts laid to ensnare Cranmer,
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 185 
 
 one of them was that of besetting him with 
 some of these Spanish Friars ; who, by intimida- 
 tion, flattery, falsehood, and cunning, each 
 employed by turns, at length procured that 
 recantation for which he sorrowed even at the 
 stake itself. Edward Wilford knew this. No 
 wonder, therefore, that he shuddered as he 
 looked upon a man who, he did not doubt, was 
 one of these agents of darkness and of guilt. 
 
 As Wilford was about to ascend the flight of 
 steps that lay before the hall-door of Sir 
 Richard's house, the Friar came up to him, and 
 asked somewhat abruptly, " who and what he 
 wanted there .?" 
 
 " Sir Richard Southwell,"" said Edward ; 
 and, vexed as he was in mind, his temper had 
 become irritable, so that it often vented itself 
 on the least occasion of offence; and he now 
 added rather sharply, " Are you the porter 
 here, that you ask me my business ? For if you 
 are not, the question is impertinent." 
 
 " My habit will tell you who I am," an-
 
 186 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 swered the Friar ; " and I have a right to ask 
 any question of whomsoever I please when they 
 approach this house. I therefore repeat my 
 question, — What do you want here ?" 
 
 " Sir Richard Southwell," repHed Wilford. 
 
 " I do not know that you may see him,^' said 
 the Friar. " And, till I know what is the nature 
 of your business, I do not know if it would be 
 fitting that you should see him." 
 
 *' I shall ask the question, however, of the 
 porter at the hall-door/' answered Wilford, 
 and he advanced immediately up the steps ; 
 but ere he could reach the broad platform that 
 terminated their extensive range, the Friar strode 
 up before him ; and facing Wilford, declared, 
 in a peremptory manner, that he should not 
 enter the house till he stated upon what busi- 
 ness he sought for an interview with Sir 
 Richard Southwell. " I am his confessor and 
 his friend," continued the Friar; " and you 
 are habited in a foreign fashion as strange as 
 your deportment. These are dangerous times,
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 18'^ 
 
 and you shall not enter till I know, at least, 
 who you are." 
 
 *' These are dangerous times indeed," replied 
 Wilford, " when, as you say, foreigners appear 
 among us, and dare to interrupt an Englishman 
 on his own native land. I am Edward Wil- 
 ford, — the name is well known and honoured in 
 Kent, since my father has long borne it. And 
 who are you, that take thus upon you to 
 question me, as if I stood before the Grand 
 Inquisitor.^" 
 
 '' I am not afraid to declare my name," re- 
 plied the Eriar. " It is John de Villa Garcini." 
 
 No sooner had Edward heard these words, 
 than the previous irritability of his temper be- 
 came wrought to the highest degree of passion. 
 This man, he remembered, was the Spaniard 
 who had been as a friend to Cranmer. This 
 was the man, he knew, who was to fill the cure 
 in Wellminster, from which his own father, 
 Owen Wilford, had been so cruelly ejected. 
 Edward's blood boiled within him ; and, forget-
 
 188 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 ting his prudence, in the moment of extreme 
 passion, he rushed up the steps and seized the 
 Friar by the collar of his gown, as he exclaimed : 
 " Your name is enough to tell me what you are. 
 Either give place to me this instant, and let 
 me pass quietly into the house, or your cowl 
 and gown shall not protect you. You shall 
 find your way down the steps much faster than 
 you ascended them.*" 
 
 The Friar looked haughtily upon Edward 
 Wilford; as he said in a calm yet provoking 
 manner, " I could laugh at you for a fool, but 
 that I pity you, and think you a madman. 
 But take care what you dare do with me. You 
 shall 7iot pass in." 
 
 Wilford instantly, with all the violence and 
 rapidity that passion gives to action, struck the 
 Friar a smart blow upon the head, that nearly 
 sent him reeling down the steps ; and Pincher, 
 who had followed close at Edward's heels, 
 seeing these signs of hostility on the part of his 
 young master, thought proper to join in the
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 189 
 
 fray, and fiercely attacked the Friar about the 
 skirts of his long gown, in which he tore a large 
 hole. The Friar, in his efforts to shake off the 
 dog, could not immediately attend to his other 
 opponent ; and Wilford, whose passions were 
 soon cooled, when, even by an act of his own ve- 
 hemence, he gained but time for a moment's 
 reflection, now blamed himself. He thought 
 he had handled the Friar perhaps too roughly ; 
 and that, though he might be a devil, still 
 he wore the habit of a churchman. *' I know 
 the fellow is a scoundrel,'' thought Wilford ; 
 '' but I ought to have spared him for the sake 
 of his gown." 
 
 Yet, notwithstanding this feeling of regret 
 for what he had done, Wilford could not bring 
 himself to make an unlimited apology for the 
 rash act he had committed ; and, after calling 
 off the dog, he merely said to the Friar, who 
 was even dumb with astonishment and indigna- 
 tion, " Why did you provoke me to forget my- 
 self ? As a member of the Church, though of
 
 W0i THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 an erroneous Church, — as my elder, I know I 
 ought to ask your pardon; but I cannot do so 
 of a man who is my father**s ancient enemy. 
 Nevertheless, if I have offended the laws of my 
 country in your person, I am ready to answer 
 for it." 
 
 '' Offended the laws of your country in my 
 person !" repeated the Friar, as a look of the 
 most diabolical malice overspread his features ; 
 " is that all you have done .'' And when you 
 struck a blow at tne ?" — the Friar paused a mo- 
 ment, and then added, in a tone of voice and in 
 a manner not to be described — "You w«y enter 
 the house now ; I shall remember you." The 
 Spaniard did not utter another v/ord, but drew 
 his cowl close over his head, descended the 
 steps in hasty strides, and struck into the path- 
 way that led towards the private garden near 
 the house. 
 
 Wilford gained admission to the hall, and, 
 whilst he was asking a domestic if Sir Richard
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 191 
 
 Southwell might be at home, an elderly female, 
 of a respectable and grave demeanour, advanced 
 towards him, having caught the sounds of his 
 voice, as she was crossing the upper end of 
 the hall. 
 
 " Master Edward ! dear Master Edward !" 
 exclaimed the woman; " Can it be you ? It is 
 many a long day since I saw you at Wellmin- 
 ster Hall : what can bring you here now ? I 
 am afraid that I must say, you will not be so 
 welcome as you used to be in my poor lady's 
 time. But, dear heart, how things do change 
 in this world !" 
 
 " Dear Mistress Deborah," said Edward, as 
 he kindly shook this old acquaintance by the 
 hand, " I rejoice to see you so well ; but times 
 are so sadly altered with me and mine, that few 
 things in this world can now afford me a 
 glimpse of comfort, far less of pleasure. I 
 came hither to seek Sir Richard Southwell, as I 
 have some business of consequence that renders
 
 192 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 it absolutely necessary I should see him, and I 
 have already found some difficulty in gaining a 
 footing even upon the threshold of his door.'"* 
 
 " You shall see him," replied the house- 
 keeper, for it was to the person who held that 
 office in Sir Richard's family that Edward now 
 addressed himself. "Follow me, Master Wil- 
 ford," she continued, " and I will lead you into 
 the new gallery that has been finished since you 
 were here. Sir Richard^s great-uncle, the Lord 
 of Southerton, is dead, and so Sir Richard has 
 had all the old family pictures moved here, and 
 hung up in the new gallery, for he was his 
 great-uncle's sole heir ; and as my master is 
 now engaged with people who are come to him 
 about county business, you cannot see him till 
 they are gone. But I 11 send him word that a 
 gentleman is waiting for him, and he will come 
 to you as soon as he can ; and in the mean time 
 you shall follow me." 
 
 The housekeeper called a servant to her side, 
 and dispatched her message by him to Sir
 
 THE PROTESTANT. IQS 
 
 Richard. She then led Edward Wilford into 
 the new picture-gallery as she had promised ; 
 and though, from the agitated state of his feel- 
 ings, Wilford would gladly at this moment have 
 dispensed with her civiUties, yet he was too 
 good-natured to give offence, by declining them 
 to one who really designed to do him a kind- 
 ness, and to show him every attention. 
 
 When they reached the gallery, the old 
 housekeeper gave a full vent to her feelings, 
 and for some time held Edward in conversation 
 about her late lady, and repeatedly assured him 
 how glad she was once more to see him. "And 
 so am I to see you, Deborah," replied Edward; 
 " for I have not forgotten old times, when you 
 used so kindly to receive me, and to open the 
 door to me yourself, when I came to visit Lady 
 Southwell and Arabella. I can never forget 
 the past, Deborah." 
 
 Deborah shook her head mournfully, and 
 was proceeding to make some reply, — but ob- 
 serving another female domestic who came into 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 the gallery on some slight pretext, but really to 
 satisfy her curiosity by observing the young 
 stranger, the housekeeper said in a soft under 
 voice to Wilford, " We had better not talk 
 about it now. People say walls have ears 
 sometimes ; and if they have not, I know one 
 who has, and quick ears too, to catch what does 
 not concern them. The Friar rules old Master 
 now, and most of the servants are under that 
 Spanish fellow's control." And then she add- 
 ed aloud — " Only look round the room, and see 
 what a grand gallery Sir Richard has made 
 here ! I always show the pictures to strangers 
 myself; and I will tell you all about them, 
 whilst you are waiting the coming of my mas- 
 ter; for there 's no harm to talk about folks 
 dead so long ago, though we must not say a 
 word about the living.'' 
 
 Edward cast a cursory glance round the 
 apartment; for his mind was too much occu- 
 pied with his own anxieties, to be capable of 
 feeling much interest in the good-natured pro-
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 195 
 
 posal of Mistress Deborah, whose manner of 
 showing pictures was very different from that 
 of the modern housekeeper, when she appears 
 so dressed as often not to be known from the 
 mistress of the family ; and, walking the 
 stranger hastily round the apartments that she 
 professes to show, just gives him time sufficient 
 to hear the names of the pictures, but certainly 
 not to see them, and pocketing the usual com- 
 pliment in a style quite as professional as that 
 with which a physician receives his fee, curt- 
 sies civilly, and turns him out. 
 
 Mistress Deborah, on the contrary, was a 
 housekeeper of the olden time. She neither 
 looked, nor affected to look, like a fine lady ; 
 and her tall and stiff person, arrayed in a plain 
 black silk, of most substantial substance, every 
 fold of which stood on end, being rendered un- 
 pliable by a lining of buckram, proclaimed the 
 wearer to be above the common degree of do- 
 mestics, but below that of country dames and 
 yeomen's wives; whilst her hood and pinners sat 
 k2
 
 196 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 close round a countenance, to which a habit of 
 controlling the inferiors of a large household 
 had given something of a stern air, and a large 
 bunch of keys depending from a leathern gir- 
 dle announced at once the consequence of her 
 charge and the nature of her office at Wellmin- 
 ster Hall. The gallery, into which she had 
 conducted Edward, was a chamber of consider- 
 able length, spacious, and furnished, agreeably 
 to the fashion of the time, with chairs and ta- 
 bles richly carved and ornamented in the style 
 which may be observed in the pictures of Hans 
 Holbein. A chimney, large enough to hold 
 many persons, and with so wide a tunnel that 
 the light streamed down it as from a window, 
 displayed a magnificent pair of dogs chased in 
 silver. The windows were so far raised above 
 the floor, that though they afforded sufficient 
 light to the apartment, yet, on account of their 
 height, no person standing in the room could 
 look out of them to view the beautiful prospect 
 of the Kentish hills and valleys commanded by
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 197 
 
 the site of the house ; whilst the arms and bear- 
 ings of Sir Richard Southwell's family and al- 
 liances appeared glittering in the rainbow-hues 
 of the varied and brilliant glass. A cabinet of 
 carved ebony supported a service of the richest 
 gold plate, that adorned its top ; and upon the 
 oak panels of the chamber were seen, arranged 
 in chronological order, the ancestors of the fa- 
 mily, beginning with a portrait, in the hard 
 style of the Gothic ages, that displayed all its 
 minute finish and exact attention, even to the 
 defects of nature. 
 
 This portrait was on wood, of the time of 
 Henry III., and represented a female, the ab- 
 bess of a nunnery near Cranbrook. Her coun- 
 tenance expressed too much worldly pride to 
 be quite consistent with the humble votary of a 
 cell ; she seemed to look like one who would 
 say, '' I am my Lady Abbess :" and so faithful 
 had been the pencil of the Gothic artist, that he 
 had not forgotten to represent a mole upon her 
 cheek, and a more than usual colour of the rose
 
 198 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 that had fastened itself upon the very extre- 
 mity of the old lady's nose. An enormous 
 rosary depended from her side ; and her right 
 hand rested upon a human skull, the emblem 
 of mortality. Yet, as if pride lingered even 
 near death itself, a formidable coat of arms, 
 carefully painted on a ground of gold, appeared 
 at the top in one corner of the picture. 
 
 " That is the portrait of the Lady Grisilda de 
 Fortibras, a great heiress," said the house- 
 keeper, ^'who, upon becoming Abbess to the 
 Convent of our Lady at Cranbrook, gave the 
 manor of Wellminster to her relation Thomas 
 de Southerton, a grand ancestor of Sir Richard's 
 family ; and all the rest of her wealth went to 
 the house where she ruled like a Queen." 
 
 " And yet all that now remains of her," said 
 Edward Wilford, " is her mere name, and 
 the pictured pomp of this decaying panel." 
 
 " And the good lands which have now come 
 to Sir Richard, as well as her portrait," replied 
 the housekeeper, " and which I take to be of
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 199 
 
 more value than either of them : and there, look 
 at that fine picture of a warrior, clad, as Sir 
 Richard says, in haubergeon and greaves, with 
 those iron gloves upon his hands ; and he holds 
 a lance with a banner at the top of it. Does 
 not he still look formidable in his dusty and 
 worm-eaten frame ? That is the picture of the 
 great Sir Arthur Southwell, who fought with 
 Edward the Black Prince at the battle of Poi- 
 tiers, as you may see by the word ' Poitiers,^ 
 painted in large letters upon a label on that 
 cloud in the sky. And don't you see there the 
 town too, all with walls and battlements; and 
 the steeple of the church seems to stand upon 
 the top of Sir Walter's head, and the river 
 seems to run along the summit of the hills ; it 
 is a beautiful back-ground to be sure, as Sir 
 Richard says, and just as natural as life.' 
 
 Next to this picture hung a long line of 
 goodly personages, whose names Mistress De- 
 borah severally repeated. The originals of 
 these curious pieces had in their day flourished,
 
 200 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 married, sat for their portraits, and died like 
 other mortals ; and some of them had played 
 a more conspicuous part, having risen to the 
 summit of power, having been toppled down 
 thence, committed to the Tower, and lost their 
 heads, "like a family of distinction," during 
 many generations, and especially whilst the 
 contests of the Red and White Rose deluged 
 the country in blood. 
 
 The largest and the finest picture in the 
 room, was next pointed out by Mistress De- 
 borah. It was not a family-piece, but a portrait 
 of " Bluff King HaF himself, from the pencil 
 of Hans Holbien. In this picture, the King 
 was seen in all his bulk of flesh and buckram ; 
 his bull neck bare, his broad face and high ears 
 surmounted by a cap of black velvet encircled 
 with jewels, stuck on one side the head, with a 
 single white feather depending towards the shoul- 
 der ; his right arm a-kimbo, his left hand upon 
 the hilt of his sword. He stood, with his legs 
 striding far apart the one from the other, in full
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 201 
 
 majesty; and so admirable had the skill of the 
 painter conve3^ed to the canvass that expression 
 of countenance which distinguished the original, 
 that Henry looked awful and absolute as if (as 
 Mistress Deborah observed) he could walk out 
 of his frame, and with a kick of his foot send 
 headlong to the Tower, and to the block, any 
 one who should dare to question the supremacy 
 of his portrait, — and still more so if they should 
 dare to question his own, as head of the 
 Church. 
 
 There was also another regal picture, which 
 Mistress Deborah informed Edward had been 
 presented to Sir Richard Southwell but very 
 lately, as an especial mark of favour from 
 the Queen herself. This was the portraits of 
 Mary and her husband Philip of Spain, both 
 painted together on one canvass. The royal 
 pair, according to the housekeeper's explana- 
 tion, were represented in a chamber of the 
 Savoy palace ; through a window in the back- 
 ground might be seen Paul's Cathedral. 
 K 5
 
 202 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 Queen Mary was seated in a chair ; her stern 
 and swarthy countenance, so remarkably cha- 
 racterised by a very prominent lump in the 
 forehead above either eyebrow, looked as dis- 
 agreeable as bigotry, fretfulness, and cruelty, 
 could make it. Her head, covered by a small 
 projecting cap, arose from out a square collar, 
 that sat quite close up about her face ; and her 
 whole person, with a very long and small waist, 
 appeared as rigid, stiff, and unbending, as her 
 own severe and narrow mind. Philip was seen 
 standing near her, with all the morose pride 
 and gravity that distinguished his character 
 expressed in his countenance; and in front of 
 them was seen a couple of little dogs reposing 
 very lovingly together. These might have been 
 introduced by the flattering pencil of the art- 
 ist as an emblem of the conjugal sociabihty 
 and affection of the Queen and King ; but there 
 were not wanting persons who whispered among 
 themselves (for when was there ever a court 
 without the whisper of sarcasm and scandal ?)
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 203 
 
 that, had the painter introduced a dog and a cat 
 in the foreground of his piece, it would much 
 better have expressed the conjugal felicity of 
 the royal pair. 
 
 We pass over many other pictures upon 
 which Mistress Deborah descanted in a manner 
 equally edifying and curious. Judges, she said, 
 there were, some of whom had themselves 
 fallen by the very laws they had so long 
 administered to others; Churchmen, whose 
 robes and beads were the most conspicuous 
 parts of their ministry ; and some who had 
 become bishops before they were divines ; whilst 
 here and there was seen an antiquated virgin 
 of this noble house, whose pinched features, 
 and stiff and stately gait, were alone sufficient 
 to keep at an awful distance all advances to 
 make them wives. 
 
 Above the vast chimney was seen the por- 
 trait of Sir Richard Southwell, the present 
 representative of this ancient family. It was 
 esteemed an excellent likeness, and scarcely
 
 ^04 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 could there have been found a better subject 
 for the pencil of any artist, from the times of 
 Hans Holbein or Vandyke, down to those of 
 Harlow or Lawrence. Sir Richard, at the 
 date of our narration, was about sixty years 
 old ; but this portrait had been executed 
 nearly ten years before, and the painter had 
 not failed to give in it that intellectual ex- 
 pression of countenance so remarkable in the 
 original. The forehead was high, the nose 
 slightly aquiline, whilst the mouth had that 
 character of flexibility and sweetness always 
 indicative of an amiable temper. The beard 
 was represented full above the upper lips, but 
 cut short round the chin, and served as a 
 fringe to form the finishing ornament of the 
 face. The beard and hair were both of a 
 rich chesnut brown, and gave a fine contrast 
 to the clear and healthy complexion of the 
 countenance. Sir Richard appeared in this 
 picture in the dress that he had worn on his 
 presentation as Ambassador from England to
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 205 
 
 the Emperor Charles the Fifth. It consisted 
 of a rich purple velvet doublet, striped with 
 gold embroidery, and a short cloak of the 
 same material falling over the shoulders, and 
 partly concealing the arms. A massive chain 
 of gold, commonly worn by persons of dis- 
 tinction at this period, hung round the neck, 
 and a square collar of the finest lace encircled 
 the throat. The long and narrow waist was 
 confined by a girdle studded with jewels, and 
 on the right side depended a splendid pouch 
 for the purpose of containing money. 
 
 Deborah was eloquent in her remarks on 
 this picture, for she was much attached to her 
 master; nor did her eloquence meet the ear 
 of an indifferent listener, for Edward found 
 so strong a resemblance both in the character 
 of Sir Richard's features and their expression, 
 to his beloved Arabella, that he stood gazing 
 upon the portrait with feelings of deep inte- 
 rest, whilst the housekeeper made sundry 
 shrewd remarks on the original, expressed with
 
 206 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 a good deal of freedom, as there was now no 
 third person in the gallery to attend to her 
 discourse. 
 
 ^' Every body," she said, " knew her master 
 to be very learned ; he was serious and grave 
 in his manners; so to be sure was every true 
 English gentleman. He was a great states- 
 man, or else such a man as King Henry the 
 Eighth would not have made him, as he did, 
 so often an ambassador, keeping Sir Richard 
 abroad for years together ; — a thing, as she 
 thought, most specially to be wondered at, 
 inasmuch as Sir Richard had never liked the 
 business of the King's putting away his Queen 
 Catharine ; — so to be sure Henry must have 
 thought him the wisest person to do his 
 affairs in foreign courts, else it was no better 
 than banishing him from England for so many 
 years. Sir Richard,"" she averred, "could talk 
 Latin and Greek hke his mother-tongue; yet 
 he was not in the habit of drawing out Latin 
 sentences from his lips," she continued, " as
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 207 
 
 some other learned folks did, just as conjurors 
 draw ribands out of their mouths at a fair. 
 He had some faults, that she must say, but 
 who was without them ? He was a rigid Papist, 
 like his deceased friend Sir Thomas More. 
 And she did think Sir Richard was to be 
 blamed for letting Friar John lead him, so 
 much as the Friar did, by the nose. And that 
 though in the main Sir Richard Southwell was 
 as honest, and as kind, and as tender, and as 
 charitable a man as one would desire to see 
 on a summer's day, yet he was much too sore 
 (she thought) against heretics, Lutherans, and 
 such like refuse, as Friar John called them." 
 
 Here Mistress Deborah's eloquence was in- 
 terrupted by the opening of the door, and the 
 subject of her somewhat free (but not alto- 
 gether unjust) remarks entered the apartment. 
 The housekeeper gave a hem ! and said aloud, 
 " There 's not a wiser man in the Queen's do- 
 minions than my master, and a great gentleman 
 he is, to be sure ; and one that serves the Pope
 
 S08 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 to her Grace's utmost wish; and so I give you a 
 good-morrow. Master Edward." 
 
 And making her curtsey to Wilford, and a 
 formal obeisance to her master, Mistress De- 
 borah retired, and shut the door of the gallery. 
 
 Sir Richard bowed coldly to Wilford, and 
 shghtly apologised for having detained him so 
 long, stating that some business of a pubhc 
 nature had occupied his attention till the pre- 
 sent moment. Wilford, naturally proud and 
 irritable, felt both the coldness of his reception 
 and the slight manner in which the apology was 
 offered as a marked affront ; and, returning Sir 
 Richard's salutation in a way equally cold and 
 distant, assured him that nothing but necessity 
 had induced him to become an intruder at 
 Wellminster Hall. 
 
 " My business, indeed," said Edward, " re- 
 lates merely to the official station of Sir Richard 
 Southwell, since I come to him only as he is the 
 sheriff of Canterbury.'' 
 
 " And what may it be your pleasure to re-
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 209 
 
 quire of me?" said Sir Richard. "I shall 
 willingly listen to the suit.'' 
 
 "My suit is a painful one, painful indeed to 
 the feelings of a son," answered Edward ; " I 
 come to ask your leave to see my father."*' 
 
 " My leave to see your father !'' exclaimed 
 Sir Richard with surprise — "why, where is he P*" 
 
 " In prison,'' said Edward ; and unable to 
 suppress the acute feelings that arose in his 
 bosom from the mere mention of the circum- 
 stance, all his pride forsook him, and, though 
 in the presence of Sir Richard Southwell, he 
 burst into tears. Whatever were the feelings 
 of Wilford, those of Sir Richard were certainly 
 of a far more extraordinary nature, though 
 they might be less acute. At the communica- 
 tion of this intelligence he turned pale, and 
 appeared extremely agitated, and hastily ex- 
 claimed, " Good God ! how is this ? I came 
 down but last night from Whitehall ; I knew 
 nothing of this matter." 
 
 " It is nevertheless but too true," said Wil-
 
 210 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 ford ; '* my father is at this moment a prisoner 
 in Canterbury Castle, and, I fear, in peril of his 
 life, since Thornton the Suffragan Bishop of 
 Dover has accused him of heresy." 
 
 " I feared it, I feared it would end so,"** said 
 Sir Richard ; " I knew it would come to this ;"" 
 and he added, in great agitation, "What can be 
 done for him ?" 
 
 " Nothing, I fear," replied Edward Wilford, 
 "if Thornton has the handling of his case. 
 But perhaps something might be effected in 
 behalf of my poor father, if an appeal could be 
 admitted from him to Cardinal Pole. The 
 Cardinal is a man so mild and moderate in his 
 measures, that it is to be hoped the goodness 
 and innocence of my father's life would influ- 
 ence him to show what mercy he could ; and to 
 my father's character, you, Sir Richard, can bear 
 an honourable testimony .'' 
 
 Sir Richard shook his head, and sighed as he 
 said, " No, that appeal would be useless, since 
 Thornton acts by a commission from the Privy
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 211 
 
 Council, to which is affixed her Grace's sign 
 manual. There is but one way to save him." 
 
 " What is it .?" inquired Wilford. 
 
 " He must recant," said Sir Richard South- 
 well. 
 
 " My father recant V exclaimed Wilford, as 
 the blood rushed into his face; " no ! he would 
 rather perish than give the lie to his own con- 
 science. It is true he was a friend to Cran- 
 mer, but not to Cranmer's recantation. He 
 will follow his example in his death, but never 
 in his weakness. I know my father, he is 
 patient of injury, but not to be shaken in the 
 firmness of his spirit. Will you give me the 
 permission to see him in his prison ?" 
 
 " I will do it instantly," said Sir Richard ; 
 " I will do all I can to serve him — if it were 
 possible^ to save him; — I will think upon it. 
 But I fear — surely persuasion might affect him. 
 He would not refuse to listen to conviction. 
 His conscience would not be offended ; such a 
 refusal must be madness."
 
 212 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 " I believe," replied Edward Wilford, " that 
 you, Sir Richard, were once the beloved friend 
 of Sir Thomas More ; he gave his head to the 
 block for the sake of conscience, yet he was a 
 persecutor of the people of my father's faith. 
 The Church of Rome considered him a martyr 
 in her cause, since he died to uphold the supre- 
 macy of the Pontiff. And why should you 
 think it madness, that a member of the Re- 
 formed Church should do as much for the sake 
 of conscience ?" 
 
 " Sir Thomas More died for the truth,'' said 
 Sir Richard, "not from an obstinate persist- 
 ance in error." 
 
 " I might answer you," rephed Wilford, 
 " even by your own argument ; but my pur- 
 pose here is not to talk but to act. Give me 
 the licence to see my father, and I will thank 
 you and depart. Hereafter, Sir Richard 
 Southwell, we may meet on an occasion very 
 different from the present." 
 
 Sir Richard was writing at a table that
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 213 
 
 stood in the apartment, an order for Edward 
 Wilford to see his father, when, at hearing these 
 last words, he looked up, and the expression 
 in Edward's face of that contest of angry and 
 ill-suppressed feeling that agitated his bosom ap- 
 peared evident, but he did not choose to notice 
 it at the present moment, and continued writing. 
 The door of the apartment opened, when Friar 
 John De Villa Garcina entered the gallery. 
 Wilford trembled with emotion; but, unwilling 
 to renew the quarrel of the morning in the 
 presence of Sir Richard Southwell, he stood 
 erect and faced the Friar, but without speaking. 
 
 Father John came immediately up to South- 
 well, and said, somewhat unceremoniously, " Sir 
 Richard, I have been waiting till the persons 
 you were engaged with but now on business 
 should have departed. I am in haste, and 
 would speak with you this moment." 
 
 Sir Richard Southwell looked vexed ; he 
 excused himself to the Friar, promised to at- 
 tend him in a few minutes, and hesitated a
 
 214 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 little as he spoke. It was evident to Wilford 
 that John had an absolute ascendancy, and did 
 not suffer it to slumber, over the mind of his 
 patron; since Sir Richard was certainly em- 
 barrassed by his presence, like a boy when his 
 schoolmaster comes unexpectedly upon him, 
 and finds him engaged in mischief. " I shall 
 have concluded the affair that engages me with 
 this gentleman almost immediately," said Sir 
 Richard to his confessor, " and then I will at- 
 tend you." 
 
 " Does that gentleman's affairs concern you 
 alone^ Sir Richard ?" said Friar John, as he 
 threw himself into a chair, and looked Edward 
 boldly in the face. 
 
 " His affair is with me," answered Sir 
 Richard very quickly ; and he added, in a 
 manner that showed his anxiety to satisfy his 
 confessor, '•' the father of Master Edward 
 Wilford, I grieve to say it, is in much trouble, 
 and he came hither to gain a licence of me to 
 visit his parent in prison.'' 
 
 " It is most likely, then," said Friar John,
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 215 
 
 " that this gentleman has already forgotten 
 the business that made him the companion of 
 your daughter's walk but this morning, in the 
 woods of Wellminster." 
 
 " What do you mean, Father ?" exclaimed 
 Sir Richard, in the utmost astonishment ; and 
 turning to Edward Wilford, he continued, " Is 
 this true ? Have you dared to seek the com- 
 pany of my daughter, after the prohibition you 
 so long since received from me ? If you have 
 done so, after your solemn promise to quit 
 your vain and wicked pursuit of my child, you 
 are false and dishonourable indeed; and at this 
 moment^ such conduct is both ungrateful and 
 indecorous. I beg you to be explicit ; if the 
 holy father is mistaken in what he asserts, I 
 shall be glad to learn that I censure you un- 
 justly, and I shall stand corrected for a sudden 
 burst of feeling, for which I would ask your 
 forgiveness.'^ 
 
 " Speak this moment," said the Friar to Wil- 
 ford : " you dare not deny the truth." 
 
 " I dare refuse to answer you," replied Wil-
 
 216 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 ford warmly, " and that the experience of this 
 morning may perhaps make you remember : 
 but to Sh' Richard Southwell I am nothing 
 loth to speak the truth. I have seen Arabella." 
 
 " This effrontery is beyond bearing," ex- 
 claimed Sir Richard ; " your interview with me, 
 then, I must think, was merely a subterfuge." 
 
 " It was none, Sir Richard," answered Ed- 
 ward. " I met your daughter by chance in my 
 way hither; but, by what means the circum- 
 stance became known to this Spanish friar is 
 beyond my conjecture, since I saw no one near 
 us in the wood." 
 
 '' And did you dare," said Sir Richard, — 
 "but I will not, I cannot think you would dare 
 to call to her remembrance what must for ever 
 blot her fame, — her former unhappy connexion 
 with you." 
 
 " Forbear the question. Sir Richard,"' said 
 the Friar ; "it will be vain. Do you think that 
 he will deal honestly in this matter, after the 
 conduct of this morning ?"
 
 THE PROTESTANT. S17 
 
 "Do not again provoke me," exclaimed Wil- 
 ford, as he looked with scorn upon the Friar. 
 " I disdain falsehood. Sir Richard Southwell, 
 this I have dared — to tell your daughter she is 
 my affianced wife ; that in the sight of God, she 
 is mine : and though for the sake of one, who 
 is now no more, I was induced to wave my claim 
 for a time ; yet I never have, and never will re- 
 nounce her whilst I have life, unless it is by her 
 own change of affection. Whilst she is mine in 
 heart, we are bound to each other till death 
 sunders the bond." 
 
 The Friar, at hearing these words, seemed to 
 enjoy a malicious triumph over Wilford; and 
 Sir Richard Southwell, whose astonishment was 
 only equalled by the agony of his feelings, ex- 
 claimed, '•' Oh, most wretched man, accursed in 
 the sight of Heaven for thy own and thy fa- 
 ther's rebellion against the faith of the only true 
 Church, dost thou come to fill my heart with 
 misery ; to mislead, to steal from me perhaps my 
 child ; to destroy her in soul and body by thy 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 S18 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 horrid blasphemies, should thy fatal doctrines 
 infect her mind ?" Sir Richard sunk into a 
 chair. Every thought, every feehng seemed to 
 give way before the terrific images that super- 
 stition had raised before him, to fright him 
 with the dreadful phantom of its creation. He 
 saw in that vision nothing but Wilford the fa- 
 voured lover, the future husband of Arabella, 
 and Wilford a heretic ! He might render his 
 child the same. Arabella a heretic ! the thought 
 was worse than death. It was a thought suffi- 
 cient to rouse him to anger, almost to madness ; 
 since the bare word implied, in the anxious 
 father's mind, the loss of his daughter's happi- 
 ness to all eternity. 
 
 " Young man," said Sir Richard, '^ hear me ! 
 If you are lost to every sense of honour, to every 
 feeling of pity for the pangs which your words 
 have this day inflicted on a father's heart, yet, 
 for the sake of Arabella, for her sake alone, I 
 do beseech you, nay I implore you, to think of 
 her no more. If you are deaf to truth, and an
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 219 
 
 outcast from God's law yourself, do not make 
 her a participator in your own misery in this 
 life, and in that which is to come. I have done 
 you one kind act this day ; do not repay it with 
 ingratitude." 
 
 " I should be base indeed," replied Wilford, 
 " could I deceive you. I cannot renounce the 
 voluntary oath I gave that binds me to your 
 daughter ; but of this rest assured, I shall do 
 nothing rashly, I would entreat you to give 
 me the order to see my father, and to let me 
 depart." 
 
 '* Do not, do not give it," said Friar John. 
 " Sir Richard, it does not become you to en- 
 courage the intercourse of heretics." 
 
 " You, at least," said Wilford haughtily to 
 the Friar, " may show some forbearance in this 
 point, since it ill becomes you to injure my 
 father more than you have done already. You 
 are to occupy his place; whilst he, to make 
 room for you, is cast into a prison. Show some 
 forbearance then, I would e4i treat you."
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 "I do; I have shown forbearance," said the 
 Friar, with an assumed air of patience; '^ I 
 have not repeated the circumstances of our 
 meeting this morning, before you gained ad- 
 mission to the house." 
 
 " What circumstance ? — what passed ?'' in- 
 quired Sir Richard. 
 
 " It is of no moment," replied the Friar ; <' I 
 would spare that young man. I would not ir- 
 ritate your mind against him, however he may 
 deserve it at my hands. I would spare him." 
 
 " Do not spare me," cried Edward ; " say all 
 the truth, say what you will, I am prepared to 
 meet it." 
 
 " I can bear my own injuries," continued the 
 Friar ; ** but when I learned from the old park- 
 keeper, who observed you when you thought 
 yourself unnoticed, that you had made this in- 
 terview with Sir Richard Southwell but a pre- 
 text to gain one with his daughter, I could not 
 delay to acquaint him with it." 
 
 ^* It is infamous," exclaimed Southwell,
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 221 
 
 '' dishonourable, cruel, thus to play with my 
 feelings, and to tamper with the obedience of 
 my child. Quit my house, and never let me 
 see your face again, or you will force me to 
 take harsher measures than I would willingly 
 adopt." 
 
 *' Give me the order, and I will instantly 
 depart," said Edward. 
 
 " I will not give it," cried Southwell. " Be- 
 gone, young man ! quit my sight !" 
 
 "Think, Sir Richard," said Edward ; "think 
 what you do ; can i/ou refuse so poor a service 
 to my father, — to him who was once your 
 dearest friend, — to Owen Wilford ?" 
 
 The mention of the venerable Owen's name 
 in a manner so emphatic by his son, seemed to 
 act like a charm to subdue for a while the angry 
 spirit of Sir Richard Southwell ; and he said, in 
 a calmer voice, '^ No, no; as far as my conscience 
 will allow me, I am bound indeed to serve your 
 father. Take the order to see him, and, in 
 God's name, depart my house."
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 '' I thank you for it," said Edward ; " for the 
 present, my poor father's afflictions occupy my 
 whole heart. But we must meet hereafter ; till 
 then, Sir Richard, I bid you farewell." 
 
 Edward departed, and Friar John proceeded 
 to enter into a private conference with Sir 
 Richard, the result of which will appear in a 
 future chapter.
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 223 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 No sooner had Edward Wilford possessed 
 himself of the order to gain admission into 
 Canterbury Castle, than he hastily quitted the 
 house of Sir Richard Southwell. With a mind 
 fraught with anxious reflections, and a heart 
 agitated by conflicting feelings, he at length 
 reached the prison-gates. And so wholly was 
 he absorbed in the expectation of once more 
 embracing his parents in their afflictions, that, 
 as he entered the gaol, he did not remark a man 
 who was quitting it at the same moment, and 
 who eyed him narrowly with the utmost atten- 
 tion. We must now leave Edward Wilford 
 for a time to enjoy the melancholy solace of 
 this interview with his father, whilst we say
 
 3^4 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 something of the person who had so observingly 
 recognized him. 
 
 This was no other than lawyer Cluny, the 
 pettifogging attorney, who had lately been 
 raised, by the recommendation of Bishop Bon- 
 ner, to fill the post of secretary to the Suffragan 
 of Dover, an active and acute man of the law 
 being considered as absolutely necessary to assist 
 the Commission. When Cluny had thus quit- 
 ted the Castle as Edward Wilford entered it, 
 instead of walking straight forward with that 
 air of exactness, precision, and gravity, that 
 seemed to say he trod even the King's highway 
 according to law, he paused, and appeared to 
 be considering within himself the discussion of 
 some knotty point. 
 
 At length Cluny gave a sudden nod of the 
 head, which, like the fall of the hammer of an 
 auctioneer, indicated that the thing in question 
 was knocked down, or settled past revocation ; 
 and, in eager haste, he set forward with a far 
 less dignified air, than usually accompanied the
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 225 
 
 movements of this excellent tail of the law ; 
 for thus was the respectable Cluny designated 
 by many impertinent persons in Canterbury. 
 Cluny now bent his steps towards the house of 
 Sir Francis Morgan. Of this young man, the 
 reader may possibly remember, Rose had spoken 
 to her brother as a person of whom she enter- 
 tained some suspicions, as having been instru- 
 mental in the accusations so suddenly brought 
 against her father. We shall take leave, there- 
 fore, to outstep the attorney ; and, whilst he is 
 on the road, as he would express it, to the 
 house of the said Morgan, conduct the reader 
 thither before him, to gain some acquaintance 
 with the knight in question. 
 
 Sir Francis Morgan was tall, and of a well- 
 formed person. In his countenance there was 
 nothing that could be found fault with, if the 
 features which composed it were separately ex- 
 amined ; yet, somehow or other, they were not 
 well put together, since, viewed in combination, 
 they produced an expression neither handsome 
 L 5
 
 226 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 nor agreeable, and not at all calculated to give 
 the observer a favourable opinion of the man. 
 His eyes were bright but small ; and as he had 
 a habit of turning them into the corner close 
 under the eyelid, when he looked at another, it 
 gave a sly and cunning character to his face. 
 His eyebrows were full, and started up towards 
 the temples, in that kind of raised arch which 
 modern craniologists designate as the sign or 
 organ of colour, and to which the learned Dr. 
 Spurzheim pronounces all eminent painters may 
 lay claim, as their own peculiar property or dis- 
 tinction. Whether Morgan had any skill, or 
 eye, for colour, except it might be such as it 
 suited his purpose to give to his own actions, is 
 beyond our power to declare. Be this as it 
 may, he had fine white teeth — no small addi- 
 tion to good looks ; and a curling head of hair 
 of rich auburn, with a pointed beard of the 
 same colour, were so decidedly handsome, that 
 no doubt could exist of their being highly
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 227 
 
 favourable to set off the hues of his naturally 
 good complexion. 
 
 Morgan had received a university-education. 
 He was acute and subtle in argument, and 
 could be a gentleman in manners whenever he 
 thought it necessary to put himself under such 
 a restraint ; but as he had associated much with 
 persons whose claim to that distinction was very 
 doubtful, he did not often give himself the trou- 
 ble to put such a curb upon the licence of his 
 own humour. Morgan had been some time a 
 student at Oxford, afterwards a traveller, and 
 of late one of Queen Mary's honorary band of 
 gentleman ushers, and a gallant whom Mary 
 herself had singularly honoured and dignified 
 with knighthood. His father, Judge Morgan, 
 had pronounced the sentence of death which 
 consigned the unhappy Lady Jane Dudley to 
 the block ; and not long after the tragical fate 
 of that amiable woman, the son of her judge 
 was taken into favour at court. Sir Francis
 
 228 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 Morgan was now gaily dressed in the extremity 
 of the fashion of the period. His doublet was 
 of light blue velvet, made close up to the throat, 
 with small lapels falling over the shoulders, 
 where the under-dress with long sleeves of 
 white satin became visible ; a chain of gold 
 hung round his neck, and a small square collar 
 of fine lace, with the like finish about his wrists, 
 completed the attire of the young courtier. 
 
 He was now seated at a table, enjoying a 
 choice flagon of foreign wine ; and, filling out a 
 cup, he turned to his companion (a young man 
 of his own age, but whose attire, less handsome 
 and much the worse for wear, indicated an infe- 
 rior condition) and said carelessly, " Sam Col- 
 lins, give us a pledge, and don't sit there as dull 
 and as chop-fallen as a broken-down pawn- 
 broker in Whitefriars, when he finds that he 
 has lent his money upon copper spoons, mistak- 
 ing them for gold ones." 
 
 " I have some cause to be dull, I think," re- 
 plied Samuel Colhns ; " Captain Spurcrop's
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 229 
 
 cock beat the old black one clean out of the pit, 
 though his cock hung in the mat before the set- 
 ters could get the bird on ; and so I doubled 
 stakes, for you said that if the devil himself 
 should put him on a cock's-comb and spurs, he 
 could never beat old Rooper ; and so, you see, 
 relying upon your judgment, as I said before, I 
 doubled stakes and " 
 
 " And lost, like a fool as you are, Sammy," 
 said Morgan. " Why, man, I only said so as a 
 blind, because Spurcrop's adversary was within 
 hearing, and we all thought him raw and a 
 greenhorn; and I wanted the Captain to gain 
 the odds, for I owe him a good turn." 
 
 " And why did not you tell me so ; and why 
 did not you come to the pit yourself then, when 
 the battle was fought ?" inquired the disap- 
 pointed gambler. 
 
 " I come to the pit, Sam ! I league with 
 cock-fighters, sharpers, and fellows Hke your- 
 self !"" said Morgan ; '"' you are quite mistaken 
 there, Collins. I am a changed man. A
 
 230 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 changed man, did I say ? I am a new man 
 altogether." 
 
 " I do not know what you mean," answered 
 Sam Collins; " but all I do know is, that 
 thinking there was not in England a better 
 judge of a game-cock than yourself, I laid my 
 odds on the bird you pronounced no flincher ; 
 and so I lost my money."" 
 
 " Never mind that, Sam," said Morgan ; *' it 
 shall be no loss to you in the end. For, as my 
 father the Judge used to say, when he gave his 
 charge to the jury ; ' If ye follow my view of 
 the law, gentlemen, though ye may do wrong, 
 the fault shall not be yours ; since, taking my 
 view of the law, ye do your duty.' And so 
 you, Samuel Collins, having lost by the law 
 that I laid down respecting the old bird, shall 
 do yourself no wrong, seeing it was your duty 
 to follow where I led. I will make up your 
 odds, and render them more than even, if you, 
 for the present, will leave the company of those
 
 THE PROTESTANT. ^31 
 
 Jads of the feather, and aid me with your best 
 services." 
 
 " I don't know what you mean," again re- 
 peated Collins. " You are too deep for me ; 
 so please to speak plain." 
 
 " Why, then, I will do so in your own 
 language, Sammy," replied Sir Francis. " I 
 am in for Making or Marring; Black and 
 White is the game now. And look yonder, 
 and see the gear that I have to fit me for 
 my new condition!" 
 
 Samuel Collins looked very attentively at 
 a side table, to which Morgan pointed with his 
 finger. " There 's neither dice-box," said he, 
 " nor dice, nor a card, nor a raquet there ; I see 
 nothing." 
 
 '^ You see nothing ?" exclaimed Morgan ; 
 rising up and going towards the table ; " there 
 lies that which is worth them all just now ; 
 look at that, my gay clerk of St. Nicholas ! " 
 
 " Why, what the devil do you mean by
 
 ^32 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 that ?"*' said Collins ; " you are not for a mum- 
 ming, are you? You are too old to play the 
 Boy-Bishop, I trow ; this is nothing but a 
 priest's toy, a rosary." 
 
 " A priest's treasury, you mean," replied 
 Morgan. " His God, his nayword, his mask, 
 through the mumming of this goodly farce, 
 called the world. And thiSy Sammy, — this shall 
 be the making of me ; for I told you, just now, 
 I was in for Making or Marring. This shall 
 get me a wife." 
 
 " A wife !" exclaimed Collins ; " why, priests' 
 trinkets are not things to get wives by in Queen 
 MolFs days, I fancy. She is a right true friend 
 to liberty. She bids your married clergy turn 
 their wives adrift, or bear a faggot with them 
 for the transgression of having shared their 
 bondage and their sin." 
 
 '* But I am no priest, nor like to be one," 
 said Morgan ; *' and once more, I tell you, this 
 rosary is my passport to Hymen's temple, 
 though it wars against heathens as well as
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 heretics. And look how I am sorted for my 
 enterprise ! There is my rosary, quite enough 
 to make an oath pass for an honest profession, 
 if I do but swear by it in these days. There is 
 a bright new mass-book." 
 
 " Why, you know Httle or nothing about 
 the meaning of that. Sir Francis," observed 
 Collins. 
 
 " So much the better," replied Morgan ; 
 " that puts me on a par with half the priests ; 
 for ignorance is the staff upon which the Pope 
 himself leans for support. There is my manual 
 for fasts and feasts, pilgrimages, offerings, and 
 confessions. I have also a box of wax- lights 
 just sent in from the chandler's; every one of 
 them shall blaze before the shrine, — I mean the 
 altar, once more set up to Beckett, in Canter- 
 bury ; and I stand a saint in the new Calendar, 
 only waiting canonization." 
 
 '^ And what are you to get by all this, I 
 should like to know .f^" inquired Collins; '* a 
 fool is paid for bearing a bauble ; and, I sup-
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 pose, you do not intend to carry yours for 
 nothing ?" 
 
 " Tliy sagacity has been most wonderfully 
 exercised to find out that, Sammy," replied 
 Morgan ; " when I told you but just now, I am 
 become a zealous Papist, in order to get me a 
 wife. I am determined to have her. She is 
 young, beautiful, rich, and the daughter of Sir 
 Richard Southwell, a furious bigot ; and I will 
 hunt out, burn, roast, and grill every heretic in 
 Canterbury, but I will win his favour to carry 
 off the wench that pleases my eye, and would 
 suit my purse, which is something on the de- 
 cline since I kept company with you, Sammy, 
 and your worshipful associates.'' 
 
 " And do you think, that Sir Richard South- 
 well will give his only daughter to such a 
 spendthrift as you are,"" said Collins, " such a 
 lad of the turf, the tennis-court, and the 
 cock-pit ?" 
 
 " Sir Richard has been much in foreign 
 parts," replied Morgan, *' and knows little of
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 235 
 
 my early life ; and besides that. Queen Mary 
 has spread the gracious wing of her protection 
 over me, and my zeal for the Church, that 
 shall presently appear, will all plead in my 
 behalf. Add to which, I have embraced, and 
 entertain a most warm friendship for a godly 
 man who is sworn to serve me, Friar John de 
 Villa Garcina/' 
 
 *' Friar John !" exclaimed Collins, with as- 
 tonishment; " and what is he to get out of you ? 
 for he works for no man, I trow, without his 
 pennyworth for his penny. The odds must 
 be clearly on his side, before he would double 
 a stake.'' 
 
 " A most true calculation," said Morgan, 
 " and I am to repay the services of Friar John 
 by means that nothing concern you in the 
 present case. You will take your part in my 
 affairs under my direction ; you shall lack no 
 reward." 
 
 " And what must I do .?■" inquired Collins. 
 
 *' That must in some measure depend on
 
 236 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 circumstances/' replied Morgan. ''One part 
 of your duty will be an observance of decent 
 manners till I am married, and don't want 
 you ; another part will be, to act as a messen- 
 ger between myself, Sir Richard, and my 
 sweetheart. Mistress Arabella; and lastly and 
 chiefly, to do whatever I may direct, to swear 
 to whatever I may swear to, to be a witness 
 to whatever I may require you as a witness, 
 to vouch for the morality of my character, to 
 say yes to whatever I will have yes, and no 
 to whatever I declare shall be no, and " 
 
 " To wear a straw in my shoe, walk Fleet- 
 ditch, ready to kiss the cross for a groat even 
 in the very teeth of the pillory," cried Collins. 
 " I thank you. Master Morgan, for such 
 goodly promotion. Why you would make a 
 rogue and a sharper of me at once.*" 
 
 " That's quite beyond my power, Sammy," 
 said Sir Francis, " seeing the thing is already 
 done to my hand ; since there is not a bear- 
 ward, nor a cock-setter, nor a sticker of bills
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 237 
 
 for lost goods on Paul's Cross, but will give 
 thee a character for excellence in all the 
 roguery that falls within the ken of their voca- 
 tions. But come, man, never flinch ; I will ap- 
 parel thee in new braveries. Do me but good 
 service till the business I have at heart shall 
 be settled, and I will pay thee ten times more 
 than thou canst hope for thy exertions." 
 
 " I '11 have something down," said Sam 
 Collins; "and if I am to be thus employed, I 
 will have wherewithal to hansel my new call- 
 ing ; I will not trust you." 
 
 " Not trust me, Sammy .?'' replied Sir 
 Francis ; *' why, surely you strangely forget 
 yourself. Remember, Samuel, to whom you 
 are indebted for that precious neck of thine 
 being still un stretched upon thy shoulders. 
 Had not I stood thy friend, the follower of 
 Sir Thomas Wyatt had long since graced 
 the gallows, after his noble master was be- 
 headed for a rebel. Did not I swear, that 
 when the Kentish rascals broke into Gardi-
 
 238 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 ner's house in Southwark, and plundered his 
 plate and goods, that thou wast with me in 
 Canterbury, when all the time I knew you 
 were the very man that stole Winchester's 
 cross that had the diamond in the centre of it ?" 
 
 " Well, and have not I done as good ser- 
 vice to you, Sir Francis?" said Collins. 
 " When you and the wild boys of the City 
 dressed up the cat like a friar ready to say 
 mass, and hanged the animal in Cheap, who 
 but me got the 'prentice lads brought before 
 the Star-Chamber, and had them well whipped 
 too, on bare suspicion of the fact ? Who did 
 this but Samuel Collins, and all to hide your 
 share in that frolic, that might otherwise have 
 ended warmly for you ; since the Star-Chamber, 
 could they have brought it home, would have 
 made Smithfield smoke again with the punish- 
 ment of the transgression ?" 
 
 '' There is no need, however," answered 
 Morgan, " thus to repeat our mutual services 
 to each other. My affairs are already in a
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 239 
 
 pretty train, since the Queen has recommended 
 me to Sir Richard Southwell, as a proper son- 
 in-law to support the honours of his ancient 
 house. There is only one thing I fear, before 
 our bargain is struck : — Sir Richard may be 
 pleased to call upon me for a sight of my 
 rent-roll, title-deeds, and expectations. Such a 
 call would something puzzle even my policy, 
 since the rent-roll has suffered inroads and 
 gashes ; many a bull's horn and a bear's foot 
 hath made a hole in it. The title-deeds are 
 mostly in the hands of the Israelites, who ac- 
 commodate young gentlemen at their need. 
 And as for expectations, there stands a sad 
 block in the way of them : first, my father is 
 alive, and never takes physic ; secondly, I have 
 not hitherto succeeded in persuading my 
 worshipful cousin, Edward Wilford, to get 
 himself hanged, burnt, or beheaded ; for if he 
 were but out of the way. Sir Francis Morgan 
 might write himself next heir to one of the 
 best entailed estates in all England, the certain
 
 240 THE PKOTESTANT. 
 
 future possessor of it, whenever it shall please 
 the devil to carry off his old uncle, Sir John 
 Mordaunt, already tottering on the brink of 
 the grave." 
 
 " You took good pains, I believe," said 
 Collins, " to embroil your cousin Edward in 
 Wyatfs affair. You made me join Sir Tho- 
 mas in the hope to entrap Wilford/' 
 
 '* I did so," answered Morgan. " I used 
 thee, Sammy, as an old wife does her chalk egg 
 that she puts into the nest, that it may lead 
 the hens to follow and lay to it. Thy joining 
 Wyatt, I thought, would be a sure bait to 
 Wilford, — a sure sign that I next meant to 
 follow him, and that the arguments I held 
 out were sincere. But Edward was too shy, 
 too prudent to be wholly caught, although he 
 did fall into one trap of my contrivance." 
 
 " What was that ?^^ inquired Collins ; 
 " surely he never took up arms to join Wyatt 
 and the Kentish rebels ?" 
 
 " I grant he did not," replied Morgan,
 
 THE PROTESTANT. Ml 
 
 " but he did what was almost as bad. He 
 answered the letters that I contrived Sir 
 Thomas Wyatt should write to him, and so 
 fell into a private correspondence with a man 
 who soon after lost his head for treason." 
 
 *' I wonder how such a prudent fellow as 
 Edward Wilford is in State matters, could 
 have been so easily caught to do even that,'' 
 observed Collins ; " I thought that he always 
 mistrusted you." 
 
 " But we trapped him by an artifice," said 
 Morgan; *' we made him believe that the Prin- 
 cess Elizabeth was the sole object of Wyatt's 
 plot, and that no personal injury was medi- 
 tated against her sister Mary; but only to 
 save Elizabeth from the fate Gardiner was 
 aiming to bring upon her, and to preserve 
 this realm from becoming a furnace to the 
 Reformers, we wished not only to prevent 
 the Spanish match, but to place Elizabeth on 
 the throne." 
 
 " I suppose, then, it was on this subject 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 that Edward Wilford corresponded with 
 Wyatt ?" said Collins. 
 
 '^ There you are quite right, Sammy," con- 
 tinued Morgan. " Edward Wilford, fired with 
 ardour at the thought of becoming a cavaliero 
 servente to the young Princess, whom we 
 made him believe, and with truth, that the 
 Papists were labouring to destroy. He would 
 save Elizabeth, he would spend the last drop 
 of his blood in her defence. You never saw 
 a more ready or hot-headed champion.'*" 
 
 ** And what made him draw back then/' 
 inquired Collins, " after going so far as this ?*' 
 
 " Why, because he found out," continued 
 Morgan, " that Wyatt was at heart a mere 
 rebel, and a very weak-headed one too; and 
 that his first intention, if he proved successful^ 
 was to deal with Mary after her own way of 
 making things sure. The Tower and the axe 
 are certain remedies to silence the tongue, 
 and put down the title of man or woman, 
 should either become troublesome."
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 243 
 
 *' And so Wilford gave up all thoughts of 
 joining Wyatt, I suppose ?" said Collins. 
 
 '* He did so/' replied Morgan ; '* and soon 
 after went abroad in the dumps, for a cause I 
 could never learn. And as to myself, Mary 
 took me into favour when I least expected it. 
 So I became loyal, and helped Wyatt, as you 
 know, to the scaffold. And as for Edward 
 Wilford, he is still alive, I hear, at Frankfort ; 
 and therefore the old block between me and 
 the Mordaunt estate stands as fast as ever." 
 
 " 'Tis pity," said CoUins, "but what you 
 could get him to England ; he might then be 
 easily caught ; for his father, I hear, was yes- 
 terday laid in limbo, by Thornton, for a 
 charge of heresy ; and these are blessed times 
 to give one an opportunity of getting rid of 
 a stumbhng-block, whilst proclamations and 
 commissions daily come out thick upon each 
 other, and so severe, that a man may be 
 informed against, and entrapped, just as much 
 for what he does not do, as for what he does 
 M 2
 
 S44 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 do. Thus, not going to confession, or not 
 walking in a procession on a Saint's day, is 
 enough to hang or burn any man, though 
 he be as honest as a judge."" 
 
 " As honest as a judge ought to be, you 
 mean, Sammy 5'' said Morgan; "forjudges 
 now must chime into the same tune with the 
 Court, and so must the jurymen too, or woe 
 be to them ; for if they run counter, the 
 Star-Chamber comes down upon them with a 
 spanking fine for acquitting the prisoner, as 
 it did in Winter and Throgmorton's case.''^ 
 They should have had my father for their 
 judge; for, as he says — 'Gentlemen of 
 the Jury, her Grace's pleasure being to 
 see justice administered in these realms, it 
 would ill become us, who are her Grace's 
 
 * Sir Nicholas Throgmorton, being tried as an ac- 
 complice in Sir Thomas VVyatt's rebellion, was acquitted 
 by the jury, for want of evidence to convict him. And 
 for this acquittal the jury were severely fined and im- 
 prisoned by order of the Star-Chamber. — See Burnet 
 and Fox.
 
 THE PROTESTANT. S45 
 
 servants, and here represent her most sacred 
 person, to do other than her Grace herself 
 would do. Therefore, viewing the offence be- 
 fore us as she would view it, and understand- 
 ing the law as her Grace would understand 
 it, I pronounce the prisoner guilty/ — That's 
 what I call a wise judge, Sammy, and one 
 who will always be an honest man — at Court. 
 But we are rambling in our talk from the 
 purpose. I forgot to tell you, — but first get 
 up and open the door, for somebody is rap- 
 ping upon it." 
 
 Samuel Collins immediately obeyed, and, on 
 opening the door of the apartment, lawyer 
 Cluny walked in. 
 
 " A good-day to you. Master Attorney," 
 said Sir Francis. *' You are ever most wel- 
 come to me, since I never see your face unless 
 you come to get something out of me, by get- 
 ting something for me. To what cause may 
 I attribute the pleasure of this visit .?"" 
 
 Cluny looked at Collins, as he said that he
 
 246 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 had some little business that perhaps Sir Fran- 
 cis might desire to hear in private." 
 
 " If you mean. Master Attorney," replied 
 Sir Francis, " that Sam Collins ought to be put 
 out of the room before you speak, I may tell 
 you that he is a part of myself : he obeys me as 
 my hand obeys the will of my head. I have 
 him all my own, as well as I have you, Cluny. 
 Is it not true.^ have I not bought you, body 
 and soul, Sammy .?" 
 
 Cluny still looked doubtful.. " Why," con- 
 tinued Morgan, " if I bid Sammy sit down in 
 the corner and not hear our discourse, he will 
 presently become a joint-stool, with no more 
 ears, hfe, or motion about him than the block 
 upon which he sits ; and, giving up his mind to 
 a notable train of calculation, away he goes in 
 thought to the bull-yard, the bear-garden, or 
 the cock-pit, and never awakes out of his re- 
 verie till a flap on the ears or a douce on the 
 chops brings him back again to a sense of pass- 
 ing objects. Sammy is the best of all counsel-
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 247 
 
 keepers, since, if he should even betray them, 
 he is so known a liar that nobody will credit 
 his tale ; therefore, I choose him for my friend, 
 agent, and bosom-counsellor." 
 
 " A most prudent choice," said Cluny, grin- 
 ning ; '' and with these premises taken for the 
 surety of his secrecy in your matters, I suppose 
 I may proceed to open the case." 
 
 " By all means," answered Morgan. 
 
 *' Why then," continued Cluny, " I have 
 rare news for you. Whom do you think I this 
 day crossed as he entered Canterbury Castle .?" 
 
 '* How, in the devil's name can I guess," 
 answered Morgan, " unless it might be the Evil 
 One himself, who very naturally came to salute 
 you, Cluny, as a brother, whilst taking a turn 
 in Canterbury to pay his respects to Thornton 
 and other of his particular friends .^" 
 
 " I saw a man quite as evil to you. Sir 
 Francis, as the devil himself might be," said 
 Cluny. " Edward Wilford brushed by my 
 elbow as I came out of the Castle."
 
 248 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 " And is he in Canterbury Castle at last ?" 
 exclaimed Morgan, snapping his fingers ; " then 
 there 's that for his claim to the Mordaunt pro- 
 perty." And a second snap of the fingers ac- 
 companied these words. 
 
 " He is not there as a prisoner," replied 
 Cluny. *' His father's being laid up may ac- 
 count for the son going thither, probably to 
 visit him. But I did not know till to-day that 
 he was in England, or in Canterbury Castle." 
 
 " But you can find the means to keep him 
 there, and to make him become a prisoner,'* 
 said Morgan ; " or of what avail is all the 
 knowledge of statutes and proclamations with 
 which you have crammed your brains ?" 
 
 " Something might be done by way of writ 
 of detainer," replied Cluny. '^ But, before I 
 proceed farther, however much that respectable 
 gentleman, Master Samuel Collins, may resem- 
 ble a joint-stool, I must positively insist upon 
 his leaving the room, since he may not keep my 
 counsel quite so well as he does yours.''
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 249 
 
 " Well, you shall be satisfied," said Morgan. 
 ** So, do you, Sammy, walk off for the present ; 
 and, if you have nothing better to do, stroll 
 into the cathedral, and kneel down amongst 
 the old women that set up their candle-ends 
 before the new altar to Becket's memory, run 
 your fingers over a row of cherry-stones on a 
 string that you may buy for twopence, and 
 thus you tell your beads, and establish for 
 yourself a character of penitence and of piety, 
 that may presently serve me, as you are one of 
 my followers ; — so, begone, I say !" 
 
 Samuel Collins rose up to depart, though 
 with evident reluctance ; and turned an angry 
 glance upon Cluny, as he considered him the 
 cause of this dismissal. 
 
 Morgan called him back again. " What is 
 your pleasure with me?" inquired Collins 
 sulkily ; " am I only to be a joint-stool, to be 
 shifted about, first here, and then there, at 
 every man's pleasure but your own ?" 
 
 "No, no, Samuel," said Morgan; *' all I 
 M 5
 
 250 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 would now say is by way of caution. I bid 
 you not presume to look at, or to kiss so much 
 as the tip of the ruff, or the hem of the frows 
 of the pretty little house-damsel that waits 
 below, since she is already designed for the 
 special favour of thy betters. — That 's all, Sam- 
 my ; — so, now begone." 
 
 Collins departed. Cluny rose up, and ex- 
 amined the door to see that it was close shut ; 
 then he paused a moment, and opened it again 
 to look without, to satisfy himself that no listen- 
 ers lurked near the spot. Again he shut the 
 door, and proceeded to take a peep behind the 
 arras, and even to open a large corner-cupboard. 
 '* Why, what the devil are you about, Cluny .?" 
 said Sir Francis ; "do you fancy yourself sur- 
 rounded by listeners and spies ?" 
 
 " No," answered Cluny ; " but I know how 
 closets and tapestry are used now-a-days. I 
 have, before now, found both could conceal a 
 suspected person when in danger of the laws. 
 Heretics, and makers of false monies, have some-
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 251 
 
 times owed their lives even to an old hencoop, 
 a copper furnace, or a corner cupboard : wit- 
 ness the case of Mistress Ann — I forget her 
 name — who came under the information of Doc- 
 tor Argentine, before he left Colchester.'" 
 
 " Well, all is safe here, at least," said Mor- 
 gan ; " for listeners would not exactly suit with 
 my social communications with Sam Collins, or 
 Black Sam, as we call him, from the fellow's 
 raven beard." 
 
 Cluny, now quite satisfied that no one save 
 Morgan could attend to his discourse, sat down 
 at the table, and, as a prelude to it, filled out a 
 cup of wine, and, merely nodding his head to 
 Sir Francis, drank it off. " You make your- 
 self at home. Master Attorney," said Morgan ; 
 and he added, somewhat haughtily, " you must 
 have some rare communication to make, thus to 
 assume upon the subject of it, by taking your 
 stand on a footing rather more familiar than / 
 have yet granted to you, whatever freedom I 
 may have allowed to Collins. But he is of an
 
 S52 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 order very different from a limb of the law. 
 Collins and I have made kings, queens, and 
 knaves dance before us on the same table ; we 
 have trolled the black-eyed white boys from the 
 same box, and that 's a thing gives a man a 
 licence to equality all the world over. — But as 
 for you " 
 
 " I mean no offence, no undue liberty," re- 
 plied Cluny ; " but I have lost breath in posting 
 hither to do you service; so, I presumed to 
 refresh myself by a draught of this excellent 
 Rhenish." 
 
 " Take another, if you will," said Morgan, 
 " and proceed to your business." 
 
 " Not a drop more,"** answered Cluny : " the 
 winebibber is a fool, if not a lost man ; since 
 wine often lets out the truth with more ease 
 than even Master Sergeant Twistem"*s cross- 
 questioning. — I will be brief in my matter, and 
 I crave of you. Sir Francis Morgan, to be seri- 
 ous, since the said matter is specially your own 
 concern. You have often consulted me upon
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 253 
 
 certain claims that the law gives you to certain 
 properties, estates, and dependencies, now held, 
 on a life tenure only, by Sir John Mordaunt, 
 Knight." 
 
 " And my very good uncle," said Morgan, 
 " whom I should have heartily wished at the 
 devil long ago, but that Edward Wilford, being 
 also his nephew, and one year older than my- 
 self, is the next heir." 
 
 " That is the very point in question,"" replied 
 Cluny. " I must have a clear understanding 
 of this business; as it is fitting I ought to have, 
 when professionally engaged on a law consulta- 
 tion. I wish to do my duty by you, and not to 
 take your money for nothing." 
 
 " You have called in yourself, and consti- 
 tuted yourself as head of a professional consul- 
 tation, as you are pleased to call it," said Mor- 
 gan ; '' but, as I suppose you really have some- 
 thing in the wind to my advantage, you may 
 run your bill upon tick if you will, and set 
 down this conversation as the first charge."
 
 254 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 " Not quite the Jirst charge, as I shall pre- 
 sently show," answered Cluny, " smce my busi- 
 ness for you began yesterday ; — but more of that 
 anon. Let us now proceed to inquire into the 
 title. The said estates, properties and depen- 
 dencies, it appears, were entailed by will of the 
 late Sir Talbot Mordaunt, Knight, father to the 
 present Sir John Mordaunt, Knight, on his son ; 
 and he (the said Sir John) failing in issue male, 
 the entail still continues ; and at his demise the 
 said entailed estates, properties and dependen- 
 cies go to the next eldest heir male, he being 
 also of kin to the said Sir John. Did not old 
 Sir Talbot's will run thus ?" 
 
 " It did," replied Morgan. *' But do be brief, 
 I pray you, and come at once to the subject of 
 your business." 
 
 " I am doing so/"* answered Cluny ; '' but 
 things must go in a regular course, according 
 to law. — And the aforesaid Sir John Mordaunt, 
 Knight, (still surviving,) had an elder sister, 
 named Alice, which sister, Alice, married one
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 255 
 
 Owen Wilford, sometime clerk, and now in 
 Canterbury Castle ; by which marriage came an 
 heir male, one Edward Wilford, who being born 
 one year before the son of the youngest sister, 
 (married to Judge Morgan,) ergo, that eldest 
 sister's son becomes next heir to the said Sir 
 John Mordaunt, Knight, before the youngest 
 sister's son, (yourself Sir Francis,) as the afore- 
 said Sir John never has been married, and 
 therefore cannot have issue male, legitimate in 
 the eye of the law. I think I have stated the 
 case very clearly, and that you must perfectly 
 understand me." 
 
 " Upon my soul, I could not," said Morgan, 
 " only that I knew what you meant to say quite 
 as well as yourself, before you opened your 
 mouth. The whole business might be spoken 
 in two words, without this long harangue." 
 
 " Pardon me. Sir Francis," replied Cluny ; 
 " the law is precise. We must take every word 
 into consideration ; for the omission or admis- 
 sion of one word more or less into a will, might
 
 256 TftE PROTESTANT. 
 
 render null and void (such is the beauty of our 
 laws) all the intents of the testator ; as I could 
 prove by sundry cases, and specially one that 
 came under my own management but very 
 lately, whereby I disclaimed a widow and six 
 children, in favour of the rich old Lord of Cou- 
 voitise, an alien, a foreigner, and quite a 
 stranger (though a relative) to the party de- 
 ceased. The case ran thus " 
 
 " Spare me the recital of it, I beseech you,*" 
 said Morgan, interrupting him, " and only an- 
 swer me one question. If Edward Wilford 
 were dead, am not I next heir to Sir John Mor- 
 daunt, our old uncle ?"" 
 
 " Certainly you are," replied Cluny, " heir 
 beyond revocation, your uncle having no power 
 to cut off the entail." 
 
 *' But Edward Wilford is alive," said Mor- 
 gan, " and seems likely to live on still ; for 
 though I should gladly send him to heaven on 
 the wings of the law, if it were practicable, 
 either by hanging or what not, could the law
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 257 
 
 trap him, yet I cannot bring myself to knock 
 out his brains, or to get rid of him in the Italian 
 fashion ; and so my hopes, as I see, rest but on 
 the chances of nature. I wish the fellow had 
 a fever, or that the sweating sickness or the 
 plague would visit him, or that he would catch 
 the small-pox, and have Doctor Argentine to 
 physic him ; for that learned leech fills a church- 
 yard as fast as a hungry heir or a greedy sexton 
 could desire. But my hopes did, I confess, 
 once rest in the expectation that Edward would 
 do something to bring himself within the 
 clutches of the gentleman of the black robe, to 
 get rid of him." 
 
 "You are quite right," said Cluny, ''in de- 
 siring to do all things according to law ; that is 
 professional. And your father, the worthy Judge 
 Morgan, used to say, ' Law is the bulwark of 
 governments; judges and individuals, and he 
 who walks under the shadow of it, need not 
 trouble his head about justice or equity, — things 
 to which the ignorant lay claim, as if they were
 
 S58 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 to take place of the wisest institutions for the 
 support of authority. Give me the letter of 
 the law^ says Judge Morgan, 'and leave mercy 
 to the hangman to use it by finding a tough 
 rope, and a gallows that will not break down ; 
 so that a man be not hung twice instead of once 
 in his lifetime/ " 
 
 " Your praises of my father," replied Sir 
 Francis, ''arc—" 
 
 " Are irrelevant, I grant it," said Cluny ; 
 " they have nothing to do with the business be- 
 fore the court, — I mean, before ourselves. I 
 can point out a way to make you heir, both 
 legal, apparent, and direct, to the estates, pro- 
 perties, and dependencies in question, whether 
 your cousin Edward Wilford live or die." 
 
 " Can you do that T'' exclaimed Morgan ex- 
 ultingly ; " if you can, you can do more than 
 even my father himself could do for me, came 
 it before a court, though he should sum up, as 
 well as pack a jury to decide the matter. Prove
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 259 
 
 your assertion, and 1 will double, nay treble, 
 every charge you may make." 
 
 " I shall make no charges at all, — that is, no 
 specific chsLYges to ^ou," replied Cluny; '^I shall 
 only insert. Item, to such a consultation on such 
 a date — leaving a blank for you to fill it up, 
 according as your own generosity and conscience 
 ask the sum : I deal liberally with my friends." 
 
 " I understand," said Morgan : " in order to 
 make them come down with more cash than 
 you dare specify ; to hear their own generosity 
 lauded ; and to see you pocket the money, with- 
 out even causing your nose to blush deeper 
 than it does for very shame. You are a sly 
 dog, Cluny ; but I know you, never mind. Out 
 with your plot, — I will pay you for it." 
 
 " Plot !" cried Cluny, " plot ! — no plot on my 
 part, I do assure you ; only a thing taken in the 
 course of the law. All plots come under the 
 statute against conspiracies. Any person or 
 persons who might conspire, hold together, as-
 
 260 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 semble themselves, entertain discussion or dis- 
 cussions, to the manifest prejudice, harm, or in- 
 jury of " 
 
 " Of the devil V said Morgan, " by taking 
 his work into their own hands. On with your 
 business, then, in the way of the latv, and not in 
 the way of a plot ; for latv it shall be for me, 
 and good law too, if it gives me a chance of the 
 Mordaunt property." 
 
 Cluny now looked particularly solemn ; and 
 shuffling his hands into his pockets, with much 
 gravity and caution, he said, " I have run no 
 small risk. Sir Francis, even in carrying about 
 me such papers as these, purposely with a view 
 to do you service ; and that risk ought to be 
 taken into consideration,— not strictly in law, 
 but certainly in equity." 
 
 "Why, I thought you said just now, and 
 quoted my father for it,'' answered Morgan, 
 '* that equity had nothing to do in matters of 
 business." 
 
 " Certainly not in the common course of
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 things," replied Cluny ; " but where an equit- 
 able consideration bears in with a point di- 
 rectly in law, it should always be respected. 
 That 's quite professional, I assure you." 
 
 " And it shall now double thy fee, Cluny,*' 
 said Sir Francis, "if it appears that these 
 papers are really useful to me. Let me see 
 them ?" 
 
 " Not yet," answered Cluny, — " not yet. I 
 must first premise, that having called upon you. 
 Sir Francis, to bear witness to the fact of my 
 innocence in having them upon me, and the 
 honesty of my intentions in showing them to 
 you, they must, after the forthcoming inspec- 
 tion by you, remain in my hands^ at least for 
 the present, as they will become evidence." 
 
 *' Evidence, or not, do let us know what they 
 are about," said Morgan ; " you get on in this 
 matter like a snail running a race. Why, you 
 would tire the patience even of my father him- 
 self, and lull him to sleep with such prosing, be- 
 fore his usual time for taking a nap, when the
 
 262 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 prisoner opens his defence. Do let me see 
 them." 
 
 " They are dangerous papers, — very danger- 
 ous even to handle," replied Cluny ; " since, the 
 Saints bless her most gracious Majesty's person 
 and throne ! they treat on matters of high trea- 
 son. They contain letters that passed between 
 that noted rebel, Sir Thomas Wyatt, and your 
 cousin Edward Wilford." 
 
 Morgan started up at hearing these words, 
 once more snapped his fingers, danced round 
 the room, and, in his exultation, fairly hugged 
 Cluny with so much vehemence that, as the at- 
 torney was but a little man, and his patron a 
 tall one, Morgan ran one of his eyes upon the 
 corner of Cluny^'s trencher-cap. The extreme 
 pain of the accident in a moment brought him 
 to his senses, and cooled his ecstasy. Morgan 
 swore an oath or two, cursed both Cluny and his 
 cap; then called out that he was a made man, ran 
 to a side table to snatch up an ewer of water to 
 wash his eye, and at length was enabled to go
 
 THE PROTESTANT. J)OS 
 
 on with the business. " I beseech you/' said 
 the attorney, " to moderate this feehng of ec- 
 stasy ; it might make against you. It is not at 
 all professional. People who deal in matters of 
 the law should have nothing to do with feelings. 
 It might be brought to prove you were an in- 
 terested person." 
 
 " Why, and so I am an interested person," 
 
 .eplied Morgan. "If those papers can be 
 
 made to hang Edward for high treason, and so 
 
 make me next heir to the Mordaunt estates, 
 
 who need be so joyful as I am .?'* 
 
 " They will go well towards hanging him, 
 backed by some other little matters that may 
 appear hereafter, in the due course of time," 
 said Cluny. *' But if he is lianged or not, being 
 once found guilty of high treason, though her 
 Majesty should remit the final judgment of the 
 sentence, it will be just as well for you, since 
 the act of treason brings him at once under the 
 statute ; and forfeiture of all his personals, 
 lands, goods, chattels, and all thereunto belong-
 
 264 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 ing, must follow. And, by a farther clause in 
 the aforesaid statute, any claim he may have 
 hereafter to any lands, estates, properties, tene- 
 ments, or dependencies, in the realm of Eng- 
 land, is also forfeited. The clause is specific, 
 and was inserted for the farther prevention of 
 any person or persons meddling in matters of 
 treasonable practice." 
 
 *' Then I am safe ; all must be sure," said 
 Morgan. 
 
 " It is true," continued Cluny, " that the 
 sovereign Lord or Lady, the King or Queen's 
 Majesty, may remit the fine and capacitate the 
 attainted. But you have so much interest with 
 our gracious Queen, and your father is so loyal 
 and accommodating a judge to the pleasure of 
 the Court, that there can be no doubt that 
 Edward Wilford would have no chance of re- 
 ceiving the royal pardon, if the case is well got 
 up. Much, and indeed I may say all, de- 
 pends on the legal management of the thing; 
 and I am your attorney.''
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 265 
 
 " You are my angel, Cliiny," cried Morgan ; 
 " an angel worthy the deviPs paradise itself. 
 I see it all. He must certainly be hanged. 
 What is to be done next ? when will it come 
 on ? how shall you proceed against him ?*" 
 
 " Not yet ; haste will spoil the business,"' 
 replied Cluny. '* I have not yet got all things 
 ready. These letters will but be a part of my 
 measures. And, besides that, the Bishop of 
 Dover will most likely wish to have the hand- 
 ling of this young man, on some charge, per- 
 haps for heresy : and I must not run in before 
 the Bishop. Delicacy would not let me take 
 the business of dealing with this young man out 
 of the Suffragan's hands till I know his plea- 
 sure. But should he, as I suspect it will prove, 
 have enough to do already with the father, now 
 in Canterbury Castle, I will rid you of the 
 son as well as any man in the kingdom : for, 
 as I said before, these -papers are only a part 
 of my measures against him. You shall know 
 all in time." 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 ^<^ THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 " And how did you get those papers ?" in- 
 quired Morgan. " I would have given any 
 thing in the world to come by them, long ago ; 
 but I never could succeed, although I procured 
 the good- will of Sir Thomas Wyatt to open the 
 correspondence." 
 
 " I got them, I assure you," replied Cluny, 
 " quite in the way of the law ; and knowing 
 they would be useful to you, I lost no time in 
 coming hither to hold this consultation." 
 
 " You have done well," said Morgan. " When 
 shall I see you again ? When shall Edward 
 Wilford be accused? Do think upon what 
 must be done next. Tell me all your plan." 
 
 " I cannot stay now,'' answered Cluny. 
 " To-morrow, old Wilford is to take his first 
 examination before the Suffragan of Dover for 
 heresy; and I must attend Thornton this af- 
 ternoon, to receive his instructions as to some 
 part of the business in which I am to be 
 employed. I must instantly wait on him, hav-
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 267 
 
 ing already overstayed my time in this consul- 
 tation/' 
 
 " I will forthwith see Collins,"" said Morgan ; 
 " he was one of Wyatt's men : he is now safe, 
 and he may be made useful, if we should want 
 a witness or so besides the papers. Though, 
 now I think of it, I beheve ColHns never saw 
 Edward Wilford/^ 
 
 " You should not take upon you to say that," 
 replied Cluny. 
 
 " He may not instantly remember having 
 seen Wilford ; but you don't know what a little 
 time given to Collins for consideration may do, 
 — what a little time to recollect himself may 
 bring forth. When I was Under- secretary to 
 the Clerk of the Star-Chamber, many witnesses 
 were brought before their Lordships, who were 
 soon made to remember things they had long 
 ago forgotten, or perhaps never properly re- 
 membered or understood in all their lives till 
 their Lordships condescended to instruct them. 
 N 2
 
 268 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 And so I wish you a good-morrow, Sir Francis ; 
 and whilst you refresh Master Collinses me- 
 mory, I will wait upon the Suffragan." 
 
 Cluny departed ; and Morgan, highly ele- 
 vated with the hopes the late intelligence had 
 raised within him, went in search of his conve- 
 nient friend and counsellor, Samuel Collins.
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 269 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 All things being prepared for the first 
 examination of Owen Wilford, previous to the 
 great day of trial, the Commissioners proceeded 
 to assemble themselves together in an apartment 
 of the Suffragan Bishop of Dover''s house at 
 Canterbury. These Commissioners consisted of 
 Thornton, Nicholas Harpsfield, Archdeacon of 
 Canterbury, Friar John de Villa Garcina, and 
 Sir John Baker, a civil magistrate for the county 
 of Kent. 
 
 The apartment was spacious, and hung 
 throughout with tapestry ; and, what was 
 something extraordinary, the arras in this 
 chamber was suffered to fall even over the 
 space of the large chimney, so as completely
 
 1?70 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 to conceal it : near the chimney stood a table, 
 at the upper end of which Thornton was seated ; 
 and opposite to him, at the lower end. Friar 
 John. On the side next to the chimney, 
 Harpsfield and Baker sat close together, cheek- 
 by-jowl, not unlike blood-hounds in a leash, to 
 which, of all brute animals in creation, this pair 
 of worthies might most justly be compared. 
 
 Nicholas Harpsfield was, in every sense of 
 the word, a cruel man ; Nature had given him 
 a temper fitted for his present station ; in addi- 
 tion to which, his education, his religion, and, 
 though last not least, his interest all conspired, 
 not only to sanction cruelty, but, to render it 
 meritorious in his own eyes, he became even sa- 
 vage in the exercise of his delegated authority. 
 And as Nature seldom, if ever, gives the lie to 
 her own works, by rendering the external appear- 
 ance of what is in itself bad, agreeable ; so, in 
 the present instance, she had taken especial care 
 that no mistake should occur from only a casual 
 view of Harpsfield's exterior. Hardened cruelty
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 271 
 
 was Stamped on every one of his large and dis- 
 gusting features. Each Hne in his face was rigid, 
 and seemed incapable of the least variation of 
 expression. The head and throat (by a fanciful 
 tracer of likenesses between man and beast) might 
 readily be supposed to bear an affinity to the 
 bull ; whilst the upper row of his teeth, white, 
 but in form resembling the tusks of the boar, 
 protruded beyond the thick and African lips of 
 the Archdeacon. And in order that the whole 
 man should be fashioned in perfect conformity, 
 the one part to the other. Nature had supplied 
 him with a voice more harsh, cracked, and 
 hoarse, than that of an old boatswain who has 
 broken his wind by hard service in many a 
 day and night of stormy weather. 
 
 Sir John Baker, one of the most zealous 
 among the civil powers under Mary's com- 
 mission, — a man selected on account of his 
 aptitude for such employ, — was considered by 
 all persons so like to Bonner, that even Mary 
 herself had been heard to say (after Sir John
 
 272 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 Baker had kissed hands, on his appointment, 
 at Court), " That truly the Kentish Justice of 
 Peace did so resemble my Lord of London, 
 that they twain seemed but one man ; and did 
 the spirit of the Knight but also so liken itself 
 to that of her worthy Father in God, she no- 
 thing doubted but Kent would find good rule, 
 or the faggots of Canterbury would smoke in 
 the lack thereof." 
 
 After having said that Baker and Bonner so 
 much resembled each other, it may seem almost 
 needless to add that Sir John was brutal — 
 brutal in mind, brutal in body. In the latter 
 he was so unwieldly, that the ascent of a flight 
 of steps, the gentle rise of an eminence, or 
 " eight yards of uneven ground," were to him 
 as the purgatory of this world ; and the labour 
 of getting over either, burthened as he was 
 with the enormous paunch that he carried, like 
 a mountain, before him, so put the Justice out 
 of breath, that it was not till after long panting 
 and blowing he could sufficiently recover him-
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 273 
 
 self to be able to speak at all. Sir John had 
 that round head, round jowl, bottle-nose, and 
 full and hanging lips, that so frequently mark 
 the countenance of a sensualist; where every 
 thing is large, fat, and jolly, except the eyes, 
 which twinkle from out their greasy sockets, 
 like a farthing rushlight reduced to its smallest 
 flame. 
 
 Sir John Baker, fond of consequence, fond 
 of being a man of office and a man of power, 
 delighted not only in the greatness of himself, 
 but also in the greatness of his acquaintance ; 
 and he was proud even of the mountain of fat 
 that he carried before him, and the jolter-headed 
 distinction of his person, because it likened 
 him to so great a man as Bonner. '' As my 
 Right Reverend Friend, the Bishop of London, 
 is wont to say ;" or, " as my very Worshipful 
 Acquaintance, and very good Lord, my Lord 
 of London, is apt to do," were phrases conti- 
 nually in Sir John'*s mouth ; who, the more to 
 liken himself to this Very Reverend Friend, and 
 N 5
 
 274 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 to resemble him in manners as he did in person, 
 adopted as much as possible (we beg the ladies 
 to excuse the word) the blackguard expres- 
 sions and very abusive terms Bonner was wont 
 to use in his discourse, and with which he 
 made a point to interlard his addresses to the 
 unhappy people who, under the title of here- 
 tics, were brought before him. Thus, a pick, 
 louse fellow (a very favourite epithet with 
 Bonner), a scurvy ass, beast, fool, jackanapes, 
 rascal, heretic, filthy Lutheran, and many other 
 such appellatives. Sir John had most carefully 
 gleaned and conned by wrote from the elegant 
 vocabulary of the Right Reverend Father in 
 God, Edmund Bonner, Bishop of London. 
 
 This precious pair of Commissioners, Harps- 
 field and Baker, formed a singular contrast to 
 their brothers in office, Thornton and Friar 
 John. The former, though a resolute and 
 daring fellow, thought it not unnecessary 
 to endeavour to shroud the worst part of his 
 character under the mask of hypocrisy. All
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 275 
 
 he did was for the Church ; he was a man all 
 conscience. To hold religion in the heart 
 might be enough with ordinary men ; but 
 Thornton was so pious, so zealous, so con- 
 scientious, that he had rehgion all over him ; 
 Religion possessed him from the crown of his 
 head to the sole of his foot, and made known 
 her influence, even in the quivering of his 
 little finger. And so tender were the pious 
 man's feelings, that it was confidently said, 
 that he laboured hard and sore at the conver- 
 sion of many to his own way, and most es- 
 pecially if the heretic before him was of the 
 softer sex, and young and pretty to boot. 
 But as to the old women, he mostly let them 
 go to the devil their own way ; very wisely 
 judging that the confirmed habits of age were 
 not to be so easily overcome as the inex- 
 perience of youth; and that the garrulity so 
 frequently found in women of years, would 
 have silenced his arguments by fairly talking 
 them down ; whilst, with the silent, timid, and
 
 276 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 youthful party, there was every thing to 
 be expected, — every chance that the soft, and 
 whispering, and gentle exhortations of the Suf- 
 fragan of Dover might produce some effect; 
 especially as he used a great and kindly lati- 
 tude in his arguments, allowing, with all 
 Christian charity, for the weaknesses and sins 
 of mere mortality, — always having that saving 
 clause in his mouth, the Pope's absolution for 
 sin, which, like a lusty besom, comes in, and 
 sweeps clean away all the spots and impurities 
 that may defile the souls of erring creatures. 
 These were motives for the pious man**s zeal, 
 that were insisted upon by his friends, to 
 prove how foul and false were those slanders 
 of wicked persons who represented his charac- 
 ter in a very different hght, and who whis- 
 pered that he acted from motives entirely 
 worldly, and, under the gown of a Suffragan 
 Bishop, and the air of a saint, carried a heart, 
 base, selfish, and depraved. 
 
 Thornton, in his manners, as well as in his
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 277 
 
 language, much resembled a sect that sprung 
 up after his day ; since he had about him an 
 air of decent humility, an eye often downcast, 
 and a speech that Oliver Cromwell himself 
 (had he then been in existence) might have 
 considered worthy even of a Puritan. 
 
 Friar John had, on the contrary, in his swar- 
 thy and dark countenance, his black eye of irre- 
 sistible penetration, his lofty brow, and assured 
 mien, that stamp of haughty, overbearing in- 
 solence, that unmoved gravity of deportment, 
 which characterised both his religion and his 
 country. He was a man, who, like the Pope, 
 his triplc'crowned master, seemed to say, 
 *' Fall at my foot, ye villains, and honour 
 yourselves with the kiss even of my great toe."*" 
 Such were these Commissioners, now assembled, 
 expecting the arrival of the prisoner, Owen 
 Wilford. Thornton was employed in looking 
 very devoutly upon a holy book. His mind, 
 it is likely, was abstracted and busy elsewhere, 
 or he must have had a mode of reading pecu-
 
 278 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 liar to himself, for the book that lay before 
 him was fairly turned upside down. Baker 
 and Harpsfield babbled together of circum- 
 stances connected with their vocation, of war- 
 rants granted by the Justice to apprehend here- 
 tics, and of judgments passed by the Arch- 
 deacon for their dismissal to a higher court, 
 through the furnaces of his own. Friar John 
 was the only person disengaged. He seemed 
 to keep himself within himself, as if, even in 
 the association of his fellows, he almost dis- 
 dained to be their associate ; and sat lofty, and 
 serious, and silent, alone, though in the com- 
 pany of the Commission. 
 
 At length a bustle on the outside of the 
 chamber announced the arrival of the expected 
 party ; and the door opening, three or four fel- 
 lows, bearing in their hands bills, or glaives, as 
 their weapons of security, ushered in the un- 
 fortunate Owen Wilford, attended by all his 
 family, Alice, Edward, Rose, and Abel Allen ;
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 279 
 
 and, following close at the heels of the latter, 
 appeared rather a singular intruder into such 
 a presence, — being no other than Pincher, the 
 faithful attendant on the Wilford family, in 
 their adverse as well as in their prosperous 
 fortunes. Alice and her husband alone were 
 prisoners. 
 
 Wilford, though a man over whose head 
 nearly sixty years had passed, advanced with 
 a firm step and an upright carriage. He was 
 still attired as a churchman, and wore his black 
 silk cap over his white hairs. His countenance 
 was composed; and there was altogether that 
 air of resignation, but undaunted firmness about 
 him, that impressed even the Commissioners 
 with an involuntary feeling of respect. They 
 were silent as he approached them. At length 
 Thornton, who acted not only under the Com- 
 mission, but also as the representative of Car- 
 dinal Pole, now addressed the prisoner. 
 
 '* Master Wilford," said he, " you come
 
 280 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 well attended ; our summons was issued that 
 only you, and the woman, sometime called your 
 wife, should this morning appear before us."" 
 
 " It was my wish," replied Owen, " to spare 
 my children a scene that must, I think, give 
 them pain ; but they so earnestly entreated to 
 be allowed to follow me hither, that at length 
 I yielded to their desires. Nevertheless, if it is 
 displeasing to you, they shall return whence 
 they came." 
 
 " No," said Thornton, " let them bide where 
 they are, since I could wish them to witness the 
 merciful and kind considerations that have now 
 caused us to summon you hither. But what 
 business has that old man to intrude himself ? 
 And how darest thou, sirrah, bring your cur 
 after you into this presence ? Catchpole Mil- 
 ler, turn out the dog." 
 
 " Please your Reverence," said Abel Allen, 
 " I have lived so long with my dear master, 
 that I begged to be allowed to follow him here, 
 to see how it might fare with him ; and as for
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 281 
 
 Pincher, he is as quiet a dog as any in Canter- 
 bury, if he be let alone. And I will warrant, 
 that if your Reverence does not be angry with 
 him, h^ will sit down just near my heels, and 
 say never a word to disturb your doings. But 
 if you turn him out, I can't promise for his 
 taking it so quietly. So, please your Reverence, 
 let me and Pincher bide where we be, to see how 
 it fares with old master, and we will be on our 
 best behaviour." 
 
 " I may probably want you," replied Thorn- 
 ton. And as the Suffragan did not repeat the 
 order to turn out the dog, Abel Allen held up 
 his finger, nodded at Pincher, and then gave 
 him a pat on the head ; and ihe intelligent ani- 
 mal immediately disposed himself for a proper 
 demeanour, sat down upon his haunches, with 
 his two forelegs still upright ; and, turning up 
 his nose, so as to look Abel full in the face, he 
 seemed to say, " I will wait upon you as quiet 
 as you would have me." 
 
 Thornton continued. " It must be known to
 
 282 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 you, Owen Wilford, that you are now in bonds, 
 under a heavy charge, for a contumacious re- 
 sistance of the lawful authorities of this land, 
 in having, contrary to the faith once more so 
 happily established in these realms, taught in 
 your ministration things heretical, false, and 
 dangerous, thereby leading astray her Grace's 
 liege subjects ; and, besides your own guilt in 
 this matter, have likewise endangered the souls 
 of the more simple people, making them, by 
 your lies, to become subjects to the father of 
 lies; so that your case is altogether like unto 
 Berengarius, who did also, in the time of old, 
 subvert, endanger, and lead astray many of the 
 true Church. I would therefore counsel you, in 
 all brotherly love and charity, as you have 
 sinned like unto Berengarius; so, like unto 
 him, and following his example, to repent 
 you, and to recant you of your errors, while 
 it is yet time ; and, in doing so, you shall 
 render a grateful and savoury service to their 
 King's and Queen's Graces of these realms, 
 and you shall save your soul from the dam-
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 283 
 
 nation of heresy : and the light of your candle, 
 which hitherto hath been a foul and a false 
 light, and very dusky, so that your candle- 
 stick is like to be removed, and to be toppled 
 down, to stand only with the stinking torches 
 borne by the linkboys of the devil, — yea, that 
 candle shall once more become a bright and a 
 shining light, if that your heart do change ; 
 and then shall your tongue become as the 
 tongue of truth, and your pen as the witness of 
 the same. Sift minus, veniam tibi cito, et mo- 
 vebo candelabrum tuum de loco suo.^^ 
 
 " May I ask," said Owen Wilford, " should 
 I refuse compliance with what you will me to 
 do, if my answers now given to you are to be 
 brought against me ? Do you now constitute 
 yourselves to sit in judgment upon me ?" 
 
 " No," replied Thornton ; " nothing that 
 you noio say to us shall be brought against you. 
 We have no notary here, as you see. We sent 
 for you in brotherly love ; and to act in con- 
 formity to that charitable doctrine of the Scrip 
 tures, which teacheth, that he that shall convert
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 a sinner from the error of his ways shall save a 
 soul alive. You may answer without fear ; for 
 we are here, if possible, to save you, but not to 
 betray you." 
 
 " And what follows,'' inquired Owen Wil- 
 ford, " should I stand to the Truth, as I have 
 hitherto done ever since it pleased God to make 
 me his minister .?" 
 
 " Rather say, if you persist in a blind, a 
 benighted, and a miserable obstinacy in your 
 stiff-necked and abominable heresy. Why, then, 
 we must proceed to act with you according to 
 the tenure of our commission ; and, appointing 
 a day for your solemn examination, we shall try 
 you in a spiritual assembly presently to be held 
 in this city." 
 
 " Where you will condemn me to the stake," 
 said Owen firmly. 
 
 " As a filthy heretic," cried Sir John Baker. 
 
 " As a burning shame against the Truth," 
 said Harpsfield. 
 
 " And if we then find you stiff-necked and
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 285 
 
 obstinate," continued Thornton, " we shall 
 proceed against you, to cast you out, to void 
 you as a rotten member of the ministry, as one 
 that teacheth the way to perdition, and must 
 needs be damned ; and, after excommunicating 
 you from the Church, and disrobing you of 
 those garments that you have assumed as the 
 cloak of iniquity, we wash our hands of you ; 
 we condemn you not, but we turn you over to 
 the secular powers ; we give you up to the 
 laws, for them to deal with you after the re- 
 quisitions of the statutes against heresy." 
 
 " That is, to turn you over to the powers of 
 the Civil Magistracy," said Sir John Baker. 
 " For, as my Reverend Friend, the Lord Bishop 
 of London, saith, we of the Church touch the 
 life of no man ; we do not wash our hands in 
 blood, though of the worst of sinners ; we but 
 turn them out as stinking, foul-mouthed, and 
 rotten-hearted heretics, that the laws of this 
 country may do their part ; which laws are 
 most justly put into the hands of those who
 
 286 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 well know how to enforce them : and my Lord 
 
 of London farther saith " 
 
 '' And my Lord of London, though he gives 
 up such wretches and outcasts to the secular 
 powers," said Harpsfield, interrupting the Jus- 
 tice, " yet he knows full well that there is but 
 one way to quench heresy ; and he recommends 
 to the Civil Magistrate, that the utmost rigour of 
 the law should be enforced, and that the flames 
 shall consume their bodies in like manner as 
 the devils will torture their souls; and thus, 
 by destroying the wicked, to make the burning 
 of them a pleasant and a sweet-smelling sacri- 
 fice at the altar of Truth.*" 
 
 " You are quitting the subject before us," 
 observed Friar John. " We are here assem- 
 bled to exhort this man to recantation, and to 
 examine him on certain points of his faith." 
 
 Owen Wilford darted a severe glance upon 
 Friar John. " Are you to be my examiner ?" 
 said he. " Then God help me ! for I must 
 look to be betrayed, indeed, if you are such. —
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 287 
 
 But hear me. I am an Englishman, protected 
 by the laws of my country, which, however they 
 may be abused, still must they, in some mea- 
 sure at least, be outwardly respected, even by 
 you. The marriage-treaty between our Sove- 
 reign Mary and King Philip of Spain expressly 
 stipulated that no foreigner should hold any 
 office in England. I therefore deny and refuse 
 you. Friar John de Villa Garcina, altogether 
 as a judge in the matter for which I am here 
 brought before you. I refuse you as one who 
 can have no lawful authority within this realm 
 of England ; and I make my appeal to Cardinal 
 Pole." And, saying these words, Owen Wilford 
 took from under the sleeve of his gown a writ- 
 ten paper, which he tendered to Thornton. 
 
 Friar John smiled maliciously, and only said, 
 " How will you enforce your appeal, should 
 I deal with you after the authority derived from 
 his Holiness of Rome ?" 
 
 " I renounce his authority, even as I do 
 yours," replied Owen.
 
 288 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 '* Oh, be silent, my husband !" said Alice, 
 who stood near him ; " they may take notes of 
 your words." 
 
 " I am assured they will not do so now," 
 answered Owen ; " and if they did, I would not 
 gainsay them. Once more, I offer my appeal 
 to Cardinal Pole ;" and again Owen tendered 
 the paper. 
 
 Thornton waved his hand. " We cannot 
 admit your appeal," said he ; " here is our 
 commission. Look, it hath the broad seal of 
 England. We are constituted by the Queen 
 and Council, and also by Cardinal Pole, as 
 Legate a latere to his Holiness the Pope;" (at 
 this mention of the Cardinal, all the Com- 
 missioners doffed their caps). " We now, there- 
 fore, proceed against you, omni appellatione re- 
 mota ; therefore, we cannot admit it." 
 
 " And you may be taught even by me," said 
 Friar John haughtily, " to feel the very power 
 you refuse, should I issue a summons in the
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 289 
 
 name of his Holiness of Rome, where you 
 must answer before a higher court than this is." 
 
 " What !" exclaimed Wilford, " would you 
 deal thus maliciously against me; and that even 
 before I may be heard ? I see that on all sides 
 I am beset with malice. I will tell you how 
 you would act by me, even as you did by my 
 dear master, Cranmer. You hold me in your 
 bonds ; you keep me fast locked within your 
 prisons ; and you would now give me a solemn 
 summons from Paul the Fourth, to appear 
 before him within forty days, at Rome ; and 
 whiles for my very bonds I could not obey it, 
 at the expiration of the time you would condemn 
 me for contumacy to the Bishop of Rome, cast 
 me out, and give my body to be burnt. You, 
 Friar John — you, and all of you, did this to my 
 master, to Cranmer ; can you deny it ?" 
 
 *^ Cranmer was held in bonds as a traitor," 
 said Friar John. The laws of the country kept 
 him fast for treason ; but that detention could 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 ^90 THE PROTESTAT»JT. 
 
 not interfere with his Holiness's right to summon 
 him to Rome, to answer charges for heresy." 
 
 '' But it could and did interfere to hinder 
 him from going thither to obey that summons," 
 replied Wilford ; ^' and so you condemned 
 Cranmer, amongst other matters, for contumacy. 
 Why, what a wretched subterfuge was this ! 
 You did it — that, if he escaped by the failure 
 of one charge, you might still hold him fast by 
 another. Is this to be my measure also ? Is 
 this to be my case ?" 
 
 " You are in no evil case, if you follow the 
 counsel now so charitably offered to you," said 
 Thornton. " Will you sign this paper ? Will 
 you renounce your errors ?" 
 
 " You go not well to work in what you come 
 to do," answered Wilford. " You bid me 
 sign a recantation of errors of which I have this 
 day said nothing to convict me. This is 
 justice, wdth something of foresight to boot, 
 since it sees that which is not yet come to 
 lio'ht.^'
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 291 
 
 " I revert to past things," said Thornton, 
 who was willing to gloss over the haste he 
 showed in his desire to convict Wilford ; " I had 
 past things in my mind when I willed you to 
 sign this paper. You spoke openly enough to 
 me when I first saw you at your own house, in 
 Wellminster ; as these papers, containing the 
 notes of your conversation, by my secretary, will 
 bear witness ;" and with that, Thornton turned 
 over a bundle of papers that lay before him on 
 the table. 
 
 '^ You were not then joined in the com- 
 mission with your fellows in office to examine 
 me," replied Wilford ; " you came subtily and 
 alone ; you came with an assumed air of mo- 
 deration, on purpose to betray me." 
 
 '' No, no," said Sir John Baker ; " Thornton 
 then came to arrest you, only to arrest you by 
 my warrant, granted for that purpose by me, 
 as one of her Majesty's Justices of the Peace." 
 
 " Which warrant," cried old Abel Allen, 
 " saving your Worship's presence for being so 
 0%
 
 292 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 bold as to speak, I can truly take upon me to 
 say, your Worship did grant ; because I know, 
 that Sister Littlewit sold to Friar John sundry 
 fat capons, ducks, and geese, that the Friar sent 
 as presents to your Worship, before he called 
 upon you to grant the warrant." 
 
 " What dost thou mean by that, thou scurvy 
 knave," cried Sir John Baker, " thou prating 
 ass ? Hold thy peace, or our next warrant shall 
 be to commit thee to Munday Hole. Thou 
 picklouse fellow, thou, who bid thee speak ?" 
 
 " Please your Worship," said Abel Allen, 
 " I meant no offence, but I only spoke the 
 truth ; because, happening to be at Sister Lit- 
 tlewit's house when Friar John came to buy 
 the poultry for your Worship, I helped to 
 silence the quackling of the ducks and the 
 geese for sister, by wringing their necks." 
 
 " And if Friar John did deal with thy 
 sister for ducks and geese," said the Justice, 
 " how came it, man, that you dared to sup- 
 pose they were meant as bribes to me, as you
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 293 
 
 would insinuate ? I insist upon your speaking 
 out the whole truth, for this is a libel on my 
 character." 
 
 " Please your Worship," continued the sly 
 old serving-man, " if you bid me speak the 
 truth, it does not become a poor man like me 
 to disobhge you. And as Friar John did tell 
 sister that he wanted those ducks and geese to 
 make a present to a certain Justice of the Peace 
 who was no small fool, I thought it must be 
 your Worship that he meant.*" 
 
 *' You insolent knave you V cried Sir John 
 Baker, " you shall smart for this, I promise 
 you." 
 
 " Please your Worship," continued Abel, 
 " I mean no offence, but only to speak the 
 truth as commanded." 
 
 " Put the knave in the stocks, Catchpole 
 Miller," said Sir John Baker. 
 
 " And let him be scourged till his back 
 bleeds, for such insolence," cried Harpsfield. 
 " He is not worth your notice," said Thorn-
 
 294 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 ton, " for he is a fool as well as a knave. I 
 shall call upon him anon in another matter. 
 He will be as a witness concerning the pri- 
 soner." 
 
 " May it please your Reverence," said Abel 
 Allen, " if you want me, Master Thornton, to 
 give my old master a character, I am ready to 
 do it now." 
 
 " Hold your peace, fellow," cried Thornton, 
 " or it shall be worse for you. Speak when 
 you are spoken to, and till then remain quiet ;" 
 and turning to Owen Wilford, he continued, 
 " Do you admit our authority to examine 
 you ?" 
 
 " Do you now profess to act under the au- 
 thority of Cardinal Pole as Legate to the 
 Pope .?" inquired Wiiford. 
 
 " Undoubtedly," answered Thornton ; '^ since, 
 in the absence of the Cardinal, I sit here to 
 represent his commission as Legate a latere." 
 
 " Then I refuse you, too, as ray judge," 
 cried AVilford, *' since my oath of allegiance
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 295 
 
 has been made to the Sovereign of these realms, 
 and not to the See of Rome. I owe you no 
 obedience." 
 
 " But you must at least admit the autho- 
 rity of your lawful Sovereign," said Friar 
 John ; " if you refuse that, you become guilty 
 of high treason." 
 
 " I have never refused it," replied Wilford ; 
 " I acknowledge Mary of England as a lawful 
 Queen, permitted to be Such by Divine Provi- 
 dence." 
 
 '* I take you by your own words, then," 
 continued the Friar ; " for lo, here is her 
 Grace's sign manual to our commission ; and 
 here also is the broad seal of England affixed 
 to the same. Now, can you refuse submission ?" 
 
 " I dare not," said Wilford ; " I acknow- 
 ledge that, as my Sovereign, Mary has the 
 power over me ; and that you, acting under 
 her authority here, stand in her place. Is that 
 treason ?'''' 
 
 •' I trow not," answered Thornton ; " and I
 
 296 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 am glad, right glad, to find you so conformable ; 
 and I nothing doubt but that you will pre- 
 sently bethink you of what is due to yourself in 
 this matter, and will hear reason/' 
 
 " God forbid," said Owen, " that I should 
 be deaf to reason, since it is God's best gift to 
 man. What would you with me V 
 
 " I would now, brother," continued the art- 
 ful Suffragan, — *' for brother I would still 
 gladly call you, — I would now ask of you certain 
 questions touching your faith, that shall so far 
 satisfy our minds that you are a brother of the 
 Truth, and so justify our setting you forth- 
 with at liberty, or else, by a full conviction of 
 your errors, we may feel satisfied in our own 
 consciences for referring you to the high as- 
 sembly about to be held in Canterbury, there 
 to take your spiritual trial before that solemn 
 court. My first question will be concerning 
 your moral conduct. — Bring forward that 
 woman, sometime called this man's wife." 
 
 Alice, who had hitherto stood between her
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 297 
 
 son Edward and her daughter Rose, leaning 
 from time to time on the one or the other for 
 support, was now led forward by them. Old 
 Abel attended as near as he could, and ma- 
 naged to fix himself close to the tapestry that 
 hung athwart the chimney. Pincher still 
 stuck to his heels, and once more quietly took 
 his station at Allen's feet. Edward Wilford, 
 who had not uttered a word (excepting now 
 and then in an under voice to his mother, in 
 the endeavour to support her spirits,) since he 
 had entered the room, now ventured to re- 
 quest, in a respectful manner, that his mo- 
 ther might be indulged with a seat ; pleading 
 that she was ill, very ill, as the motive for this 
 request. It was granted; and Alice being 
 seated at the table, with a countenance which 
 sickness of body and anxiety of mind had ren- 
 dered pale as death, waited in mute attention, 
 impressed with the conviction that her hour 
 of trial was at hand . 
 
 " The first charge that we have to prefer 
 o 5
 
 298 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 against you, Master Wilford/' said Thornton, 
 " is one of a moral nature, and a grievous 
 shame it is, and a blistering sore to the person 
 of the Church, therefore is it in some sort 
 a spiritual matter; since, whilst a priest, 
 you have long and openly lived with this 
 woman, Alice Mordaunt, daughter of a wor- 
 shipful Knight deceased, and sister of Sir John 
 Mordaunt, still living, and an ancient Knight of 
 good standing in this county. What have you 
 to say to this charge ?" 
 
 " I say," answered Wilford, " that, according 
 to God's word and ordinance, I married this 
 woman, more than thirty years past ; and I call 
 upon her to bear me witness, that I have been 
 to her a loving, and, as God knoweth, a faithful 
 husband. I am, therefore, free from all sin in 
 that matter. Alice, have I spoken truth ?" 
 
 " You have, you have," said AHce ; " and, if 
 leading up our children in the service of God, 
 and the poor in duty to their superiors, and in 
 affection to each other, — if that is the duty en-
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 299 
 
 joined by God to a father, you have been in 
 nothing wanting." 
 
 " Then you, Dame, also confess that you 
 have Uved with this man .?" said Harpsfield. 
 
 " Ay, as his wife in all obedience, as I was 
 bound to do, for more than thirty years," re- 
 plied Alice. " We were married just at the 
 time that King Henry " 
 
 " That is sufficient," said Thornton ; " you 
 admit the fact ; and our first business must be 
 to proceed against you. Dame, on this minor 
 offence, — for minor it is, when compared to the 
 weightier charges that we have against the man. 
 Know, that by the laws of the true Church, 
 once more so happily established in these 
 realms, if any priest holds a woman by the sa- 
 crament of marriage, such a contract is held 
 null and void, and the issue of such a marriage 
 illegitimate ; and the woman so married stands 
 in the case of a harlot, or wanton person." 
 
 " My mother is an honourable woman, — a wife 
 bv the laws of God and man !" exclaimed Ed
 
 300 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 ward Wilford ; " and I will maintain her ho- 
 nour with my sword, whilst I draw breath !" 
 
 " Hold your peace, young man!" said Thorn- 
 ton. 
 
 "Or I will commit you/' cried Sir John 
 Baker. " You are here on sufferance." 
 
 " And are liable to the penalty of branding 
 in the forehead for this interruption of the 
 Commission,'*'' said Harpsfield. 
 
 " And must submit to the powers you cannot 
 control !" exclaimed Friar John, as he looked 
 mth an air of contempt upon Edward Wilford. 
 " Peace, my son ! peace, I conjure you !" said 
 Owen Wilford. " Remember, I only consented 
 that you should witness this scene on your pro- 
 mise of silence, let what would pass."" 
 
 Edward bowed to his father, and was silent. 
 But Rose ventured to speak ; and she now did 
 so with her accustomed shrewdness. '* You 
 have brought no proof. Master Thornton, of 
 my mother^s marriage ; and I thought, in all 
 cases of this kind, the law demanded a written
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 301 
 
 document of a marriage before it could be pro- 
 nounced as void." 
 
 "Here be goodly gear indeed!" exclaimed 
 Sir John Baker ; '^ when a chittling like that 
 dares to put in her word. But, as my friend 
 Edmund Bonner says, these be times when wo- 
 men use their petticoats like a robe of authority, 
 and prate of law, rehgion, and right rule, like a 
 gownsman, or as if they were no more than mat- 
 ters of housewifery/' 
 
 " Put her in the stocks, Sir John," said 
 Harpsfield ; '• you have the power to do it for 
 her impertinence." 
 
 " She is but a child," said Thornton, " and 
 has been ill taught by her parents. The con- 
 fession of your mother, damsel, respecting this 
 her marriage with a priest, is sufficient. The 
 law of the true Church, now established in Eng- 
 land, holds no such marriage lawful." 
 
 " My parents were married before my father 
 was in holy orders," replied Rose. 
 
 " So much the worse," said Thornton, " as it
 
 302 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 makes the sin of your father the greater, that 
 he should enter upon the priestly office whilst 
 living in a state contrary to it. You, Alice 
 Mordaunt, — for by that name only can I call 
 you, — you must be content to undergo the sen- 
 tence of the law, to do penance, at a time which 
 shall hereafter be appointed, and in a place 
 hereafter also to be named; and, till the time 
 arrives for the penance of your offence, as you 
 are both sick and infirm, you shall not return to 
 the common gaol, but shall rest a prisoner in 
 my house, in company with certain other offen- 
 ders of your own sex."" 
 
 " And must I be parted from him V said 
 Alice, as she looked wildly upon her husband. 
 " Oh ! if you have any mercy, send me back to 
 the prison, for there I did see him, though it 
 was but for a brief space each day." 
 
 " We must not countenance any such abomi- 
 nable connexions !" cried Harpsfield ; '^ it is 
 against the letter of our commission."'*' 
 
 "Is there no remedy ?" said Alice — and she
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 burst into a flood of tears, as she added, " Then 
 may God help me, and save thee, my dear hus- 
 band, for we are hke to have hard measure 
 from these men !" 
 
 Rose pressed her mother in her arms; whilst 
 Owen looked tenderly upon his wife, and bade 
 her, for the sake of their children, to endeavour 
 to support herself. " For they may soon have 
 no other parent, Alice," said he, " to whom 
 they may look for counsel. For their sakes, 
 Alice, I bid you be comforted, and to God I 
 commit both them and you." Owen turned 
 aside his head, as if fearful of looking upon his 
 wife, lest the sight of her distress should shake 
 that firmness of spirit he wished to observe in 
 the presence of his enemies. 
 
 Thornton proceeded. " The second charge 
 against you, Owen Wilford, is one that concerns 
 your own family as well as the Church ; since it 
 should seem that, both in private and in public, 
 you have read the Liturgy now prohibited, — an 
 abominable service first introduced into these
 
 304* THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 realms during the dreadful night of Error that 
 held in darkness the light of Truth in the time 
 of the late King, Edward the Sixth, whom God 
 in mercy to his Church has been pleased to re- 
 move from us, as the great stumbling-block to 
 the salvation of his people." 
 
 •' It hath pleased God," said Owen Wilford, 
 " to take to his own bosom that sweet young 
 Prince, in whom so many excellencies both of 
 mind and body were united, that he was perfect- 
 ed in his course, and fit for his high calling even 
 at an age when others do but begin to run 
 their race. Spare the memory of Edward, as 
 you would honour truth." 
 
 ^' This is no answer to the charge," observed 
 Friar John : " Did you, or did you not, make 
 use of such a liturgy .?" 
 
 " I obeyed the orders of the late King," 
 said Wilford, '' when I took upon me the 
 office of the ministry." 
 
 " What service then, and what doctrines, did 
 you use and teach in your own family P"' in-
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 305 
 
 quired Thornton, " for I come not yet to the 
 matter of the Church." 
 
 " I taught them what I myself believed," 
 said Wilford ; " Verbum Dei.^"* 
 
 " You have brought your family here un- 
 called for," replied Thornton ; " so, you must 
 not take it amiss, if I make them as a witness 
 against you. I shall first examine your ser- 
 vant." 
 
 *' Bid that old dog come forward," said Sir 
 John Baker ; " let us hear him." 
 
 ^' Is it me, or Pincher, your Worship would 
 examine ?" said Abel Allen ; '^ we both of us 
 serve the same master, and scorn to tell a lie." 
 
 " It is thou, thou knave!" answered Sir 
 John. " Come forward, fellow, and answer to 
 what the Suffragan would desire." 
 
 " Marry and that I will. I will answer his 
 Reverence," said Abel, " as he would have me ; 
 for I remember him, in old times, when he coun- 
 selled me to obey my superiors ; and cited, as 
 an example for obedience, his Worshipful self.
 
 306 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 ' For, look you, Abel Allen,' says Master 
 Thornton to me, ' I be secretary to Arch- 
 bishop Cranmer, and see how I obey him ; 
 if he does but wink, it is law to me." Your 
 Reverence may remember when you gave me 
 that good counsel, at a time when Bishop 
 Cranmer was the King''s favourite, and one of 
 the greatest men in the nation." 
 
 " You have so good a memory, fellow," an- 
 swered Thornton, " that I shall have little 
 trouble in gaining a reply to my questions from 
 you. What doctrines were taught in your 
 family by that man you call your master .^" 
 
 " Many, and good ones," said old Abel ; 
 '' and especially, that we should be faithful to 
 our masters." 
 
 " Good God !" exclaimed Edward Wilford, 
 "is this an inquisition, that my father's own 
 servant, a poor and ignorant man, should be 
 cited to endeavour to draw from him what 
 would endanger my father ?'''' 
 
 *' Silence," said Friar John peremptorily ;
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 307 
 
 '* I command it :" and turning to Thornton, 
 he added, " I would beg of you, worthy Suf- 
 fragan, to let me examine this old serving-man, 
 for I see he is cunning : — Were you ever enjoined 
 by your master to go to confession ? Did he 
 ever confess you himself ?" 
 
 " In truth, did he," replied Abel ; " for I 
 remember, that when the ale turned sour, and 
 nobody cared to say how it came to pass, 
 master got the truth out of me ; so I told him 
 it lacked by some pounds the right quantity 
 of hops."" 
 
 '^ Pshaw !" said Friar John ; " I do not ask 
 you about ale and hops — Did he ever bid you 
 seek a ghostly father for the confession of your 
 
 sms r 
 
 ?'' 
 
 *' Master never let us servants talk about 
 ghostly things," repHed Abel, "in his house; 
 for he said that such stories did but frighten 
 the maidens : and as to sins, the Lord help the 
 man who is free from them !" 
 
 " Why, what a fellow have we to deal with
 
 308 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 here ?" said Thornton : " you can make nothing 
 out of him, — let me try. Did you, Abel, ever 
 hear your master read the mass?" 
 
 " That's a point I can't so well answer," 
 said Abel, after a moment's pause; *'for, mass 
 being a Latin lingo, I don't know what is, or 
 is not, mass. But I often heard master and 
 Mistress Rose read together out of a big book 
 in a strange tongue ; and it might be Latin or 
 mass; all one for me, for I could not under- 
 stand it." 
 
 " You will get nothing out of a sly old fox 
 like that," said Harpsfield, " unless you give 
 him a taste of the question ; — that is a thing 
 that makes a man understand any language 
 after the first trial." 
 
 " It may do so with the people who speak 
 the Spanish tongue," replied Allen ; " but Eng- 
 lishmen are less apt scholars. Master Harps- 
 field." 
 
 " But what have you been taught to believe
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 309 
 
 by your master, old man?" said Friar John: 
 " Do you believe in God ?" 
 
 " I do, most truly," answered Abel in a 
 solemn manner ; and he bowed his head as he 
 spoke. 
 
 " That is the only answer you have given, 
 that we can yet understand," continued the 
 Friar. " Do you believe in the devil ?" 
 
 " As plain as if I saw him before my eyes," 
 said Abel Allen ; and he looked the Friar di- 
 rectly in the face. 
 
 " You may question this man yourself, 
 Thornton," said Friar John ; " for he is too 
 ignorant for me to deal with him." 
 
 " Have you been taught by your master to 
 respect the laws.-^" inquired Sir John Baker. 
 *' Speak up, sirrah, — speak up. I say, once 
 more, — Do you respect the laws ?" 
 
 " Yea, that I do,'' replied Abel Allen. 
 
 " And do you respect the Church, and the 
 Queen, and the Clergy .?" said Harpsfield.
 
 310 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 " And the Justices of the Peace, who dispense 
 the laws ?" cried Sir John Baker. 
 
 " I respect them all,''' replied old Abel ; " and 
 though a Justice of the Peace might bear the 
 laws in paniers, like an ass, upon his back, still 
 1 respect them." And the sly old serving-man 
 bowed with the utmost reverence to Sir John 
 Baker as he spoke. 
 
 The Justice puffed, but did not like to un- 
 derstand the old Kentishman's insinuation ; and 
 Thornton, finding that he could make nothing 
 of such a witness, bid Allen stand aside, and 
 once more addressed Owen Wilford. " What 
 service did you perform in your church of 
 Westminster ?"" said he : "I must beg you to 
 speak plainly. '* 
 
 " The service of the Church of England," 
 replied Owen, *^ in the English tongue." 
 
 •' Then you renounce the Mass?" continued 
 Thornton. 
 
 " I renounce it altogether," replied Wilford. 
 
 " Did you ever cause the rood to be ho-
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 311 
 
 noured by your congregation? did you make 
 processions on Rogation, or Palm Sundays ? 
 did you keep the vigils of Easter, and cause to 
 be represented the Resurrection in the eyes of 
 the people ? did you present holy bread and 
 
 water to the congregation ? did you '"* 
 
 " I did none of these things ?" said Owen. 
 " And why did you not ?" inquired Friar 
 John. 
 
 '' Because I hold them to be not only child- 
 ish and useless ceremonies, but also idolatrous, 
 and contrary to the written Word,'' answered 
 Wilford. 
 
 *^ I am sorry to hear this again, and thus 
 openly repeated before the Commission," said 
 Thornton. " You have already said enough 
 to justify our committing you to take your 
 trial before the Spiritual Court. I shall now 
 but ask you one question more, and that is of 
 the utmost importance. In what manner do 
 you consider the real presence of the conse- 
 crated bread in the Sacrament ?"
 
 312 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 Owen Wilford turned towards Thornton, and 
 was preparing to answer him with the utmost 
 solemnity of manner and aspect, when Edward 
 Wilford suddenly exclaimed, " Be silent, my 
 father ! — be silent ! These men are assembled 
 to betray you by your words, in order to render 
 useless the appeal that you would forward to 
 the Cardinal. I am sure I heard the move- 
 ment of a pen upon paper behind that arras 
 that hangs athwart the chimney. Some one is 
 there concealed, and making notes of the ex- 
 amination." 
 
 " Take care, young man,"" said Thornton, 
 " how you dare to accuse us of such baseness. 
 Your father has our assurance that he may 
 speak freely and in safety." 
 
 " Let me examine, then, behind the arras," 
 replied Edward, " before my father proceeds to 
 give his answer." 
 
 " You shall not !" said Thornton, — " you shall 
 not! My word is sufficient, insolent young
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 313 
 
 man. Who dares deny my word, or attempt 
 to prove me guilty of falsehood ?" 
 
 " None but a beast would dare to do as 
 much/' said Abel Allen. And, as he spoke, he 
 quickly snatched hold of the open side of the 
 arras, that hung down straight and loose be- 
 fore the chimney, accompanying the action with 
 a low exclamation of "Hist! Pincher, hist!" 
 And the dog, well-trained and obedient to the 
 least intimation of his master''s will, instantly 
 sprang behind the arras, and fiercely attacked 
 some one who was there concealed; since the 
 loud bark, followed by the deep growl of the 
 animal, was accompanied with a cry for help. 
 *' Help! help me, for our Lady's sake! or I 
 shall be throttled and a dead man !" 
 
 In a moment Thornton jumped up, Harps- 
 field did the same, and Sir John Baker made an 
 effort at an unusual motion of agility ; but, in 
 doing so, his own weight overpowered him be- 
 fore he could recover himself from a lateral 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 314 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 iDovement by which he had lost his balance ; 
 and, tumbling towards the chimney, he not only 
 overturned a Httle table that had been stationed 
 behind the arras for the service of the concealed 
 notary, but upset the notary himself, who was 
 still struggling to free himself from the dog. 
 Nothing could exceed the confusion that now 
 ensued. Sir John managed so far to get up as 
 to remain seated upon the floor; where, wiping 
 his face, and puffing and blowing, and swearing 
 all the oaths he could possibly recollect at the 
 moment, ever to have been sworn by Bonner in 
 his hottest mood of passion, he gave way to a 
 torrent of rage and fury. Thornton threatened 
 to make this insult even a Star-Chamber busi- 
 ness ; Harpsfield roared out for branding in 
 the hand, putting to the rack, and committing 
 to Munday Hole, all in a breath ; whilst Friar 
 John stood still and said nothing, but glanced 
 his dark eye upon Edward Wilford with pecu- 
 liar malignancy. 
 
 Abel Allen ran towards the door, and, in the
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 315 
 
 confusion which prevailed, managed to open it 
 to its full extent ; and then, as if more desirous 
 to secure the safe retreat of Pincher than for 
 any other matter at the present moment, he 
 loudly and publicly called off the dog with, 
 " Come off, Pincher, — come off, I say !" and away 
 ran Pincher after his old master's heels, bearing 
 in his mouth the spoils of victory, which were 
 nothing less than a sheet of paper that had 
 lately been in the hand of the discomfited party, 
 and which the noble terrier fairly carried off, 
 by running down stairs with it in his mouth, as 
 fast as his four legs could carry him. Abel 
 Allen also thought it proper to retreat, before 
 Thornton, or any body else, could sufficiently 
 recover himself to issue an order for his deten- 
 tion ; and so, losing no time, ere the Commis- 
 sioners well knew what they were about, both 
 the dog and his master managed to leave the 
 house and to set forward on their road to Sister 
 Littlewifs in Canterbury. 
 
 Some degree of order was now restored ; 
 p 2
 
 316 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 when the united efforts of Harpsfield and 
 Thornton, who were both strong men, at length 
 succeeded in once more getting Sir John upon 
 his legs. The notary also now sneaked out of 
 his hiding-place, his gown and tippet hanging 
 ragged and tattered by his late contest with the 
 victorious Pincher ; but the blushes of his defeat 
 were completely concealed, for his ink-horn 
 having been overturned in the fray, the ink 
 had found its way over his beard and face, and 
 had so completely disguised him, that if, as it 
 is said, blackness be the natural colour of 
 the devil, it would now have been no difficult 
 matter to have mistaken Lawyer Cluny for that 
 prince of the powers of darkness ; since Cluny 
 it was, and no other, whom Thornton had 
 thought proper thus to station in ambush, to 
 make notes of Wilford**s examination for his 
 own special purposes, in the hope that, by in- 
 ducing the unhappy man to believe that no note 
 would be taken of his answers, he might so 
 effectually commit himself, as to render all
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 317 
 
 attempts in his favour with the higher powers 
 wholly fruitless. Cluny's station had been con- 
 venient ; since it must be remembered that the 
 chimneys or fire-places of this period were not 
 only large enough to contain many persons with- 
 in their ample space, but also poured down, 
 through their immense tunnels, such a body of 
 light, that it was as easy for Cluny (when 
 shrouded by the arras in front) to see to write 
 the examination, as if he really had received 
 light from a window. The trick was now ap- 
 parent, and filled the sufferers with indignation 
 at the sight of so much art and wickedness. 
 
 " Thornton," said Wilford, when the Suffra- 
 gan had once more taken his seat, " base as I 
 knew you were, I find you even yet baser than 
 my worst thoughts could make you. You have 
 this day meanly attempted to betray me by my 
 own lips. You have broken faith with me." 
 
 " I was bound to keep none with you," 
 replied Thornton with unblushing effrontery ; 
 " and in this matter you have had no means
 
 318 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 used towards you but what have been used also 
 towards others in your case." 
 
 " The common practice of an act of treach- 
 ery cannot justify its baseness," said Wilford. 
 '^ I now remember me, indeed, that I am not 
 the first man whom you have thus attempted to 
 ensnare. The same trick was practised to be- 
 tray the venerable Latimer, as he himself de- 
 clared ; I remember it but too well. But why 
 should I strive with you ? — You are here met 
 together to compass my ruin. Do your plea- 
 sure then; I will submit to it." 
 
 " We can have no purpose to injure you, 
 unless you injure yourself," replied Thornton. 
 '' I must do my duty, since you have already 
 given me sufficient warrant to remand you to the 
 prison whence you came. On this day month, 
 you must take your trial in the Spiritual Court ; 
 there you cannot use evasion. — Cluny, call in 
 the officers. — And for you, young man," con- 
 tinued the Suffragan, addressing Edward Wil- 
 ford, — " the part you have this day taken to
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 319 
 
 insult our commission shall not pass unrequited. 
 Our Notary here has sustained damage by the 
 assault of a fierce animal, set upon him by you." 
 
 " Not by me," replied Edward ; " I merely 
 requested to be suffered to examine the arras."' 
 
 " You were at least aiding and abetting," 
 said Cluny ; " and certainly a party concerned. 
 The thing is actionable. I have sufficient evi- 
 dence to prove an assault, — and that assault 
 too was made whilst I was in the discharge 
 of my duty. Shall I call in the Catchpole?" 
 
 " Do so," replied Thornton. " You, Owen 
 Wilford, must return forthwith to Canterbury 
 Castle ; and though, by the invalidity of your 
 marriage, your children are held illegitimate, 
 and therefore become as bond-slaves to the 
 see of Canterbury, yet, for the present, your 
 son is suffered to be at large. Your daughter 
 shall have some indulgence, and may rest in 
 my house to comfort her mother ; for the 
 woman is my prisoner, till her penance be per- 
 formed."
 
 320 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 " Must my child, — must Rose rest in your 
 bonds?'* said Owen Wilford. 
 
 " She shall not,"*' exclaimed Edward ; " my 
 sister has committed no offence, and she will be 
 at large, or I will remain to protect her." 
 
 ** She needs no protection here,"" replied 
 Thornton ; " nor do I stay the damsel as a pri- 
 soner. You may do as you list with her. I 
 offered to keep her here but as an act of charity 
 to that sinful and unhappy woman, her mother ; 
 who, you but now said, was grievously sick. 
 Do your own will in the affair." 
 
 " Let Rose stay with me," said Alice ; " let 
 her stay to comfort me, since I must be a pri- 
 soner to this man ; but surely the law, if law 
 can condemn me, would suffer me to go back to 
 the same prison with my husband." 
 
 " The keeping you here, good woman," said 
 Sir John Baker, who had by this time blown 
 himself into something like a renewed supply of 
 air for the purpose of breathing, — " the keep- 
 ing you here is quite according to custom ; for 
 it is a fact well known, that my Right Reverend
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 321 
 
 Friend, the Bishop of London, keeps many pri- 
 soners in his own house at Fulham, and has 
 whipped several of them also with his own 
 godly hands, upon their bare backs, in his own 
 garden. And some of these prisoners, as my 
 Reverend Friend is ahke an enemy to idleness, 
 and every other vice, he sometimes employs to 
 assist in his hay-fields, and what not, as he may 
 happen to need their services. The Suffragan 
 of Dover, therefore, cannot do better than to 
 follow that great man's example. He is conse- 
 quently quite justified in keeping you as a 
 prisoner in his own house; since my Lord of 
 London does the same thing at Fulham." 
 
 " I must submit," said Alice. " I beseech 
 you to let me bid a last farewell to my husband 
 and to my son." AUce arose from her seat ; 
 and, without speaking, she threw her arms 
 round the neck of Owen Wilford, and burst into 
 a flood of tears. Edward and Rose knelt 
 each on either side of their parents ; and, raising 
 their hands reverently, implored their blessing. 
 The Commissioners stood astonished at the au- 
 p 5
 
 322 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 dacity of these innocent and suffering people ; 
 but so deep was the passionate sorrow that now 
 filled the hearts of the unhappy family, that 
 even the Commissioners were for a moment over- 
 powered by it, and they made no movement to 
 part them. 
 
 " Farewell, my wife !*" said Owen; *' Fare- 
 well, my poor children ! Pray for me, as I will 
 do for you ; and may God Almighty watch over 
 you, and bless you !" 
 
 As he spoke, he looked first at Alice, and 
 then upon his children ; whilst he placed his 
 hands upon the heads of the latter, and stood 
 between them, old, venerable, and afflicted ; pre- 
 senting a spectacle of pious resignation and 
 calm suffering, that might have moved a heart 
 of flint to pity. But he stood before men 
 whose breasts, steeled by cruelty and the 
 fury of a bigoted zeal, were wholly incapable of 
 remorse. At the present period, when such 
 exertions of arbitrary power are unknown in 
 England, — when the glorious Reformation of the 
 Church has established liberty on the surest
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 323 
 
 basis, — when rulers are no longer bigots, and 
 subjects have ceased to be the victims of bigo- 
 try, such scenes of cruelty may seem but as the 
 fables of a frighted and exaggerated fancy. 
 Some even may say, Could such things have 
 been? But the still existing records of those 
 times of terror prove, alas ! that such scenes 
 speak but a true tale; — the remembrance of 
 which must fill our hearts with thankfulness to 
 that Almighty Providence who has freed us 
 from those dreadful trials and perils that 
 brought so many of our fathers, even in their 
 grey hairs, with bitter sorrow to the grave ! 
 
 To return to our narrative. Whilst Owen 
 Wilford blessed his wife and children, not a 
 tear was in his eye,— not the least convulsive 
 movement of strong, though suppressed feeling, 
 agitated his frame ; on the contrary, his spirit 
 seemed to be sustained by a power more than 
 human ; and the religious fervour of his mind 
 spread over his venerable and manly features an 
 expression so noble, so elevated, that, whilst in 
 the very bonds of his enemies, he looked as if
 
 324 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 his soul had soared far beyond this earth, and 
 all that is earthy, to hold communion with his 
 Maker. His eyes were raised, radiant with fer- 
 vent hope ; and his cheek glowing from the en- 
 thusiasm of his feelings, the old man stood, like 
 the Patriarch who offered up his son, his only 
 son Isaac, to his God ; as if he also was ready 
 to make whatever sacrifice his Heavenly Father 
 should require at his hands. His children and 
 his wife, awed by his manner, and by the ex- 
 pression of his countenance, knelt in silence be- 
 fore him, and scarcely drew breath, lest they 
 should interrupt the least accent that fell from 
 his tongue. 
 
 Owen bade them unite with him in a com- 
 mon petition to Providence for comfort and sup- 
 port in this their hour of sorrow ; and that they 
 might be ready and wuUing to follow wherever 
 God should please to guide them, though it 
 were to the very stake itself, for the glory of 
 His name. His wife, his children reverently 
 and devoutly joined with him in prayer, and 
 repeated word for word after him as he dictated ;
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 325 
 
 whilst the Commissioners stood in a group toge- 
 ther, at the farthest end of the room, looking on 
 in silence at a scene that, in spite of themselves, 
 they dared not interrupt. Some power, some 
 feeling more mighty than that of their own bad 
 passions, held them back ; and it was not till 
 Owen had ended his petition, had raised his 
 family from the ground, and embraced them 
 severally in his arms, that they ventured to pro- 
 pose his removal from the house. 
 
 Edward offered his father in silence his arm 
 for support. Owen cast a last look upon Alice 
 and Rose, and instantly retired with his son, 
 without uttering a word. The officers resumed 
 their custody of the prisoner, when he was with- 
 out the door of the apartment. After having 
 received her husband's last embrace, Alice had 
 stood, with her hands pressed together, almost 
 stupified by the terrible prospect of this final 
 separation. She did not change her attitude 
 now he was gone ; she seemed scarcely to 
 breathe ; but her eye wandered wildly from ob- 
 ject to object ; and when she heard the noise of
 
 326 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 the halberts and bills of the officers of justice, 
 and the heavy tramp of their feet as they de- 
 scended with Owen Wilford down the stairs, 
 a frightful sense of her desolation seemed to 
 burst upon her mind, to recall her to life. She 
 uttered an hysterical cry, and fell down upon 
 the floor in so strong a convulsion fit, that even 
 the Commissioners thought the penance to which 
 they had doomed her would be acted in another 
 world. Rose, her child, now her only friend, 
 her only support, preserved her presence of 
 mind in an admirable manner; for, whilst the 
 persecutors of her unhappy mother ran against 
 each other, and showed some distraction, not 
 knowing what to do to save the life of their vic- 
 tim, that she might undergo her punishment 
 hereafter, Rose suggested every remedy that 
 was applied, with an extraordinary composure 
 of mind ; and at length besought the Commis- 
 sioners that her mother might be removed to 
 another chamber and be put to bed; assuring 
 them that unless this was done, and every care 
 taken of her, she was sure her parent would not
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 survive the day. She then respectfully begged 
 Thornton to suffer her to attend her mother; 
 telling him at the same time, with the utmost 
 firmness, that if he denied these requests he 
 must look to the consequence, as the law gave 
 him no power over her mother's hfe. The Suf- 
 fragan granted all she asked ; and Rose was 
 furnished with whatever was necessary on this 
 sad emergency. 
 
 The servants who liad assisted in the re- 
 moval of Alice, had left the door open after 
 them, when they quitted the room where the 
 scene just related had passed. The Commis- 
 sioners had not ordered it to be closed. There 
 was a moment's silence amongst them ; when 
 Sir John Baker waddled towards the open door, 
 and there stood snuffing for a minute, as if he 
 was drawing into his nose some very acceptable 
 perfume. He turned round to his companions ; 
 and the first words spoken after Alice's removal 
 were by Sir John himself, Vv^ho remarked, with 
 a smile, and a twinkle of his little eyes, " I 
 think I smell the goose."
 
 '^^8 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 Nothing could be more just than this ob- 
 servation ; for scarcely had it escaped the lips 
 of tlie Worshipful Justice of the Peace, when a 
 servant announced that dinner was served, and 
 had been ready for some time ; but the cook 
 having received orders not to interrupt the 
 Commission, the announcement of dinner was 
 postponed till the departure of the prisoner. 
 Thornton now requested every one present to 
 partake of dinner ; and all the party accepted 
 the invitation except Friar John, who said he 
 was obHged to attend Sir Richard Southwell, on 
 some business of consequence ; and bowing to 
 the Commissioners by merely a slight inclina- 
 tion of the head, he departed, as they walked 
 down to the dining-hall in the Bishop'^s house. 
 
 Few persons are insensible to the attractions 
 of a well-spread table, and the genuine spirit of 
 sociability which is inspired by good cheer, 
 good wine, and a good appetite. All the par- 
 ties present seemed fully sensible of the value 
 of these good things. Sir John Baker chuckled 
 as his mouth watered at the savory smell of
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 329 
 
 the noble goose that had before attracted his 
 attention, and now stood before his eyes in the 
 middle of the table, flanked by a dish of rich 
 stewed venison, a mess of friarVsoup, and 
 sundry other relishing dishes; whilst the roast 
 beef of Old England, — a dish as standard in 
 Queen Mary's times as in our own, was placed, 
 like the king of good things, at the top of the 
 board. 
 
 Even Harpsfield, at the sight of dinner, 
 managed to unbend one feature of his rigid 
 face ; and once or twice opened his mouth, and 
 smacked his lips, like a dog who licks his 
 chops as he eyes the dish he is about to de- 
 vour. Cluny had retired for a moment to wash 
 the ink off his face ; and returning into the 
 apartment, well knowing his place, he modestly 
 took his station below the great silver salt 
 basin that stood in the very centre of the table, 
 as a line of demarcation to separate the ple- 
 beian guests from those of aristocratic pre- 
 cedency. 
 
 Thornton tucked a white napkin close under
 
 330 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 his chin, and pronounced a Latin benediction 
 upon the meats with his accustomed solemnity ; 
 whilst Sir John Baker, whose impatience to 
 fall to could scarcely endure the length of the 
 grace, stood casting an eye between beef, 
 goose, friar''s-soup, and venison, as if doubtful 
 upon what good thing he should begin the pre- 
 meditated attack. All the party now appeared, 
 by a simultaneous agreement, to lay aside busi- 
 ness for the pi'esent ; and Queen Mary, and her 
 fire and faggots, and Owen Wilford, and poor 
 Alice and Rose, seemed to be as much for- 
 gotten as if they had never existed ; whilst Sir 
 John Baker stood up, and, brandishing a large 
 carving-knife, prepared to anatomize the 
 smoking goose, with as deep an interest, and 
 as entire an absorption of all his faculties in this 
 important office, as if life or death had de- 
 pended upon his success. 
 
 Whilst jaws were going, knives rattling, and 
 cups finding their swift circulation round the 
 board, little conversation passed between the 
 parties ; since the English, at all times, gene-
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 331 
 
 rally discussed their dinner before they did 
 their politics, or any other matter of regular 
 discourse. 
 
 Sir John did honour to the goose, com- 
 mended the stewed venison, paid his respects 
 to the friar'*s-soup, but was perfectly charmed 
 by a certain mess of fricaseed cocks-combs, 
 which he repeatedly declared, averred, and 
 protested to be the most dainty relish he had 
 ever tasted in all his life. " Upon the honour 
 of my Knighthood," said Sir John, " whoever 
 cooked that mess has the daintiest hand at a 
 fricasee in all the kingdom. I wish my Right 
 Reverend Friend, the Bishop of London, could 
 only taste that dish ; though, if he did, I ques- 
 tion. Master Thornton, if it might not cost 
 you the loss of the cook ; for, I verily think, 
 my Right Reverend Friend would give the value 
 of half of his diocese to gain such a king of 
 the spit. With your good leave, I 'U take ano- 
 ther taste of it. Done to a turn, — spiced to a 
 hair, — the flavour of the ginger just enough to 
 know there is ginger, but without being hot in
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 the mouth. And then such a sauce ! I question 
 if twenty different ingredients did not go to it, 
 to make it so savoury, so oily, so smooth, and so 
 sweet to the palate. I '11 thank you, Master 
 Cluny, to send the dish forward this way, as I 
 prefer helping myself:" and again Sir John re- 
 newed his plate, and his relish, and his warm 
 commendations on the skill of the cook. 
 
 " I will tell you by-and-by, when the cloth 
 is withdrawn," said Thornton, *' by whom that 
 dish was cooked. In the mean time, I beg of 
 you, Sir John, and of you. Archdeacon Harps- 
 field, not to spare it, since it is no novelty to 
 me, — I have had many such dishes of late." 
 
 Neither the Justice nor the Archdeacon need- 
 ed much pressing ; and, having taken as much 
 of the mess as they could well manage to cram 
 down their throats between them, they left a 
 taste of the dainty for the Attorney, and 
 Cluny made a clean dish of it. 
 
 When the cloth was withdrawn, and wine, 
 fruits, and spices, were placed upon the table, 
 Thornton dismissed the attendants, and the
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 Commissioners seasoned their cups with a little 
 more discourse than had yet passed between 
 them ; but Sir John, who seemed to relish 
 good cheer even in retrospection, could not 
 dismiss from his mind the mess of fricaseed 
 cocks-combs, nor the praises which he continued 
 to think so well deserved by the cook. " Now 
 the varlets are away," said the Suffragan 
 Bishop of Dover, " I will tell you who cooked 
 that dish. It was messed up by a woman that 
 I keep as prisoner in my house on a charge of 
 heresy, — as obstinate a Lutheran, I assure you, 
 as ever turned up a nose at his Holiness. But, 
 seeing that she has good skill in these matters 
 of the stew-pan, I make her useful in her vo- 
 cation.'' 
 
 " You are quite right in so doing," said Sir 
 John Baker ; " my Right Reverend Friend, my 
 Lord of London, does the same thing. He 
 spared that rascal heretic, Thomas Tomkins, 
 till the hay harvest was got in, because the 
 fellow did the work of any other four men 
 put together in the field ; and after hay
 
 334 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 harvest, Edmund Bonner burnt the picklouse 
 rogue as he deserved. '^ 
 
 " That will be the end of Mother Garnish," 
 said the Suffragan, " the famous hand at a fri- 
 casee ; for she will no more recant, she will no 
 more turn from the fire, than she would turn 
 a pancake before it is well browned. She is as 
 obstinate in her faith as she is in her cooking, 
 and will let no one advise her in either matter. 
 You never saw such a determined old woman. 
 But she must roast like her own meats, for re- 
 cant she will not.'"' 
 
 " It would be a great pity, — it would be a 
 most serious loss,'' replied Sir John Baker : 
 " good cooks are scarce now-a-days, — one don't 
 now find half such good cooks as we used to 
 do in my young days. This new doctrine of 
 the Reformation has spoilt them ; for your very 
 dishwife now leaves her spit and ladle, and 
 runs after these mad preachers (such as old 
 Wilford) of the Truth, as they call it. And 
 now, instead of the dainty omelets and nice 
 fish-dinners, that it was formerly quite a study
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 335 
 
 to render excellent on fast-days, they never 
 trouble their heads about the matter; and I 
 have known some of these cooks so audacious 
 as to send one up a half raw beef- steak, even 
 on a Friday, merely out of contempt to the 
 Pope. These are serious times, Master Thorn- 
 ton, — very serious times, and threatening to the 
 country ; and her Majesty, in her great noble- 
 ness, does most right in endeavouring to put 
 a stop to them, — to spread terror, as I would 
 say, into the very hearts of such people ; for, 
 if she did not, there is no knowing where they 
 might end, or what we might come to, when 
 half raw beef-steaks and cold mutton-chops 
 would be thought good enough for the Magis- 
 trates and the Clergy." 
 
 " Ay," said Harpsfield ; " and if these mad 
 Reformers are not put down, every thing will be 
 changed in England, a lukewarm spirit will 
 spring up amongst us, and that under the name 
 of mercy and charity, and all the strong sup- 
 ports of Government will be put down. We 
 shall have neither the rack, nor fires, nor any
 
 336 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 other lawful engines allowed us as the chastise- 
 ments of the people. They will tell us by-and- 
 by that the gallows is sufficient punishment 
 for any rogue. And the clergy will suffer too, 
 if the new doctrines prevail. We shall have no 
 offerings to images, no buying of pardons, no 
 confession or absolution fees; as if we, the 
 labourers in the true Church, were not worthy of 
 their hire. Even a candle end, as Sir Thomas 
 More used to say, will be grudged at the altar 
 of a saint. — But, a blessing on her Grace, sweet 
 Mary of England ! — she is the truest friend that 
 ever the Roman Church could desire to sup- 
 port her cause. She will bring back the good 
 old times, and crush these peace-prating re- 
 forming rascals in the egg-shell.'' 
 
 " And well it is,"" cried Cluny, " that her 
 Grace should do so ; for, if these fellows are 
 allowed to spread their doctrines through the 
 land, it will be a serious injury to' the law: we 
 shall have parsons making up quarrels instead 
 of attorneys, and what they call equity will be 
 held in more respect than the letter of the law."
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 837 
 
 " Her Grace is a blessing to the country/' 
 said the Suffragan Bishop of Dover: *' she has 
 shown her great wisdom in nominating the 
 right men in their right places, to be as the 
 heads or polar stars to the Church. She knows 
 W'ho is proper for a Bishop ; and, when there is 
 no See vacant to fit the man into his place, she 
 makes him a Suffragan Bishop, to wait a pro- 
 per opportunity for his farther promotion.*" 
 
 " She is a rare Queen," cried Sir John Baker, 
 "and stands amongst Queens, like a salaman- 
 dered turkey amongst dishes, — the crown of 
 them all. I propose her health in a brimmer." 
 
 " With all my heart," said Thornton, " I '11 
 never refuse a cup to the health of such a gra- 
 cious Queen." 
 
 The cups were filled, and the health of 
 Queen Mary was given and drank in such a 
 hearty manner, that the dinner- hall rang again 
 to the pledge. After the health of Queen 
 Mary had been well washed down the throats 
 of her admirers, there was one of those dead 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 338 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 pauses in conversation that even now so often 
 occur in an English assembly, to the utter asto- 
 nishment of foreigners, and more especially if 
 they be French. 
 
 But Sir John Baker, who could not forget 
 the fricaseed cocks-combs, once more returned 
 to the mention of the cook, as some relief to 
 this solemn silence. " I have been thinking, 
 Master Thornton," said he, " that, seeing how 
 rare a thing now-a-days is a real good cook, it 
 would be a great pity to lose such a jewel as 
 you have in your house for a mere obstinacy of 
 opinion, andjhe woman most likely is ignorant 
 too ; and, besides this consideration, the rabble 
 make such an outcry about what they call the 
 cruelty of the Commission, that I think it might 
 be as well, now and then, just to please them in 
 their own way, and to spare a heretic or so, 
 to do an act they will call merciful : and you 
 know, likewise, there is such a string of here- 
 tics to be burnt this sessions, that if you spare 
 one out of the number it will not be missed. —
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 339 
 
 What say you, Master Thornton ? You may 
 not like to keep the person you spare in your 
 own house ; but I shall have no objection to 
 take her off your hands as my cook ; for my 
 own domestic in that way gets very old, and 
 seems to have lost the right trick of well larding 
 a capon. So, turn your heretic over to me, and 
 say nothing about the matter, and I '11 give you 
 as many good dinners as she can sauce up for 
 you, to show my sense of the favour."" 
 
 " I should fear to do so," said Thornton : 
 " the thing is quite against the law." 
 
 " Pardon me for being so l\pld as to in- 
 terfere in this business," cried Cluny ; " but I 
 think that I could find a precedent. Gardiner, 
 Bishop of Winchester, did the same thing. He 
 spared a heretic that dished him up a dainty 
 dinner at Farnham Castle — he spared her for 
 the sake of her cooking ; and she is alive at this 
 moment." 
 
 " That's true," said Sir John Baker; " that's 
 the best precedent you ever yet found, Cluny 
 Q 2
 
 340 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 either in or out of the law. I remember having 
 heard Gardiner himself tell the story to my 
 right Reverend Friend, the Bishop of London ^ 
 when he asked his Reverence to dinner at his 
 house in Southwark, where he promised his 
 dainty heretic should dish up a stewed carp ; 
 and we all ate of it together at that very house 
 which was afterwards ransacked by the rebel 
 Sir Thomas Wyatt ; — I remember it well." 
 
 " I cannot refuse such a precedent as that 
 founded on any act of the late Bishop of Win- 
 chester, St. Peter assoil him," said Thornton. 
 " So, I have no objection, Sir John, to spare the 
 cook's life, be she heretic or not, if we can but 
 make some of the Canterbury brawlers beheve 
 that she recanted. For there are so many un- 
 charitable illnaturcd people, who would be glad 
 to pick a hole in my coat, (and I am not yet 
 quite so elevated as the Bishop of Winchester 
 was, who might snap his fingers at slander,} 
 that I must look about me and be careful."
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 341 
 
 " I think I could manage the business for you, 
 gentlemen," said Cluny, " and that at a small 
 expense. I know that obstinate old heretic, 
 Mother Garnish, very well ; — she can neither 
 write nor read. I will get her to put her cross 
 (instead of her name) to a recantation ; I can 
 witness it myself: she will do this fast enough, if 
 I tell her that the paper contains a confession of 
 her belief in the Reformed Faith. That recan- 
 tation, so signed and witnessed, will secure you. 
 Master Thornton, from any unpleasant conse- 
 quences, should the thing come to the Queen's 
 ears by any meddling talebearer. And as the 
 woman is a heretic, you know, there is no 
 law that binds us to be very particular in what 
 way we may deal with her; and, after all, she 
 ought to thank us for playing her a trick to save 
 herself from roasting, in order that she may 
 roast capons. If you like it, I will do the thing 
 this very afternoon ; for I always carry a few 
 recantations, ready drawn up, in my satchel.
 
 34S THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 They want only the signature and date, and the 
 charge is but a trifle that I make upon them. 
 Shall I go about it ?" 
 
 The thing was applauded and agreed to ; and 
 Clun}'^ left the party, to talk over the cook, and 
 to get her to sign, by her mark, the paper she 
 could not read for lack of that useful accom- 
 plishment, an acquaintance with the alphabet. 
 And whilst Cluny was busied with Mother Gar- 
 nish, Thornton, Harpsfield, and Sir John Baker, 
 adjourned into the garden of the Suffragan Bi- 
 shop, to play a game at bowls on the smooth 
 green lawn, kept in high order for that pastime. 
 
 And having said so much in this chapter 
 about these worthies, Harpsfield and Thornton, 
 as well as Bishop Bonner, we think that we 
 cannot conclude it better than by giving a 
 brief extract from " Fuller's Church History," 
 wherein that admirable author gives a slight 
 but expressive sketch of their several characters. 
 
 " In the diocese of Canterbury, Cardinal 
 Pole appeared not personally active in the pro-
 
 THE PROTESTANT. 343 
 
 secution of any to death. Whilst others impute 
 this to his statehness, not stooping to so small 
 matters, we more charitably ascribe it to his 
 favouring the Protestant party, having formerly 
 lost the Papacy under that imputation. But 
 seeing it is a true maxim, which an heathen man 
 layeth down, — ' It is enough for a private man, 
 that he himself do no wrong; — but a public 
 person must provide that those under him do 
 no injury,' I see not how the Cardinal can be 
 excused from the guilt of that innocent blood, 
 tvhich'Thornton, his suffragan, and cruel Harps- 
 field, his archdeacon, shed like water in and 
 about the city of Canterbury T 
 
 Of Bishop Bonner, Fuller says — " Crosse we 
 the Thames into the diocese of the Bishop of 
 London, under Bonner, whom all generations 
 shall call Bloody. St. Paul mentioneth his fight- 
 ing with beasts at Ephesus, after the manner of 
 men ; which some expound, his encountering 
 with people, men for their shape and sex, but 
 beasts for their cruel minds and manners. In
 
 344 THE PROTESTANT. 
 
 the same sense we may say that lion, tiger, 
 wolf, bear, yea a whole forest of wild beasts, 
 met in Bonner, killing two hundred in the com- 
 pass of three years. No sex, quality, o'r age, 
 escaped him, whose fury reached from John 
 Fetty, a lad of eight years old, by him scourged 
 to death, even unto Hugh Laverock, a cripple, 
 sixty-eight years old, whom he caused to be 
 burnt!" 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 LONDON : 
 PRINTED BY S. AND R. BENTLEY, 
 
 Dorset SiifCi, Fk-ei Sireei.
 
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